Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE

Prologue:

Deep within the dimensional counterpart to earth floated a massive chunk of land. On the very summit of it rested an ancient palace. It remained magnificent, at least three hundred feet tall, despite its crumbling exterior. Broken stone littered the front courtyard, leading up to great carved doors. A ghost alighted here, looking up at the intricate doors in awe.

“At last,” he breathed. This was the fruit of his labors: the digging through old tomes that had taken him years; the arduous journeys to the far-reaches of the Ghost Zone, through bitter ice and boiling heat; the dangerous missions to obtain scraps of information, wading through hordes of enemies, of guards. All for this. He clutched the map—painfully pieced together—tightly in his right hand, crinkling it. It was useless, anyway; he’d found the place it led to. His left held a far more important item—the crown that would unlock the doors in front of him.

It had taken days to find this place, days he’d mostly forgone rest or water or food. He removed the pack that contained the remains of his rations, setting it on the ground beside him. Gently, he cradled the crown in both hands, walking up to the doors. They truly were glorious—scenes of battle played out on them, bits of lore scattered throughout. The queen’s coronation shone as the centerpiece.

He flew up to the queen’s head and inserted the crown there, the piece of jewelry that had taken so very long to get. It was tarnished, its silvery color dulled. The gems positioned artfully at the front of the circlet still gleamed in the dim, green-ish light. The crown clicked into place, and the man flew back down as the doors creaked open; he was too tired to remain airborne for long.

As he took his first step inside the structure he’d been searching for, his footstep echoing off the walls of the grand entry hall, something buried deep in the dark bowels of the castle opened its eyes.

And smiled.

Chapter One: Consuming Emergency Pancakes

Danny was sound asleep before he heard the news. Snoring peacefully, if rather ungracefully. He’d been slumbering for maybe an hour—ghost fighting and homework the previous night, or earlier that morning, rather, had deprived him of some much-needed rest.

When Jazz burst into his room, frantically yelling “Danny!”, he shot up and out of bed, landing in an unstable crouch. His eyes were half-lidded, his cheek flushed from where it had been on his pillow, his chin was shiny from a little trickle of drool.

“Where’s the ghost?” he murmured, rubbing his eyes. He seemed to register the sight of Jazz before him, though, standing with her hands disapprovingly on her hips, and he straightened up, more coherent. “Jazz? What’re you doing in my room at—“ He glanced over to his clock. 5:02 AM. “—five in the freaking morning!” He looked back at her, his gaze accusing.

“Danny, right now we have bigger problems than your inability to obtain the proper amount of sleep required for a boy your age,” Jazz chided.

“Oh great, a lecture on my sleeping habits,” he muttered, “just what I need.”

“Snap out of it! Your secret’s out,” she told him. His head snapped up, and his eyes went wide.

“What? What do you mean, it’s out? How did Mom and Dad react?” Danny began to gesticulate wildly, pacing back and forth. His eyes acquired a green-ish sheen with his growing agitation. “Oh, no, I have to go to school today, and that’ll be a nightmare! And the GIW could be on their way right now! I’ll be locked up, experimented on for the rest of my life! And what will they do to Sam and Tucker? Or you or our parents? If you try and defend me, they’ll probably hurt or kill you! I’ll just have run awa—“

“Danny!” Jazz exclaimed. She grasped his shoulders, and he stopped moving. “Listen to me. Calm down and let me finish. It’s not your whole secret that got out.” Danny raised his eyebrow.

“Well, which is it, Jazz? Does everyone know I’m half ghost or not?” he demanded. She let go of his shoulders.

“Here, it’s easier to show you.” She sat down on his bed, pulling out her phone. She felt something crinkle under her, and beneath the blanket was a sheet of rather wrinkled homework.

“You found it! I’ve been looking for that for days,” Danny said, snatching the paper from her hand. “I can still get partial credit if I turn it in today.”

“And you’ve been sleeping with it? When was the last time you cleaned your room?” Jazz asked, looking like she was debating staying where she was. “Or at least changed your sheets?”

“It’s fine, Jazz; I hardly even sleep here anyway.” Danny sighed. “So show me this all-important thing that may or may not jeopardize the secret I’ve been keeping for almost three years now.”

“You know, after this, we should really have an in-depth discussion of your sleeping schedule,” Jazz said. Danny waved his hand, sitting next to her, and she pulled up a video on her phone.

Uploaded 7 Hours Ago

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“GHOSTS EXIST – AND ONE IS HALF HUMAN” LEGIT CLIP FROM AMITY PARK NEWS 

By Fisharefriendsnotfood

“Welcome to Amity News at Nine, everyone. I’m your host, Lance Thunder, and this is my co-host, Tiffany. Just earlier today, a rather interesting, anonymous caller contacted us with information on the famous, or infamous, ghost boy Phantom, formerly called Inviso-bill. Now, I’ve heard the call already, so I’m very keen to know what you’ll think of it, Tiffany—and, of course, what our audience thinks of it.”

“I’m eager to hear it, Lance. Phantom, as I’m sure you all know, is a ghost who claims to protect the town. To many, his claims are credible, as evidenced by him fighting other ghosts that have directly attacked people.” Here, several blurry pictures are shown on screen of a black-and-white figure punching something green.

“However, his good intentions are in dispute, what with the thousands of dollars his fights deal in property damage. Other incidents—which include kidnapping Amity’s former mayor and robbing multiple locations—place his intentions and position as a superhero into question,” she continues. “People also speculate that the drastic, non-ghost-related crime drop may have something to do with Phantom, although no one has ever conclusively caught him apprehending a human causing trouble.”

“Regardless,” Lance begins, “this new information, if accurate, will definitely change how he is perceived—and how he is treated. Let’s play the clip.” The two go silent as a deep, distorted voice plays on the audio.

“Hello, people of Amity Park,” the voice says, “and make no mistake—while I am sending this to the News Station, this is meant for everyone.” The voice laughs, a deep chuckle that would send shivers up the spine of anyone unfortunate enough to have their ears subjected to it. “Your city’s protector, Phantom, has a filthy little secret I think everyone should know about.” A person could almost see its grin over the smug pause. “He’s not just a ghost, oh no. He’s half human, a hybrid straddling the line between both worlds. I have it on good authority that he has a human form, and is hiding among you right now.” Another pause. “But I have a purpose for telling this to you besides airing Phantom’s dirty laundry. I will reward anyone who reveals his secret identity with five hundred thousand dollars. I am not lying, nor am I kidding. And ghost boy—I know you’re listening—I wish you the best of luck in playing our game. May the best player win.” The audio stops. Tiffany looks stunned, and Lance clears his throat.  

“It is a bit much the first time around, I suppose,” he says.

“Is that even possible?” Tiffany asks. “I mean, a half ghost, half human hybrid?”

“I don’t know, but we have contacted the Fentons—Amity Park’s resident experts on ghosts—and, for all of you interested, we are scheduled for an interview during tomorrow’s show, so be sure to tune in. They will answer our most pressing questions: Is a hybrid of this nature possible? How could something like that happen? What would it mean, in a biological sense?”

“And the ethical concerns—I mean, how old is Phantom anyway? How old would he be as a human? The ghost fighting and the hunting…”

“Again, more excellent questions. I’m very interested to see how ghost hunters—mainly the Fentons and Red Huntress—react to this news. Will this deter them from hunting Phantom? Or will this strengthen their resolve to bring him down, make sure he doesn’t fight anymore?”

“It does make some sense, though, especially in relation to his motivation to protect the town. If he does live here, he would be as invested in protecting it as any of us,” Tiffany remarks. She thoughtfully rubs her chin with one finger. “And his Obsession—the thing that keeps a ghost here, as opposed to moving on—has also been a mystery. But as a half-human, would he even have an Obsession?”

“Find out that and more on tomorrow night’s show, folks! Now, on to our next topic: a recent cat-knapper in the Heights neighborhood has upset a number of the elderly there. They—“

The clip ends there, but the YouTuber that uploaded it has popped up at the end: “Greetings, everyone. Mary here. And no, I’m not even kidding; this was on the news last night. I just moved to Amity Park for my real life job, as I’m sure you all know, and this ghost hoax thing is something they take way too far. I saw three signs advertising ‘ghost tech’ on my way to my new apartment! I mean, what the actual fuck? I thought it was a tourist trap, but even when you’re not a tourist, they still pretend ghosts exist. Like, it was on the legit news station!  Anyway, just thought I’d share that with you guys. I probably won’t upload for a while, moving and all, but this was too good to pass up. Next week I’ll probably give you a house tour and a ghost hoax update. If you enjoyed the video, please like, comment, and subscribe!”

The comments reveal even more feelings:

Freeforever1010 commented: Ya that towns a total meme. No proof to be seen but they still pretend ghosts exist. Newsflash guys cameras exist, u can use them!!

~narutoisthebest~ commented: It’s so ridiculous! Who the hell devotes part of the news to ghosts?! I mean maybe they’re real but this is getting out of hand.

Jane Salberry commented: Need to get Ryan and Shane on this shit. Shane would probably say it’s phony straight to their faces XDXD I’m dying.

JustoneReadheadedboy commented: As someone that lives in Amity Park, welcome! You will definitely see a ghost soon, probably even the ghost boy himself!!! Who’s apparently half HUMAN! Trust me, you won’t think it’s a hoax for long. And as for proof… Well, no one can know for sure, but we think the GIW (the Ghostly Investigation Ward, they’re a government agency that shows up to fight the ghosts) takes down videos and stories and stuff about ghosts. I’ve uploaded videos of Phantom before, even called them other things, but they always get taken down. If the stories are too specific, they’ll vanish too. Super weird, right? Anyway, you’re such a popular youtuber, maybe if you film one they won’t be able to take it down in time. One could hope, right?  

Danny sat back and rubbed his face with his hands. “It’s too early for this,” he groaned. He almost wished he’d just been revealed outright. At least then there wouldn’t be this sense of suspense, this dread of knowing that his secrets were inevitably going to be ferreted out, thrown into the light for all to see. He’d be shown as he truly was—not some heroic, experienced ghost, but as a lowly, hated-on freak. Sure, in alternate realities other people had accepted him. Sure, they had come through and supported him. Sure, he’d managed to go on the run before. But this was different. This time, it was irreversible, and if he fled now, they’d all know it was him. This time, his parents’ hatred of ghosts had grown. This time, his peers’ distaste for him, regardless of how they’d listened to him during the pirate incident, might overpower their adoration of Danny Phantom.

“I know, little brother,” Jazz comforted, patting his back. “But at least no one knows it’s you, right?” She put her phone back in her pocket and stood up. “We’ll definitely need a game plan for this, but right now I’m thinking pancakes.”

“Pancakes,” Danny agreed miserably. “I’ll see if Sam and Tucker can come over before school; today’s not going to go well, I can already tell.” Jazz patted his arm once more before leaving his room, presumably to make pancakes. Danny flopped backwards onto his back, pulling out his phone. He went to the group chat he had with Sam and Tucker.

U guys heard yet? –DF

He’d probably have to wait for their responses; no one but Jazz could be up this early. He laid listlessly on his blankets, staring at the wall. What if they all found out, and everyone accepted him, but the GIW somehow captured him? Or threatened his family into his cooperation? They’d know where he lived—everyone would. Setting traps, getting to him, hurting him would be so much easier with his human side exposed as his weakness.

Finally, the enticing scent of pancakes forced him to grab some clothes. Thankfully, it was November, so he could wear his hoodie and long-sleeve shirt without any of the odd looks he’d garner if he wore them in summer. They weren’t because he was actually cold, of course. The scars along his arms would be a dead-give away to his secret, especially now, when people had reason to link suspicious scars to ghosts.

He had a rather nasty, rather memorable one on his right arm—one of the ghosts, he didn’t even remember who, maybe Skulker or Fright Knight, had gouged it with a blade. Only, it had almost sheared through bone, which would’ve left him limbless. Even with Tucker and Sam’s on-the-job trauma training, they wouldn’t have been able to reattach a limb. No one could do that. He’d been out of commission for a while, and people had thought maybe Phantom had lost the arm, even against the reassurances, or perhaps the admonishments, of the Fentons that ghosts could regrow those types of things. They had no real internal structure, after all, just bundles of nerves, veins, a brain-like structure, and a core.

Danny stepped into the shower, turning it all the way in the red. It practically had to be boiling for him to feel the warmth. His mom and dad complained he took up all the hot water—mostly his dad, actually. But he wanted a hot shower. He stepped in, letting the heat wash over him.

What could he do to stop people from discovering the identity of his human half? Not get captured, obviously. Beyond that? Wing it, maybe. He was better with coming up with plans on the fly than making actual plans, but part of it was also that one couldn’t really plan for things like these, or they’d go crazy from the what-ifs. Besides that, what kind of nut-job would’ve found out that he had a human half, but not who he was? And why couldn’t they have left well enough alone, or even just investigated themselves? Why had they sent basically everyone after him?

And it was good to know the rest of the world thought their small city was full of whackos, not in the midst of observing what basically amounted to a whole new type of sentient “life.” Okay, some of the ghosts had been humans before, but some had also been born in the ghost zone, through ectoplasm forming off an idea or religion, or through more… normal… means. Not that his parents knew that; they’d never bothered to ask. Or observe. Or go into the Ghost Zone to check. Although he preferred it when they stayed here.

He stepped out of the shower and went intangible to get the water off. Ah, the benefits of ghost powers. He changed into his clothes, ruffled his hair so that it looked stylishly messy, and wandered downstairs to check on the food. His phone vibrated just as he sat down.

Dude it’s everywhere. Be over in 10 –TF

Tucker knew him too well. It was lucky he didn’t live too far away, otherwise it would be a pain to meet up anywhere, because, although Tucker had his license, he did not have a car. Danny had neither a license nor a car, and Sam had both, fortunately, because she was loaded. It was a fancy car, too.

Danny stacked his plate high with pancakes, pleased that Jazz was nice enough to make them for him. Jazz had been vital in helping him with his diet; ghost fighting took major calories (which the others theorized had to do with his powers) and he had to eat two to three times more than a regular person. He definitely would’ve had a fainting spell or two if it hadn’t been for Jazz giving him lots and lots of food. Constantly. It was actually a tad overbearing, now that he thought about it.

“Tucker’ll be over soon,” Danny said, taking a large bite.

“Good. We need to sort this out before you go to school,” she said, flipping another pancake. “Sam?”

He shook his head. “Not awake.” Jazz hummed. “Where are Mom and Dad?” He checked his phone. “Aren’t they usually up by now?”

“Late night, I expect.” Jazz finished making the food and sat down to eat. “Talking about the possibility of the ghost boy actually being half-human.”

“How did they react?” He asked, taking a sip from his orange juice.

“Don’t know. They didn’t tell me; I found out this morning because I’d heard that Mary was moving to Amity Park, and I wanted to observe the change that took place in her overtime. I’m trying to determine the affect ghost attacks have on the psyche of an average citizen, especially long-term. I mean, I’m sure it causes some level of anxiety, but how does it affect their religious views, or their political ones? I definitely need a larger sample size, but not as many people move into Amity Park nowadays, even with the office buildings opening—“

“Jazz.” Danny raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting into Dad-levels of digression.” Jazz scowled lightly at him.

“I am not. Dad’s obsession with ghosts is far above my healthy interest in psychology—which I’m majoring in and have every right to be interested in. Thank you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be here all night,” Danny said drily. “No five stars from me, though, sorry—your Ted Talk needs a little more work.”

“Danny,” Jazz said, exasperated.

“What? You’ll never be able to teach properly if you go on tangents like that. Sometimes, you put the psycho in psychology.” Jazz shook her head.

“Anyway, no one below the age of twenty even watches the news on a regular basis anymore, so I saw it there, and, well, you needed to know ASAP.”

There was a knock at the door, and Tucker poked his head in (Danny had secretly made both him and Sam a copy of the house key. Just in case). Tucker saw the two of them, sitting at the table in their “strategy positions” as he called them (whenever they planned anything, there were specific, designated spots for them. It was an unspoken rule, but it was always followed). “Emergency pancakes?” he asked. Jazz always seemed to try to soften the blow of bad news with food, not that he was complaining. He sat down to the right of Danny.

“This definitely counts as an emergency,” Danny sighed, propping his head up with his fist. “We need like a million pancakes.”

Danny’s phone vibrated:

Omw – SM

“She’s coming,” Danny said. Tucker began to fill his plate with pancakes, mindful of the ones with the weird tint—those were the vegan ones Sam liked.  It wasn’t out of respect for her lifestyle choices, though. As if he’d willingly eat anything not made with something from an animal.

“So, this small, Phantom-is-half-human issue we’re having. Any ideas?” He asked, poised to record any and all serious suggestions onto a list.

“Keep it down, would you, Tucker? Mom or Dad could come down any time!” Danny chided.

“Dude, chill; we’d hear them long before they’d hear us. You need to relax—maybe a spa day? I’m told they’re great for removing those stress wrinkles,” Tucker said.

“In all seriousness,” Jazz cut in before Danny could say something else, “you should probably stay under the radar, Danny. Let us handle the low-level ghosts.” She could see the immediate disagreement in the way he clenched his fork and the tightening of his mouth.

“What if you got hurt? You guys are good, really good, but not survive-getting tossed-through-walls good,” Danny said. As a half-ghost, he had an advantage over his fully human companions when battling ghosts. He could match his enemies—beat them at their own game. Jazz, Tucker, or Sam, though? They wouldn’t survive if they had to go just hand-to-hand with one of them. And weapons could be knocked out of their hands, could malfunction, could run out of ammunition. Danny? Danny couldn’t.

“We won’t get tossed through any walls, then,” Tucker said. “I don’t think you’re giving us a fair chance, here.”

“It’s only logical,” Jazz tried. “We won’t take on the hard ones without you—we can’t, anyway. But it’s too dangerous for you to be out in you ghost form more than you need to be. Who knows what could happen?”

“Being captured, vivisection, dissection, experimentation, torture, death,” Tucker listed out on each of his fingers. “Really anything.”

“Yes, thank you, I know.” Danny drained the rest of his juice. “I know, okay?” He put the empty glass down on the table harder than necessary.

“Okay, okay. Us poor little baby humans don’t fight the big bad ghosties on our own,” Jazz said sarcastically. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

Just then, a second knock came at the door, and in walked Sam. She looked slightly disheveled—definitely hadn’t had time to properly do her make-up, and her clothing was wrinkled, like it hadn’t been washed, or there hadn’t been time to iron it.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted, slipping into the last seat. “How are you taking it, Danny?”

“Just peachy,” Danny grumbled, putting his head face down in his arms. “What I don’t get,” he said, voice slightly muffled, “is why someone would want this. And offer such a stinking big reward, too.”

“Who knows? We don’t have time to investigate it now; we’ll start doing that after school. Now we need to contain the issue and make sure your secret doesn’t get out. A ghost attack could come any minute, and we have to be prepared.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to do, but Mr. Hero over there doesn’t think we can handle the low-level ghosts,” Tucker said.

“Well, Mr. Hero is going to have to get over it. I’m sorry he has no choice but to rely on us mere mortals in these times of crisis, but if he doesn’t want to end up as a lab rat for some wacko, he’ll have to step it up.” Sam grabbed a couple of the vegan pancakes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Danny raised his head. “Look, you have to tell me who you’re fighting. And where. And call me if you need any help. I’ll take care of the level five and up ones, okay?”

“Yes, Mother,” Sam agreed.

“Sounds like the good basis for a plan,” Jazz conceded.

“Hey, Tucker, pass the fake butter, would you?” Sam asked.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: One Scary Assembly

"Hello, everyone," Lancer greeted as the tardy bell rang through the school. None other than Mr. Lancer taught English, Danny's first period of the day. It seemed that, no matter how far Danny got in his high school career, he couldn't escape the bald man. "I would like to remind everyone that, despite the interest in last night's news, it is not an excuse to disregard your education." With his reminder of the news, people began to excitedly whisper to each other.

"Oh my God, whoever Phantom is, I'm sure he's as much of a hottie as he is as a ghost! I mean, have you seen the ghost boy's muscles?"

"Do you think he looks the same as a human? I mean, I feel like maybe we would've noticed if he did…"

"It has to be someone popular—no way any loser could be Phantom; he's so cool! But why would any A-lister hide this from me? I totally could've helped him!"

"Realistically, it has to be someone no one would expect. He'd have to be leaving class constantly, show up with injuries. Unless they don't transfer… And things like that don't go unnoticed. Maybe he's not even our age."

Danny sunk lower in his seat, staring determinedly at the desk in front of him, a blush creeping up his neck. The attention might've been nice, if it hadn't come at such a high price. And it wasn't as if anyone knew they were talking about him, though that last comment, coming from Mikey, was way too close to home. He'd have to watch out for him and his group of friends—they were smarter than he'd ever given them credit for.

Tucker, sitting behind him, leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Just think, dude; Dash would have a heart attack if he knew he'd ever called you cool. That, or he'd start kissing the very ground you walk upon. 'Mr. Phantom, please forgive all those bruises I gave you! Oh, the humiliation of hurting my hero!'" Danny shook his head, straightening up. He tilted his chair back.

"If that happens, I'll have a heart attack."

"Great Expectations, people! Calm down!" The class of juniors gradually stopped talking and gave Lancer their attention. "Thank you. Now, as I was saying, though education must move forward, there has been an assembly scheduled to discuss recent events. Yes, it is mandatory; no, you should not skip it to get food from Taco Bell, and we will be taking attendance. The GIW will be there—they have something they wish to share with the entirety of the school, which I'm certain will be very important. While I'm glad that you kids have finally decided to take an interest in current affairs, even if it is about a celebrity, today is still a normal school day."

With that, Lancer began to launch into an explanation of the next book they'd be reading: 1984. Danny couldn't focus on that, however. The GIW? What were they doing at the school? They usually only showed up if a ghost did, rather late and with their poor aim. Probably they had some sort of plan to detect his ghost half—probably something painful and invasive. He tried not to shudder at all the possibilities.

How would he avoid it then, without making it look like he was avoiding it? Running now would only make him look suspicious. Running later would also make him look suspicious. Suspicion was something he couldn't afford, because it was the thing that motivated people to dig, and if people dug into his closet for secrets, they were definitely going to find some skeletons—or ghosts, rather.

So, he'd have to attend. But he couldn't be found out, at any cost. If need be, maybe he could stage some kind of sickness. Vomiting, fainting, or having a fever were a few tickets out of there, and who would think it odd if some kid got sick and left? Fainting was rather easy to fake, too.

"—Fenton? Mr. Fenton, I asked you a question." Lancer was watching him sternly. Danny swallowed; he'd been tried to avoid suspicion, not be seen as distracted. "I would appreciated it if you'd tune in." Dash snickered somewhere to Danny's right.

"What was the question, again?" Danny asked, his cheeks reddening.

"I was asking, Mr. Fenton, what your group discovered about time period 1984 was written in, unless you didn't do the background research?" Lancer said.

"Um, well…"

"Come speak to me after school, Mr. Fenton," Lancer instructed, and he returned to calling on a member of the various groups to see what they'd found about each of their assigned topics. Danny propped his head up on his fist and sighed.

This was already shaping up to be a worse day than before, and that was saying something.

"Welcome, students. My name is Victor Smith. Firstly, on behalf of the agents and myself, I would like to thank you all for attending this assembly; we'll be providing important information about ghost precautions in general and Phantom specifically." The man speaking wasn't someone Danny had seen before. He wasn't a GIW agent, he suspected. Probably higher-ranking, or maybe he was the spokesman for the group when they wanted to smooth things over with the public. Regardless, Danny didn't like him: he had a smarmy, smug air; pale gray eyes that were devoid of emotion; and hair that looked like plastic, it was so perfectly arranged on his head.

He spoke in the gym, standing behind a podium. Lined up on either side of him were GIW agents, though Danny didn't know why—intimidation, maybe? Scare the ghost boy out of hiding? Well, it was working; Danny was scared out of his mind. He kept glancing around, waiting for someone to yell, "It's him! He's the ghost boy!" He was paler than normal, and he shivered a little as he watched the agents. They looked straight ahead, and he could see the outline of their ecto-weapons in pristine suits. Weapons that could be trained on him in an instant.

He felt a chilly sweat break out all along his body.

"You okay, dude? You look sick," Tucker whispered.

"Of course he's not okay! He's terrified. And for good reason," Sam said, just as quietly. They fell into silence as Smith continued.

"As I'm sure you all know, last night on the news, someone anonymous declared that the ghost known as Phantom is half-human. Currently, our experts are looking into this possibility as we speak. And this can only mean terrible things. It would mean Phantom has paraded among us, pretending to be human when he is really a ghost! He has laughed when hunters have been unable to detect him, vanishing without a trace, and now we know why. All he has to do is change into a human, and no one can find him. It's the perfect hiding spot!

"By our estimates, Phantom 'died' when he was still in high school, and we have reason to believe, due to information gathered by our organization's scientists, that his age does not change while he is disguised as a human."

Sam made a small noise of disgust, clenching her fists. "They keep saying half-human like you're pretending to be, not that you actually are," she whispered, her purple eyes narrowing. "They're dehumanizing you even more than they usually do."

"Thanks, Sam, I hadn't noticed," Danny hissed back, watching Smith warily.

"We will have to go through records to check on kids your age, of course; not every single child goes to public school. However, this is the largest high school within Amity Park, and, due to the numerous Phantom sightings here compared to other locations, this is the most likely candidate for where he goes to school. To find him here, though, we will need the students' cooperation." Smith smiled here, like this is where you all come in. The students, who had been dead quiet up until now, began to stand and yell at the GIW men.

"Phantom's a hero! You have no right to treat him as if he's some criminal!"

"We won't help you catch him!"

"We'll protect Phantom, just like he's protected us!"

"Yeah!"

Danny, still rather shaky, felt better with his classmates' admissions. Perhaps, if he were discovered, they wouldn't react as negatively as he suspected. Perhaps, as in the alternate reality, they would help him. But then he'd have to worry about them getting hurt; the GIW had never given care toward the humans they claimed to be protecting. He looked around to all the angry faces, and one stood out to him: Valerie, who wasn't yelling as the others were. She seemed tired, with heavy bags under her eyes, and defeated, her shoulders slouching uncharacteristically.

"Students!" Principal Ishiyama stood up to the podium, Smith stepping back in surprise. He'd clearly never gone up against angry teenagers before. "You will be quiet and sit down immediately. I cannot believe that students from Casper would act in such a disruptive manner!" They settled down, cowed by her tone, but there were still murmurs, whispers of dissent.

"Now, I will tell you why Phantom must be found, regardless of the monetary involvement or the fame. It is a matter of safety. He is not being watched or regulated, and he could severely hurt any of you with his abilities. We hardly know anything about this teenager—and what we do know is that he is violent, regardless of how he uses that violence. Should any of you make him mad, or irritate him, how do we know he will not react violently toward you? He could be using his powers for any number of unethical things, and none of you would help us find him?" Her words cut powerfully through the gym. The angry students seemed to stop, to think, to tilt their heads and realize that maybe she had a point.

"If he is as human as this unknown caller claims, he will not be harmed, but we must know, for the safety of the school. The GIW have generously offered measures to prevent harm from coming to you all, so you will cooperate and you will do everything they say to the best of your ability. Do I make myself clear?"

It would be more riveting, Danny thought, had her logic not had a glaring flaw in it: if he were going to abuse his powers, he would've done it by now. If he were going to lash out at Dash, mow him down with ecto-blasts, he would've done it by now. If he were going to use his powers to cheat, he would have straight As, not the C-average he had managed to scrounge up. Aside from the evil-self incident (he shuddered, trying to block out the images associated with that particular memory), he hadn't cheated. And aside from a few harmless pranks, he hadn't hurt Dash, either. If anything, Dash had hurt him, although his star quarterback status had kept him from being punished.

"Thank you, Ms. Ishiyama." Smith cleared his throat and stepped forward as Ishiyama walked down to stand with the other faculty. "As she said, this is a matter of student safety, and we would like to implement a plan that will hopefully catch the ghost boy in the act. Agents will be posted at every exit, equipped with ecto-detection devices. Anyone coming in or going out will be scanned. Though we suspect ghost shields don't affect half-ghosts as they would full-ghosts, we are funding a project to put a permanent ghost shield around the school. This will have the side benefit of deterring other ghosts from attacking, too.

"Friday, morning classes will be canceled, and every student will be required to go to the cafeteria, where we will be drawing your blood. We will need a permission slip for those under sixteen. Please note that if you decline, or do not show up, you will be suspected of being, and/or colluding with, the ghost child. Anyone we find suspicious will be interviewed extensively.

"You students are also our eyes and ears. If you see anything suspicious, we ask that you find one of the agents, or contact us at our number. We hope that these are acceptable measures, and that we can work together to find Phantom. Your teachers will be providing the permission slips. Thank you for your time, and I wish you all a wonderful day." Smith straightened his tie haughtily and left the podium, still grinning smugly.

Danny rubbed his temples. This was bad; he could get through ghost shields, but ecto-detectors would definitely out him. It was the reason all of his parents' inventions picked up on him even in human form. And if they got his blood… Danny was sixteen, so he could outright reject it, but they would want to know why. An interview with any GIW agent, even if they believed him to be fully human, would be hell. Of that, he had no doubt.

This was a mess. How was he even going to leave the school without everyone finding out? He'd be captured, cut apart piece by piece, examined, a wriggly test subject under the microscope. He could feel his heart be faster—his chest was exploding, and he panted. Air. He couldn't get enough of it, taking deep, gasping breaths. Others around him began to get up, ready to head back to class. His stomach churned at the thought of being here, alone, with the agents. The agents who had the cold, cold eyes; they knew, didn't they? They were waiting for everyone to go, so they could take him. He had wanted to pretend to be sick to get out of the assembly earlier, but now he really felt sick.

He wanted out. Before he could do something rash, like turn invisible or intangible or both, Sam took one arm and Tucker took the other.

"Relax, we'll figure it out. It's not like they're searching our lockers or anything. It could be worse," Tucker comforted. Danny nodded minutely, still feeling overwhelmed.

"Breathe, Danny," Sam whispered. "In. Out. With me." She inhaled deeply and Danny tried to mimic her movements. How did the air come so easily for her? For him, it was a struggle to move his diaphragm each time. A few more breaths, and he finally felt like he was getting the oxygen he needed.

"That's it," Sam encouraged. "Let's get him to the bathroom to calm down, Tucker. He can't go to class like this." They helped him up and led him through the horde of students. They all seemed so close, pressing in on Danny. They'd touch him and know—he was too cold, he'd be exposed. And then be captured and strapped to a table, and he'd fully die then, and he'd never see anyone else again, and what about his family and Sam and Tucker?

But Sam gently squeezed his arm, still leading his breathing in and out, in and out. They took him all the way to a generally unused bathroom in the science hall, despite their next class being math (well, Danny and Tucker's; Sam was in poetry). It was unused because the mirror was broken—hardly a shard left to actually show a reflection—and most of the toilet seats were cracked. How it had happened, no one knew, but the most popular theory was ghosts. Tucker and Sam steered him inside and eased him down onto the ground.

"Here." Tucker handed him a bottle of water he'd gotten from his bag. Danny accepted it with trembling hands. He took little sips, drawing his knees in toward his chest. The tardy bell rang through the school. School. He was here, not about to be captured or killed or tortured. No one was coming to get him. He was safe, with his two best friends. Gradually, his stomach settled and his breathing evened out. He felt calmer, and the small shakes stopped, too. Sam patted his arm.

"Better?" she asked, concern evident in the tilt of her head, the angle of her lips. Danny nodded.

"Thanks guys. It's been a while since I've had one that bad, huh?" He closed the bottle, setting it aside, and rested his head against the wall behind him.

"Since the incident with Vlad," Tucker agreed. "You know, after he—" Sam gave him a vicious glare; reminding him of something that had already induced a panic attack was not the smartest idea. "What I mean to say is, yeah, Danny, this is a new record for you."

"Sorry I made you guys late," Danny muttered, not even seeming to notice their mini-argument.

"Don't worry about it, dude," Tucker said.

"It's not your fault," Sam agreed. "Do you want to talk about it?" Danny laughed, shaking his head.

"We'll have to, won't we? I mean, ecto-detection? I'm a dead man walking," he said.

"Pun intended," Tucker muttered.

"We'll distract them, sneak you out," Sam suggested. "Maybe Tucker can fool their scanners."

"I'd need to get my hands on one first," Tucker said. "If we could get one, like, now, for example… I might have enough time to figure out how to hack it by the end of the day."

"I could also just use my ghost powers to sneak past them," Danny said. "I mean, it's probably going to take a week at least for them to get the shield up; the campus isn't exactly small."

"And risk being detected? I don't think so," Sam said. "As much as I don't think you should let them get to you, we have to be cautious. And that means not using ghost powers unless absolutely necessary." Danny glared at the tile in front of him with an intensity his friends almost expected lasers to shoot from his eyes.

"Sorry, dude, she's right." Tucker put the bottle back in his bag. "We should also get to class before someone gets suspicious."

"But we still haven't—" Danny protested.

"We can talk about it at lunch and get a scanner for Tucker," Sam interrupted firmly. She got up and brushed off her leggings. Danny reluctantly stood afterward, followed by Tucker. She looked at Danny. "Don't be so pessimistic, Danny; everything will be okay. Besides, that's my job."

Then, she left, heading to poetry, while Tucker joined Danny in going toward math. Math—at least the answers in that class were clear. If only everything else could be.

They met up for lunch outside, beneath their tree. Thankfully, because this part of the school was walled off, GIW agents had not been there to scan them. Instead, they were positioned on exits from the wall, and they eyed the trio warily. "So," Danny whispered, glancing at the agents covertly, "you guys distract, and I'll take it off of him?"

Sam grimaced. She'd been thinking about it, and she wasn't sure there was a better way than that. Hopefully, the small risk would be worth it, so he wouldn't have to take bigger risks later on. "You'll need to be fast," she pointed out. "If they figure out you're using your ghost powers…"

"I am fast," Danny assured.

"Which one?" Tucker asked, stuffing his mouth with a turkey on rye. Sam pretended to gag.

"If you can't respect animals enough not to eat them, could you at least have better manners when you do it?" She crossed her arms.

"The one I've been glancing at," Danny responded. He began to eat his own lunch—bad cafeteria food, supplemented with various snacks. He ignored the two with the ease born of practice.

"Sorry, Sam, it's hard to eat healthy and look good while doing it. Not even the Tuck can manage it." The boy made a show of loudly chomping on his next bite.

"That is not healthy," Sam protested. "And stop calling yourself 'the Tuck.'"

"I will when you stop eating literal grass." Danny glanced at Sam's meal, and did have to admit that it looked exactly like grass; only it wasn't in the ground. Sometimes, she didn't just seem vegan. She literally ate like an herbivore, as if she were secretly a cow in disguise. But they had bigger problems than Sam's possibly lawn-related meal, however.

"Well, at least I—" Sam began.

"Can we focus on the problem at hand?" he asked, glaring at the two slightly. They turned to him. "Please?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker muttered, polishing off his last bite.

"I think I know how we should do it," Danny continued. He scribbled lines into the dirt. "See, if you two…"

Approximately twenty minutes later, Danny re-entered the school, slipping into a nearby closet. Now, he just had to wait for the signal. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. Just a little thievery. You could do this in your sleep, he told himself. No problem, no issue. He had fought these guys before, or at least avoided their bullets. Why was he so shaken up now?

But he knew the answer: they were looking for him, now, and he couldn't disappear into his human form and make it all go away. He would be under near-constant scrutiny. There would be no escape, no vanishing to his safe place. There was no safe place. His parents were going in for an interview tonight, the GIW were already here, he didn't even know the person that had revealed his half-human status, and who knew what else might happen as a result of the bounty on his secret identity? Or the revelation that it existed at all?

He felt cornered, hunted. Was this how a wild animal felt, caught in some man-made trap, waiting for death? Was this how criminals felt on death row, this helpless sense of the inevitable, this dread of what was to come? Was this how a fish felt, a hook buried deep in its flesh, and no matter how hard they writhed, they couldn't escape? Danny was almost thankful when the ding came from his phone. Now – TF.

Show time.

Still in his human form, which never seemed to emit as much of an ectoplasmic signature as his ghost form (who would've thought?), he turned intangible and invisible. He flew through the door, hovering slightly above the ground, and went back out to see how successful Sam and Tucker really had been. The two were being rather distracting, he noticed immediately. In fact, the agent was very preoccupied because, well, the two were fighting.

And they weren't obviously playing at it, either. They were full-blown wrestling each other on the ground. Even though they'd discussed it, Danny hadn't thought they'd be able to pull it off so well, but had he not known them so well, he wouldn't have known it was an act at all.

"Screw you!" Sam growled, kneeing Tucker in the stomach. From the brief wince on Tucker's face, she hadn't held back as much as he'd maybe wanted.

"Dammit, vegan, get off of me!" Tucker shouted back, pushing her hard. "What are you doing just standing there?" He looked straight at the agent, who seemed rather lost, helplessly holding up his hands but unsure of what to do with them. "Help me!"

Seemingly galvanized by Tucker's plea, the agent went in to grab Sam's shoulders. This was Danny's time to shine. He swiftly moved behind the agent, examining his belt—walkie-talkie, ecto-gun, containment device, and… there. Without a word, Danny made his hand tangible, but still invisible, and took the scanner off of him.

"Break it up!" the agent commanded, hauling Sam, who was spitting and screaming, up to her feet. "That's enough!"

Sam suddenly stopped struggling as the agent's walkie-talkie buzzed: "Agent H, we've detected an ectoplasmic entity, believed to be Phantom, on the premises near your location. Be on alert—we're coming." The agent unhooked the walkie-talkie and brought it up to his mouth.

"Understood. Over and out." Still holding Sam's elbow in one hand, he shook her. "I have business, but I will letting someone know of your fight so you're punished appropriately." He began groping along his belt for the scanner.

Time for me to go, Danny thought. He felt a guilty, though—Sam and Tucker would be getting in trouble, all to help him. But there was no time for that, now. He snuck back to the closet as quickly as he could, stuffed the scanner into his backpack, and exited just before a troop of GIW agents rounded the corner into the hall.

"He was just here!" One of them exclaimed as they looked in dismay at their screen. "He must've changed forms."

Guess again, Danny thought.

"The damn ghost boy stole my scanner!" Agent H cried, Danny hearing him even as he walked down the hall. "Stole it right off my belt!"

Danny smirked. Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Lancer and the Trio

Lancer was taken aback when he entered the office. For one thing, the GIW agent—H, he believed—had asked him, rather curtly, to come; there'd been two students fighting. This had been amidst mutterings of "damn ghost boy" and "I'll get him one day."

When he'd entered, he expected perhaps two of the "bad boys" had gotten into a fight—sometimes they were prone to doing so. Or maybe one of the A-listers had been caught bullying, and the agent didn't know yet that the school refused to punish football players. Instead, he saw Tucker Foley, slumped dejectedly in his seat, and Sam Manson, arms crossed and chin up. It only would've been more shocking had it been Danny and Tucker—or Danny and Sam. The three were normally as thick as thieves.

"I can take from here," Lancer told the agent, who nodded distractedly.

"Thank you. The ghost boy stole my scanner off of me—he was here!—and I need to get a replacement, and then maybe if we go back to where I was, we could find some clues…" The man, clearly not fully present, continued to murmur plans under his breath as he exited the room. But no wonder, Lancer thought, if Phantom himself had been here. And stolen something, no less. A scanner, to be specific, and the teacher couldn't help but question why the ghost would want one unless, of course, the claim of the caller was true.

Phantom was half-human.

Only, Lancer didn't know if it was scientifically possible. And if it was, what then? Stop the teenager, probably one of the very children he taught, from hunting the ghosts? He was good at it, though; that was the problem. The teacher had no doubt that if Phantom had not been there, many people would've died, and the city itself would've been destroyed. Possibly other places as well, considering no one would've been able to contain the ghosts. The Fentons tried, and the Red Huntress was good, but neither could compare.

Was it right, though, to rely on a child for protection? The thought of one of his students being the ghost boy made him ill. How would it have even happened? He supposed he'd have to watch the interview scheduled for that night to find out. Right now, however, there were other matters to attend to than moral quandaries and scientific queries.

"Great Gatsby, you two, what on earth happened?" Lancer demanded, settling behind the desk. He hoped it wouldn't be long; he still had two classes to teach, and this was eating away at his time. The teenagers glanced to each other, seemed to exchange something within it. Sam spoke up first.

"Tucker was devouring some poor, innocent animal's flesh, and I told him what I thought about it. I guess he didn't appreciate my opinion," she said, uncrossing and re-crossing her arms. Lancer saw that a bruise was beginning to form on her face, and Tucker's eye looked swollen.

"Darn right I didn't. And when I told her I disagreed, she hit me, and, well, it hurt, so I hit her back," Tucker admitted, shrugging, like yeah we fought. What about it?

It was an old argument, rather infamous actually. Lancer still recalled the protests, and perhaps, even if the two had seemed to be friends after, there had been an undercurrent of tension between them. Only, they didn't seem to act the way students in fights acted. They weren't trying to hide it, blaming the start on the other person. They hadn't so much as exchanged a hostile look, and there had been no apologies that sometimes came after this type of thing. And while they were both passionate about their given diets, a physical altercation seemed out of character. While Manson projected an aggressive air, she generally didn't enter serious fights, and Foley never defended himself against A-listers, so why begin with his best friend? Something wasn't adding up.

They'd exchanged a glance, and neither seemed flustered. As if they'd wanted it to happen. They planned this, Lancer realized. There had been a hidden meaning behind the fight, whatever that may be. Had they wanted to get into his office? Did it have something to do with Agent H?

"Would you like to tell me what's really going on?" Lancer asked coolly, clasping his hands in front of him. "Because I'm not interested in wasting my time with lies."

There. That had gotten a reaction; Tucker nearly fell out of his chair, and Sam's mouth dropped open. He'd shot and he'd scored, and now it was time to go for the win. But neither spoke a word, just shooting each other another look in a language Lancer didn't understand.

"We told the truth," Sam defended, having recovered herself. She folded her arms. "You can ask Danny or that agent guy. We were fighting about food all lunch period, and I just snapped. Tucker snapped back. The next thing I knew, I was being pulled off of him."

"Exactly," Tucker agreed eagerly, leaning forward. "We just went crazy. It was the last straw, you know? A guy's steak can only be insulted so many times."

Lancer's mouth thinned. "I have classes to get to," he said. "And don't have time to interrogate you further." He sighed, pulling out a few pieces of paper. The teenagers—well, mostly Foley—shifted nervously. "Fortunately, this was your first offense, and you will not be punished as severely as you will be if this happens again. However, I think stewing on the thought of in-school suspension—" Here, even Manson looked a little putout—"may help to loosen your tongues. You will go to class, but you will both be present in the detention room after school, or so help me…" He trailed off menacingly. "Do you both understand?"

The two nodded their heads somewhat timidly.

"Be off with you, then," he said. They'd definitely get detention for the week, and hopefully the threat of in-school suspension would force them to tell him the truth. He had a feeling it was something big, something he wouldn't suspect. They'd been so invested that they'd given each other bruises. The two got up and left. Lancer gathered his papers, preparing for his next class—which only had fifteen minutes, at this point. He sighed as he went out, locking the door behind him.

What a day.

Danny met his two friends in the unused science-hall bathroom. He was leaning against the wall when they entered, looking both slightly peeved but also relieved.

"What's the damage?" he asked. Tucker slung his backpack down onto the tile, and Sam boosted herself up onto the sink counter.

"Lancer didn't believe our food-fighting excuse," Tucker said, sighing. "My parents are going to kill me when they hear about this. He threatened in-school suspension, Danny. Suspension. I'll be grounded for the rest of my life!" He threw his hands up.

"Yeah, my parents will probably have an aneurism," Sam agreed, smirking. She leaned back. "I can't wait."

"I'm sorry, guys," Danny said, sinking down a little. It was his fault they were in trouble, his fault they couldn't live normal lives. On days like these, where he was so stressed he couldn't think, and his friends were sacrificing themselves for his safety—their reputations, their ambitions, their time—he almost wished he'd actually died in the accident.

"It's not your fault," Sam assured. "The GIW are scumbags of the highest order. They don't even care that you're human—it's just another weakness they can exploit to capture you."

"Did you at least get the scanner? I heard Agent H muttering about it," Tucker said, seemingly resigned to his fate of parental punishment.

"Yeah. He was pissed." Sam looked delighted at the thought.

"I got it," Danny said, pulling it out of his bag. It was rather innocuous, for something so potentially damaging. It was small, compact-looking, shaped similarly to a Taser.

"Lemme see." Tucker snatched the device from Danny's hands and began poking at it. He fiddled with the back until it popped off, and he started pushing buttons. The other two waited in the silence of his concentration, glancing at each other. Maybe five minutes passed, and Sam could no longer take the suspense.

"Well? Can you do it?" she demanded. Tucker looked up and glared at her.

"The Tuck," he emphasized carefully, "cannot be rushed. The mastery of this petty machine will require my absolute attention." Then, he put his head back down to fiddle with it. Danny shook his head.

He looked at his two friends critically and frowned at what he saw. They really had sold the fight—no one but Lancer would even suspect it of being fake—and the bruises and swelling didn't look good. He thought briefly about making ghost ice for it, but that was too risky. Besides, he had something better. He rummaged around in his bag, and held up the bag of ibuprofen triumphantly.

"Here," he said, giving a couple to Sam. "They'll help." She smiled gratefully at him, swallowing them dry.

"Thanks," she said. Danny also handed a couple to Tucker, who took them without hardly looking.

"You know," Danny began, "I really want to know who caused this mess. So I can find them and punch them. Right in the face." He slid to the floor, his mouth a thin line. Sam just watched him, but her agreement was clear in her eyes. "How ticked do you think will Lancer be when he finds out you two skipped class?"

"Ticked enough to give us more detention. He wants us to see him after school, says that if we don't tell him what really happened he'll give us in-school suspension." Sam shrugged, tossing her head in a who cares anyway manner. "And it's not like we can tell, so…"

Not that them skipping class, or showing up late, was anything new for the three of them. In fact, many of the teachers, who had been keen on punishing them before, had seemed to have given up on the prospect. There were only so many times they could threaten detention and give it out before they got tired. Even suspension hadn't deterred them from being tardy. Danny was definitely the most late of all of them, and though he'd heard some teachers mutter about expulsion, he knew that wasn't really an option. Learning duplication had helped, but it weakened him too severely for him to do it all the time. He'd been taken to the principal, the guidance counselor, and had had countless parent-teacher meetings. Nothing had helped, of course, and so everyone had given up.

It kind of hurt, that everyone saw him as such a bad kid, but it was also a good thing. He was invisible, too stupid to be a suspect, too loser-ish, too everything. He needed the veil over everyone's eyes to remain intact if he was to avoid exposure, especially now.

"Do you think it's Vlad?" Sam asked abruptly. It took Danny a moment to figure out what she meant before he shook his head.

"No. It just isn't Vlad's style to rat me out like this. I mean, putting a bounty on me? Sure. But outing me as half-ghost? If I'm revealed, there'd be no reason for me to keep quiet about him, either, and he's done so many bad things with his powers he'd be locked up in seconds. Not that I'm much better, I guess."

"Danny, don't let the media get to you. They're all sensational gossips that don't care about anything but money, and ragging on you gets them money. You know the robberies and 'kidnapping' the mayor weren't your fault. Okay?"

Danny wanted to bring up the property damage, the thousands that had been put in for infrastructure repairs. He'd gotten better, but he was far from the perfect superhero, and his cocky persona was just that—a persona. Sure, he didn't think he deserved to be wiped off the face of the earth, but some of the complaints against him were valid.

"Besides, if you do the math, people would've died by now if you didn't do what you do. That's more important than whatever the bad things people say you've done," Sam stated firmly. Danny nodded, not really wanting to argue. When Sam got worked up about injustice—against him, against animals, against other people—she became rather passionate. It wasn't a bad thing; he admired it about her, her ability to believe in what she thought was right without a second's hesitation. But disagreeing with her assessment of himself was a topic he didn't want to broach.

Suddenly, Tucker whirled around and pointed the scanner at him. Danny cringed, waiting for it to start beeping or flashing. A single light went green on the top of it, and Tucker pumped his fist.

"Yes! I know how it works, guys. I can get you out of here no problem." Tucker's enthusiasm, despite everything looming over Danny, from the blood test on Friday, to the person that had done this, to the interview with his parents, was infectious. He smiled, even as Tucker began explaining how he'd done it. Not that his two friends would understand; they weren't exactly tech experts like he was.

Danny cringed as he heard the yelling from within the room generally used for detentions. He hadn't forgotten that Lancer wanted to speak with him, but Sam and Tucker had elected to go first, and now he was stuck waiting outside, listening to the teacher razz his friends about something that was his fault.

"Treasure Island! You not only got into a fight, but instead of going straight to class, I hear you decided to skip! Were your classes boring you? Are you above the rules? Do you not find your education important?" The man's voice rattled Danny's skull, even out here, and he wondered how his two friends were faring under the verbal assault.

"No, Mr. Lancer! I mean, yes, Mr. Lancer! I mean, education is very important, Mr. Lancer," Tucker squeaked. Not well, then. Sam didn't say anything.

"You will both have detention, every Tuesday and Thursday of this month, and after school every day this week. You have been irresponsible, have proven yourselves disrespectful in the face of authority, and you still haven't given me the real reason you two were fighting!" Wow, harsh, Danny thought. God, could Lancer be any more uptight?

"With all due respect, sir," Sam hurled the words at him as a stinging insult, "we've told you the truth. It's not our fault if you don't believe us." Danny could see her now: hands on hips, mouth slashed in an angry line, eyebrows drawn.

"You haven't," Lancer insisted. "And while we don't tolerate any sort of violence at this school—" Danny snorted. Apparently, the bullying Dash did didn't count as "violence"—"you will only be receiving the detentions. However, any more infractions, and you will receive more. You will both stay here while I speak with Mr. Fenton outside. And rest assured, you will not be leaving."

The man stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Danny watched the whole affair awkwardly, fingering the strap of his bag.

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer acknowledged in a slightly calmer tone, "I should give you detention for skipping, as well, but we both know that won't do anything. I can only hope your friends are not as stubborn as you are." Danny scratched the back of his neck, glancing around.

"Heh, heh, yeah. Sorry about that." Lancer looked him straight in the eye and raised a brow, a humorless smile twitching at his lips.

"Sorry you may be, but it doesn't seem to change your behavior," he observed.

"Some things are more important than school," Danny muttered, letting his gaze drift downward.

"But your future, Daniel. You were so bright. I remember you wanted to be one of the best in class, so you could get into a space program and become an astronaut. You received all A's on your first report card—and you'd gotten good grades all up until the middle of your freshman year. Where did that attitude go? Why are you constantly slacking?"

You know, Danny thought, with all the damn slackers at this school, why did Lancer choose me to be his little pet project? Lancer had asked this before, had tried to ply the answers out of him a number of ways—guilt tripping, pleading, bribing. Maybe because he knew Danny had potential to be a good student, and he felt like he was wasting that potential.

The astronaut dream was just that now—a dream. He had let it slip, smoky and distant, through his relenting fingers. Ghosts were his life; he was one. And while the stars and their wonders, the dark abyss of the great beyond, the possibility of life on other planets, still called to him, his responsibility here spoke louder.

"Why can't you at least tell someone, Daniel?" Lancer asked. He only ever really called Danny "Daniel" in times of great seriousness. "You could be top of your class, but you aren't. You're floating by, and someday you'll regret not learning how to swim." Oh, Mr. Lancer, I already know how to swim. Danny shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. He could feel the icy burn of Lancer's cold, disappointed eyes. The same eyes that watched him when he talked about this with his parents, with all the adults in his life. He hated those eyes.

"Very well, Mr. Fenton," Lancer said, the plaintive note gone from his voice. "I will not push you farther. But do try to pay attention when you do deign to grace your presence in class."

"I'll try," Danny mumbled to his feet. He needed new shoes, he noted absently. These had holes in the toes.

"Then you're free to go. Have a good afternoon," Lancer said.

"You, too," Danny responded, and left down the hall. He felt bad for leaving his friends, but well, they couldn't expect him to wait for an hour for them. He had planning to do, the beginnings of an investigation into the one who wanted his identity exposed.

But first, he had to face the GIW's scanners. From Tucker's broken rambling, he understood that all the scanners were connected, through a network or something, so if one detected a signature, the rest would be notified. That way, they could all efficiently rush to capture him. Tucker had essentially hacked into them and made it so that his signature registered as completely, fully human.

Thank God for small mercies.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he approached the exit. There was a line going into the next hallway, as each student had to be scanned before being able to leave. Danny felt that this was maybe a violation of their rights or something, but he guessed it probably fell under "due cause," or whatever.

He took his place at the back of the line and tried to calm his heart, which was trying to burst out of his chest. He looked on as calmly as he could, even as he began trembling. A couple people behind him—Mikey, and one of the other band kids—gave him a weird look, but then they went on talking about Doctor Who or whatever.

As he approached the front of the line, he closed his eyes. I trust Tucker, he told himself. Definitely. His friend knew his technology. Then, he was second in line, and he felt like an iron band was slowly tightening around his chest.

"Next," the agent called in a bored manner, barely even looking at Danny. Danny stepped up and rubbed the back of his neck. The agent lazily and with painstaking slowness ran the scanner up the half-ghost's body. The light lit up green, and Danny almost heaved a sigh. "You're clear. Go on."

Danny half-scuttled, half-ran past the agent and into the outside. The fresh, cool air was sucked greedily into his lungs. He panted, wiping the moisture that had gathered on his brow.

"It's fine," he said quietly to himself. "You're fine, nothing happened, it's all fine. Everything's fine." He couldn't have another panic attack; no one was here to calm him down. He took some deep breaths and started walking home.

It'd be faster to fly, but for obvious reasons that wasn't an option. Still, he enjoyed being outside, even if he couldn't be in the sky, touching the clouds and swooping with the birds.

About half-way to his monstrosity of a house, his ghost sense went off. He couldn't go ghost; every hunter in the city would be on him in a second. So he surreptitiously tucked an ecto-gun and the Fenton Thermos into his waistband and pocket respectively. They'd be more accessible that way. Besides, while he couldn't go ghost, it wasn't like sensors had been installed around town, so he could use some of his less energy-focused powers.

Team Phantom weren't entirely sure why sensors or scanners did what they did around him. Broader ones—the ones that detected a ghost's ecto-signature across the entire city—didn't catch him in human form or when he used basic powers like invisibility or intangibility in human form. More specific ones, such as sensors in a slightly less broad area, like the ones the GIW had set up in the school, would detect the use of any ghost power, regardless of what form he was in. And concentrated, specific scanners, like the ghost gabber or the GIW's devices, would sense his ghostly signature even when he was in human form. The semantics were slightly beyond them all, mostly because none of them knew how, or even if they had the tech, to establish the why of it.

Danny's ghost sense led him to a dark-looking back alley, where a couple of glowing ecto-puses were rummaging around in the trash. They screeched when they saw him, launching themselves at him, tentacles ready to wrap around his body and suffocate him. Danny rolled right. He was glad he'd stumbled across them first, rather than some normal human; they were rather aggressive.

"Come on, guys, you can't ink you'll get me like that," Danny said, grinning cockily. The puns weren't as fun when the two couldn't understand them, though. The two low-level ghosts growled, one of them shooting out a glowing green gooey substance that Danny was unprepared for. He stumbled back in an effort to avoid it, wiping it off his face with an "ew" just in time to see the two charging him again. His eyes widened, but he sidestepped quickly. They went hurtling past.

"Okay, that's it. You two are about to octopi my thermos," he said, grabbing their tentacles in each hand as they tried to rush him again and swinging them into the wall. They flattened against the brick with a satisfying squish. While they were dazed, he dropped them to get his thermos, uncapping it and sucking the two inside.

"And now, the nasty ink stuff," Danny muttered, using his shirt to scrub the remaining ectoplasmic substance off himself. He took off his backpack and pulled on a clean shirt, tucking the dirty one and his ghost hunting items back into the bag.

He was filled with a sense of dread when he approached the house to see a very indistinct, very distinct, white van out front. The GIW. His stomach began churning, awful scenarios running across his mind: had they discovered him and were waiting to ambush him? Were they there to blackmail him? To hurt his family? He swallowed heavily and opened the door.

His mom and a couple of the agents (Danny couldn't really remember what dumb letter they'd assigned to themselves) were seated at the couch, and his mom was in the middle of talking.

"—just have to watch the interview with everyone else. While I appreciate your interest, I'd ask that you take a look at it first. I'm sure it will satisfy many questions about the science behind the possibility of a half-ghost—" Danny hid a shiver as she said it—"and I'd ask that you go through proper channels if you want to… interview us yourselves. We're very busy, but if you call us, schedule a time…"

One of the agents narrowed his eyes. "Mrs. Fenton, we are just as busy as you are, I'm sure. We can understand the need, but this is urgent. The ghost boy, masquerading as one of us for so long… Surely you comprehend the danger? Who knows how many other ghosts may have access to this type of power." He leaned forward.

"Be that as it may—oh, Danny! You're home," she said, glancing at the agents. The other one, the one who hadn't spoken, took a sip from the lemonade his mother had obviously offered to them. Danny felt the burn of anger and frustration in his chest, and his fists curled in his pockets. First his school, now his house. They were everywhere, crawling over everything, and so damn hard to get rid of, like fleas. Biting him all over, but no matter what he did, they never left.

"Hi, Mom," Danny said. "Where's Dad?"

"Down in the lab, sweetheart," she said before turning back to the agents. "Anyway, here's our business card." She handed them a card with the words "FentonWorks Inventions—Call Anytime!" written on it.

It was a clear dismissal, and she showed them to the door afterward.

"Damn them," she said. Danny looked at her in surprise—his mom rarely cursed—and she just shook her head. "They want your father and I's research, our life's work. They don't know how to make a working portal or half the other things your father and I have invented, and they either want us under their thumb or our blueprints." She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "But never mind that, dear. Are you hungry? I made cookies."

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: An Interview

"Dann-o!" his dad's voice whipped up the stairs. "The interview's on in just a few minutes!" Danny, who had been skyping Sam and Tucker to come up with a plan to find out who wanted to expose him—among other things—closed his laptop's lid, jumping off his bed to go downstairs.

Despite his protests, his parents had insisted on watching the interview as a family. "Aren't you proud?" his dad had asked. "Your parents are famous!" Danny had almost rolled his eyes at the proclamation; one interview at the local news station did not make a person famous, but his dad seemed so enthusiastic, grinning and nearly jumping, that he didn't want to burst his bubble.

So he'd said, "Yeah, great," and somehow he'd ended up agreeing to watch it with them. As he entered the living room, the two were positioned together on the couch, watching the TV with an anticipation hardly restrained. Even his mom was excited and nervous, tapping her foot with a giant smile across her face. Lucky Jazz was still out doing something—probably for class or whatever—and wasn't present. He got his parents all to himself. Joy.

"Oh, I'm glad you're here, Danny," his mom said. "They're just about to begin!"

Danny sat down in a chair to the right of the TV and prepared himself to lie through his teeth. He had to know what his parents' game plan was, what people thought of him. He had to know how dangerous going ghost would be, how hunted he would be.

If anyone would be willing to defend him, now that he wasn't "just a ghost."

Danny closed his eyes briefly before he let himself be sucked into the interview that would determine whether his parents were going to take his half-human status into account. He opened them as his dad turned up the volume.

"Welcome to Amity News at Nine, everyone. I'm your host, Lance Thunder, and this is my co-host, Tiffany." Lance shows off his pearly whites. "We're here firstly to discuss matter of the famous ghost boy known as Phantom."

"As of right now," Tiffany begins, "there have been no sightings of Phantom since the news. This is unusual in that Phantom can often be seen flying through the air at least once a day—or at night. It is likely that he's heard the call, and his reaction suggests the information on him, that he's half-human, is true. How he will act when he eventually shows himself, probably through a fight with a ghost, is up for debate."

"However," Lance takes over again, "how is it possible? How can someone be half-ghost and half-human? Earlier today, we interviewed two leading experts on the subject: Jack and Maddie Fenton. They are best known for their highly effective ectoplasmic shields and their ghost weaponry, though they have also dabbled in clean energy, inter-dimensional theory, and ghost anatomy. Unfortunately, we couldn't have them live on the show; they are very busy people.

"So, without further ado, we will show you what we believe to be the most vital clips of the interview. For the full thing, you can go to our website at or watch it tomorrow morning on our seven o'clock show." After he's done speaking, the scene of him and Tiffany fades to them sitting on one end of a room, Jack and Maddie on the other.

"We're so happy you were able to come in!" Tiffany exclaims, clasping her hands together in her lap and leaning forward. "Our viewers are very curious to see what you two have to say on the subject of the possibility of a half-human, half-ghost hybrid."

"We're happy to be here and answer all your questions. It's rare that Jack and I get to speak to the public about this sort of thing," Maddie responds, beaming. Beside her, Jack looks as if he can barely contain his excitement. He bounces a little in his seat.

"I'm sure," Lance says. "We're very lucky the two of you are here. I think our first matter of business is how possible is it that Phantom really is half-human, as the unknown caller claimed?"

"Actually, though Jack and I initially rejected the possibility, we spent time researching the idea, and now we have a few hypotheses that could explain the matter. We are unsure, though, how this caller managed to discover that Phantom is half-human and not his identity. It's a rather large leap to make on your own. Jack and I have always known something was off about the ghost boy, but before we suspected he was perhaps a different kind of ghost, not a hybrid."

"What exactly makes him different?" Tiffany asks.

"Well, for one thing, he exhibits behavior that doesn't directly tie in with an Obsession. He doesn't ramble about it, and what it is isn't clear," Maddie says.

"Which is unlike other ghosts," Jack adds excitedly, "who just say just what it is. The hunter ghost goes on and on about the hunt; the box ghost talks about boxes; that technology ghosts rants all the time about its mastery over all electronic devices. But the ghost boy? His behavior isn't consistent. He doesn't ramble on about anything in particular, aside from puns, maybe, and he has many different powers rather than a focused few. Beyond that, he also does a number of different things. Mostly, he fights, yes, but he also simply flies around for no particular reason. The most popular belief is that Amity is his haunt…" Jack trails off, as if finding the idea doubtful.

"But," Maddie says, "he's been seen elsewhere, fighting ghosts. Not even just in nearby states. Do you recall those popular rumors about the demon-ghost serial killer in California that popped up last year? We went to investigate, but when we got there, it had already been taken care of. The person who'd solved it matched Phantom's description exactly. And that's just one example."

"So, what hypotheses have you come up with?" Lance questions, obviously keen on directing the conversation back to where it had began.

"The second most likely hypothesis is that Phantom has—and this is a tad gruesome, so prepare yourselves—animated his own corpse," Maddie answers, pausing to wait for a reaction. Lance blinks in surprise, looking green, and Tiffany's eyes widen.

"Why on earth is that the second most likely theory?" Tiffany asks.

"Hypothesis, dear," Maddie corrects absently. "In science, a theory is generally backed with extensive evidence. Regardless, we believe this because of how Phantom looks."

"His proportions," Jack starts to explain, gesturing animatedly, "are perfect. Other ghosts, their arms are too long, they grow in size, they shrink, their shoulders are too broad. Phantom exhibits none of this. He looks like any other teenager.

"Say Phantom died, but for some reason he got stuck here, instead of moving on to the Ghost Zone. And he sees his own body, and he knows it's him. So he tries to reunite with it, and his developing ectoplasm fuses his consciousness to it. Aside from the glow, Phantom also has the coloring of any normal human. Green eyes and very pale blonde hair. It's entirely possible, and it would make him a hybrid of some kind. He might even need to sleep, eat, drink, and breathe. His organs, powered by ectoplasm, would also work."

Lance sits back and Tiffany's mouth gapes. "Wow," he says. "That's… crazy."

"It may even be possible," Maddie says, "for him to turn off his aura and live among us, just with an uncanny resemblance to Phantom. He could stay in some nearby city or town and come in whenever there's a ghost to fight, as unlikely as that sounds."

"And the second?" Tiffany asks.

"The second is even darker, but the most likely," Maddie warns. "Perhaps Phantom is even more malicious than his actions with the mayor or the robberies indicate. He might, when he's not fighting, take up residence in some poor innocent person to hide from hunters who would put him in the Ghost Zone where he belongs. Over time, it's possible he completely integrated with this person's body, a prolonged overshadowing that pushed the person's real consciousness dormant. He'd fly out to hunt ghosts, leaving the human body inert and coma-like, only to return and possess it once more."

"It is possibly the most likely hypothesis," Jack says, "because the other two require circumstances that are near impossible to happen."

Tiffany swallows and Lance covers his mouth with his hand.

"I almost don't want to ask, but the third one?" Lance questions.

"The most unlikely of the three," Maddie replies, "is that Phantom somehow is both alive and dead."

"We believe it may be possible," Jack continues, "for a human's DNA to fuse with ectoplasm and give them a ghost-like abilities, along with their normal human characteristics. This could only happen, though, if they were somehow exposed to massive amounts of ectoplasm. Lethal levels, but instead of complete death, they get ghostly DNA."

"We haven't worked out all of the details, however," Maddie explains. "And, when we look deeper, this may not even be possible. But our research currently points to the idea that this could happen, and it could make Phantom 'half-human.'"

"If this were to be the case, he could still have a completely alive human body. His own family may not even know he died," Jack says.

"But this hypothesis is the least likely of the three?" Lance confirms, and the two hunters nod.

"And as for Phantom's 'secret identity,' do you believe that the GIW, and others, should be looking out for a teenager?" Tiffany questions.

"Yes." Maddie uncrosses her legs and re-crosses them opposite of how they were. "For the first hypothesis, it is obvious why. For the second, Phantom died when he was a teenager, and thus if he were to take permanent control of a human body—" the news anchors shudder at the thought—"he would likely choose one that was familiar to him. Around the same age he died, similar build and coloring, male."

"The third is a little trickier," Jack says. "But if he still has a functioning, living body, he is likely still growing, and his ghost consciousness would reflect that. If you look at pictures of him from three years ago up to now, he does appear to grow. Of course, this could also be a result of the ghost becoming more powerful and expressing that, or of him drifting further and further away from what he originally looked like."

On this last word, the screen changes back to the live video of Lance and Tiffany sitting at their desk.

"So, there you have it, folks!" Lance says. "Our 'hero' may not be as heroic as he seems: maybe he's an evil ghost that likes to possess the body of a teenager, or he's tragically attached to his own dead body."

"Again, for the rest of the interview, go to our website or join us tomorrow on our early show. Anyway, what hypothesis do you think is what's really going on, Lance?" Tiffany asks. Lance looks to his fellow host.

"To be honest, I have no idea. But I've seen footage of Phantom saving people—in fact, he saved my fiancé—so I find him possessing a teenager's body to be too out-of-character to be true," Lance defends. It's clear he's on the ghost boy's side.

"What I really want to know is who could possibly benefit from outing Phantom this way," Tiffany says.

"He has lots of enemies." Lance sighs. "Perhaps one of them found out he was half-human and decided to make his after-life miserable."

"I suppose," Tiffany agrees reluctantly, but something seems to be wrong to her about this scenario, something she can't quite put her finger on it.

"But we'll never know until the ghost boy's exposed, unless he decides to confess. With his disappearance, however, I don't think that's going to happen."

"I agree," Tiffany says, sighing. "And now, onto other news. Since yesterday night, a court case for suing the makers of—"

The television was muted, and all Danny could do was stare at it, hardly breathing. Human's DNA to fuse with ectoplasm. They'd gotten it spot on. Well, one-third spot on. He clutched his hoodie, feeling hot all over, like he was being slowly roasted, and everyone was sharpening their knives, ready to feast on his secrets.

"So, what did you think, Dann-o?" his dad bellowed. I think I'm gonna be sick, Danny thought. He gave his parents a shaky grin.

"It was good!" he said. "Really. But what does it mean? Are you still going to hunt Phantom?"

"Probably," his mom said, her eyes full of concern. "Are you alright? You look sick."

"Fine. Just tired." Danny recoiled as she stood up and reached across to put her hand on his forehead. "But why? If he's human…"

"He still needs to answer for his crimes!" Jack shouted, jumping to his feet. "If he's part human, he'll be tried in court. But if it's taken over some poor soul's body, Mads and I will tear it apart molecule by molecule!" He motioned ripping something in two, and Danny felt bile flood the back of his throat. He swallowed the disgusting stuff down.

"Jack," Maddie said disapprovingly, pursing her lips. "Not so loud. The neighbors will complain again."

"Sorry, Mads!" his dad apologized, just a hair quieter.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," Danny told them, getting up and fake stretching. He hoped the long sleeves of the hoodie concealed his shaking hands.

"Alright, sweetie; good night," his mom said as his dad moved into the kitchen.

"You too," Danny mumbled. He watched them go and then took the steps two at a time, racing to his room. He shut and locked his door quickly, pressing his back to the door and sliding down to sit. His parents had the key, but it made him feel better. A barrier between them and him, even if existed just in his mind.

His phone vibrated. Eleven new messages, all from Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. The latest from Tucker: U ok?

No, he wasn't. He didn't reply, didn't even pick up as his phone started to ring, letting the sound fade on its own. Missed call from Sam Manson, the screen said. He shoved his phone on the floor away from him and buried his face in his hands.

He just wanted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: A Knight to Remember (Only it's Day)

As Mary Yang hurried down the busy street to the bus stop, she nearly sighed when she overheard the word ghost in some old couple's conversation. She pulled her coat closer around her to stave off the biting wind, and despite it being mid-morning, she was rather put out to see heavy clouds darken the sky. Moving from sunny California to the Midwest without updating her wardrobe had been an oversight on her part. The job would be worth it, though; YouTube money was all well and good, but she didn't feel like right just doing that. She wanted a "proper" job, too.

So, she'd moved to Amity Park, the place everyone in the U.S. knew as a money-making, hoax-promoting tourist trap. But for all that, it did have a fast-growing economy. She sat down on the freezing bench, the cold seeming to slither from the metal into her skin. On a different bench, just a few feet away, the old couple was still talking about ghosts. God, could these people ever drop the lie? It was as frustrating as it was odd. The previous night's interview on the news had attested to it—what the hell was up with that? Mary found the whole thing bizarre, and she'd made it her mission to get someone to admit the falsehood. Maybe she could even invite someone to talk about it for a video on her channel. Everyone seemed interested in the city, though some of the comments on her most recent video, especially ones from people claiming to live in Amity Park, were a little ominous.

Anyway, today was her first day at her new job—she'd be commuting there by bus, seeing as her car was in the shop, and she didn't feel like an uber. Her company had offered her the job out here, and even when she'd heard where it was, she still wanted it. It meant her career was moving forward; she was doing something right. She would need to begin balancing things once more, however. Between uploading and her job, she constantly had to figure out when she had time to do things.

Before she could stress too much, the bus arrived. She, along with the two elderly folk, shuffled onto the vehicle. It was rather crowded (everyone seemed to be going somewhere), but at least it was warm. She accidently jostled the shoulder of the sleepy-looking man sitting next to her as the bus shuddered into motion, and she muttered an apology.

Mary watched the buildings outside with interest; some of them looked rather bizarre. They had reinforced windows, doors, and walls—reinforced with steel, it looked like, and rather a lot of construction was going on. At least six of the buildings they'd passed so far had been rebuilding the walls or roofs or windows. Maybe they were prone to storms out her, more than where she'd lived before?

"Are you new here, dearie?" An old woman from across the aisle—the same one who'd been at the bus stop, talking about ghosts—asked. Mary frowned a little; was she that obvious?

"Yes, I am," she said, fiddling with the cuff of her jacket. She didn't feel like volunteering any more information to the nosy codger.

"Oh, don't pout," the old woman admonished. "I didn't mean anything bad by it. It's easy to tell, though; you're staring at all the buildings."

"Well, why do they need so much steel on them?" Mary asked defensively. "It's just strange, is all."

"Not if you're from around here, it isn't," the old woman said with a laugh. "It's necessary. My name's Jane, by the way."

"Mary. Nice to meet you," the younger woman said, not meaning it all. She didn't look at the elder, staring straight ahead and hoping she'd take a hint.

"Don't be like that! You'll see what I mean, once you've been here a week or so. Then you'll be laughing with me at gaping newcomers. I'll bet you haven't even been here a full three days," she said with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. She'd gotten it spot on, Mary had to admit.

"How'd you know that?" she asked, curiosity winning over her offense at the nosy nature of the questioning. She turned to face the elderly woman, leaning forward to better hear her.

"Call it intuition," Jane answered. "Or, the last public ghost attack was three days ago, so that's the longest you could've been here." Mary soured again. Ghosts. Really? Was everyone in the city so obsessed with making money? Even old ladies like this?

"Let me guess, you run ghost tours," Mary said sarcastically. "Or your son does, or your daughter, or you're part of some marketing company, ready to steal some innocent tourists' money." To her surprise, instead of looking angry or irritated, Jane laughed again.

"So accusatory. Don't worry, dearie. You'll be changing your tune soon enough. Roger thought the same thing when he first came." She looked to the seat behind her, where the old man that had been with her on the bench was sitting. "Isn't that right, Roger?"

"Huh?" he asked, having been turned completely around in his seat, peering at something behind them. "Jane, look!" Many of the passengers had been enraptured by something back there, and Mary was nothing if not a little shorter than average (still a solid five-foot-three, thank you very much), so she stood up and leaned, trying to see what had caused such a commotion.

Behind the bus there was a blanket of mist, and while the weather hadn't been good before, it had been nothing like this. The fog obscured everything within it, hiding vehicles, street lamps, and even buildings. And Mary could faintly hear a rumbling sound emanating from it, like thunder. But there was no lightning that she could see, and the noise wasn't coming from the sky. A trill of fear crept up her spine, a cold sweat broke out on her neck, and goose bumps, mini-mountains, erupted along her arms.

Whatever the fog was, whatever had caused it, freak weather or something else, it wasn't natural. It put a bad taste in Mary's mouth, like copper, and her stomach churned a little. She wondered what had happened to the cars behind them. She watched with wide eyes as a man in the back held up some weird-looking device. The word Fenton was written on it in large, bubbly letters, and a light on it was blinking red.

"It's ghosts!" he wailed, flailing his arms around. One of his hands still clutched the machine. "We're all gonna die!"

Suddenly, the bus driver's voice, relaxed and soothing, crackled over the speakers. "Everyone just stay calm. I'm having one of the people up here contact the police for suspicious supernatural activity. It's not moving very fast; I'm sure we'll outpace it. The Fentons, Red Huntress, or Phantom himself will likely show up soon, anyway. We're going to find some place safe enough to evacuate the bus and get inside. So just take your seat and hang tight." The talking quieted down, replaced by a silence filled with dread and terror.

Okay, Mary thought. This had gone way too far. This publicity stunt, for that was what it had to be, was insane. Everyone's acting—for Jane, the bus driver, Roger, that man had to be in on it—was too real, but there must've been some car behind them with a fog machine and some speakers, emitting creepy noises.

And, well, whatever crazy, rehearsed thing this was, she just had to film it all.

She scrambled to pull her camera out of her bag, turning it on and impatiently waiting for it to respond. Jane saw and scowled at her.

"And you accuse us of making money off the ghosts," she muttered.

"I want proof that you all are so nuts with this dumb hoax that you'll do this," Mary retorted. "There have to be repercussions for what you guys have done here."

"You're in denial," Jane said, gripping the back of the seat in front of her with a white-knuckled grip. "This is all real, Mary. So be careful; no one's died yet from a ghost attack, and there's no sense in you being the first."

The bus took a wild turn to the left, and Mary braced herself so she wouldn't slam into the now more alert man next to her. She started filming with her camera, bringing it closer to her mouth. She began to speak: "Here I am in Amity Park, on my way to my new job. Some crazy hoax is happening as we speak. There's some 'supernatural' fog behind the bus, and people are flipping the fuck out. The bus driver is even playing along, saying we'll evacuate the bus. I'll probably be late to work at this rate." She hoped the audio would be okay, but it usually was with this camera, even in this kind of environment. If not, she could always voice-over later.

Mary stood up again to catch a glimpse of the mist behind them. It was closer now, maybe fifteen, twenty feet behind them. She sat back down heavily. The faint rumbling had also become louder; now it was a crashing that seemed overwhelming. She'd have to yell to be heard at all. Why the hell had they gone to such lengths to do this? She looked over at Jane, who had her crinkly eyelids shut. She was whispering something under her breath—a prayer? Her lined face looked worried, afraid.

Was she acting? Or had she fallen for the hoax?

Mary didn't want to see how close the mist was now. The atmosphere must've been getting to her. She looked out the window to see tendrils of fog curling around it—and she saw what had been making the noise: people on horseback, riding next to and behind the bus. They'd caught up, somehow, despite being on horses. They were all in costume as well, rather realistic ones, and their skin had been painted weird colors: blue and green and purple and gray.

The obvious leader—a man in a full-bodied suit of blindingly white armor, stained green and red in some places, like some macabre Christmas decoration—sat astride a larger horse than the others. It was a black mare, and more massive than any other horse Mary had ever seen in her life. It was also donned in armor. In the man's hands was a cruel-looking sword. It, too, was huge, spanning at least eight feet in length, and the other arm supported a shield.

He galloped to the front of the bus on the right side, opposite the driver. He raised the shield up menacingly —it had to be a prop, no way anyone could lift anything so big—and smashed it against the side of the bus. The whole vehicle rocked, and Mary had time to think okay, maybe it's real, before he did it again and the whole bus tipped onto its side.

It skidded, people yelling and screaming. Stuff flew everywhere, Mary herself tumbling into Jane, who fell into the man beside her. She smacked her elbow across one of the bars and maybe she yelled but it couldn't be heard above the din and everything was happening too fast and her bag crashed into her stomach and why had she put so much stuff into it?

Metal—and other, more organic things—crunched and snapped, crumpled into unnatural shapes. The bus finally stopped moving, but the noise, the clip-clop, the thunder, was still there. Mary felt her breath pushed out of her, and she curled up on her side—on top of something? Why was it so dark? Oh, her eyes were closed, and something heavy was pressing onto her torso—the man?

The sound of glass breaking echoed through her ears, a sinister laugh that sent her trembling. She opened her eyes, but something bright blinded her. She whimpered, and the stench of blood and something else—something sour and gross and overpowering—met her nose.

"Still awake, are we?" The voice was gravelly and rusty, old gears squeaking together. "You'll do." And a gauntleted hand reached for her, grabbing her arm and yanking her up through the broken bus window and out into the freezing air. The grip hurt, and metal bits dug into her arm. She cried out.

"That's right, mortal. Make your noise." He slung her across the front of his horse, and the pommel of the saddle stabbed at her stomach. She coughed. She twisted around to see him—it was that man, the one "leader" dressed as a knight—and he shoved her head back down. "Be still, unless you wish to meet your demise earlier than required."

The horse reared, whinnying, and it leapt, but it kept going up and up and up—they were in the air, high above the ground. Mary squeezed her eyes shut, gripping something close to her chest. Oh, it was her camera; somehow, through the crash, she'd kept ahold of it. It'd be a miracle if it weren't damaged, though. They rose higher and higher—how was this happening? How were they flying?—until the horse alighted on a tallish building, maybe a few stories tall.

The knight dismounted and hauled Mary off, gripping her upper arm. His sword was sheathed, not that that was much of a comfort, and his shield—the one that had crashed the bus—had been slung across his back.

"Hear me, those of this mortal plane!" Suddenly, his voice was a lot louder than it had been. Mary's long hair whipped across her face, and she looked down to see a crowd beneath her—when had they gotten there? "I've come on the behalf of my Mistress to inform you all of your impending subjugation," he continued in a booming voice. "She has been slumbering for a millennium and has been awakened to take her rightful place as a ruler of all dominions once more! To resist is futile, to flee is folly, to hide is foolish. You will be stamped out, captured, and found. We come bearing this message to declare our superiority and mastery of you worthless humans and petty mortals.

"To show you our glorious power, this place will be ransacked, destroyed; a warning to all others who might try to resist. But we are merciful masters: those that submit will not be killed, but those that do—" He drew his humongous sword, still holding Mary tightly in one hand. The faces below watched with a horrified kind of interest, the interest brought on by terror and shock.

"Those that do will be tortured and slaughtered," he finished, cackling. He brought the sword up high, and Mary finally realized what he was about to do. She shrieked and writhed in his grip—this was not how she ended! This couldn't be how she ended… The blade swooshed through the air, aimed straight to cleave her head from her shoulders.

And was stopped, mere inches from her neck, by a glowing green shield.

"I can't say I'm an expert on weapons safety," a cocky, young-sounding voice said, "but I don't think you're supposed to do that with them."

Mary looked up, and it was him: snow-white hair (how had that one woman called it blond?), eyes a toxic green, skin a normal color. Flying. Stopping the sword with a glowing shield he'd somehow conjured from nothing.

Definitely not a hoax. This was all real.

The ghost boy touched her arm, making her intangible, and pulled her out of the knight's grip, letting go as soon as she was behind him. Far below, Mary could see the other ghosts (knights too? Soldiers? Guards?) wreaking havoc. They were smashing windows, terrifying everyone. The people directly below them cheered.

"Who are you, child?" the knight demanded, curiosity staying his hand. "How dare you interfere with what my Mistress has demanded?"

"Firstly," Phantom raised one finger, "your mistress sounds like she needs a hobby. I'm told yoga is rather relaxing. Secondly," he raised another finger, "this is my city, not yours, so I'm the one who gets to ask who the hell you are." The knight looked taken aback by this proclamation; clearly he wasn't used to being back-talked in this manner. "And finally," Phantom's fingers curled into a fist, "I don't appreciate people who think they're better than everyone else."

He brought back his arm and delivered a powerful uppercut to the knight's face before he even seemed to know what was happening. The knight staggered backward.

"You are an insufferable nuisance," the knight declared, "and you will perish by my blade." He whipped it around, but Phantom launched himself into the sky, hovering there as if waiting for the other ghost to catch up.

"You want to kill me?" Phantom called. "You'll have to come and get me first." He finger-gunned the knight, shooting a glowing green beam that blew the knight's helmet clean off, revealing a grinning skull beneath. It rattled slightly as he spoke, a noise Mary had heard before but hadn't been able to place.

"You will pay for your insolence!" he screamed, charging at Phantom with all he had. And, Mary realized, this is what he'd wanted: all the attention on him, and none of it on innocent bystanders.

Now, how to get off the roof?

More flashes of light—the two were shooting at each other, and from the grunts and solid whaps, also punching and kicking. Not something she wanted to get caught up in; she could be used as a hostage, or get injured from a stray shot or falling debris. Still clinging to her camera (more of a reflex now than anything else. Had she been thinking straight, she likely would've abandoned it), she spotted a service hatch on the far side of the roof.

"You know," Mary heard Phantom say in that overconfident tone of his, "we've danced, but I still don't know your name. How am I meant to serenade you on your balcony after the party?" She almost snorted; his bad jokes were almost funny in this type of situation.

"I am Resistis Demortem. Sir Demortem to a young usurper like yourself!" the knight shouted back.

"God, were your parents drunk when they named you?" Phantom wondered. A surprised oof came next, coupled with the smack of a body meeting hard metal, and Mary winced in sympathy. She was finally at the hatch, though; no time to look back. Thankfully, it was unlocked, if heavy. A firm tug had it open, however, and Mary clambered inside, shutting it behind her with a thump.

Safe.

A ladder led down to the floor, and Mary collapsed with relief. The camera was set aside as she buried her head in her hands. Oh my God, she thought, ghosts are real. One just tried to kill me. Jane had been right. The man at the back of the bus had been right. Those commenters on her last video had been right.

Her phone began to ring, somehow undamaged and still in her inside jacket pocket. Mary picked it up; it was her boss.

"Hello?" she croaked.

"Don't bother coming in today," the voice on the other end sounded tired. "Saw the news. Just rest, okay? Ghosts can be a bit of an adjustment." Mary laughed, and it was like Jane had said.

"Yeah, no kidding."

Valerie Gray lay on her bed, staring up the ceiling, lazily blowing at a strand of hair that kept falling into her face. She sighed as it settled onto her forehead once more, not bothering to move it off. Within her resided a bone-deep weariness that forced her limbs to still, feeling like lead and her head to settle, a million pounds too heavy to lift. Her diaphragm slowed. She wanted so desperately to sleep, but she had school in an hour, had to face the fact that one of her fellow students was the ghost boy.

He'd ruined her life. Maybe, in the process, she'd found out that her friends weren't really her friends, maybe she'd been spoiled before, maybe her attitude was better. That didn't change what her dad had to do: work everyday, all day just to keep them afloat, even with Valerie helping with her Nasty Burger salary. It didn't change that they now had to make sure everything was locked before they slept, that rats lived in the building with them, that it was all they could do to stave off the cockroaches. Their wiring, plumbing, and heating were shitty. Her dad had had to replace some of their furniture and clothing, the ones that the ghost boy, in chasing after his dog, had destroyed.

Phantom had lied to her, too. Perhaps not directly, but with Masters' secret out in the open, as well as Dani's… He'd lied. It was something Valerie couldn't forget, or forgive. The Fenton's suggestions as to what he really was didn't faze her; she knew what he was—like Masters, like Dani. She didn't think he deserved to be wiped from existence, hadn't for a long time now, but he needed to pay. Who knew how many other families he'd harmed trying to maintain his twisted sense of "justice"? The buildings destroyed, the injuries, the robberies, the kidnapping.

He was a life-ruiner, a law-breaker, nothing to say about it. Someone with a distinct advantage over normal humans—they didn't even know who he was. They didn't even have the means to capture him.

That was where Valerie came in. The Fentons would help, and probably Masters, too. For all that the mayor was half-ghost, he seemed to despise Phantom as much as anyone. She hadn't seen him in a while, though… No matter. She'd take Phantom down, and he'd be locked up for good. He deserved it. For the crimes. For the lying.

Or, at least, she was trying to convince herself that he did. But the money, she told herself. Half a million dollars could get her and Dad out of this dump.

A knock came at her door, and her dad poked his head in.

"Good morning," he said with a small smile. "Just wanted to say hi before I had to leave." The words almost broke her heart. He had to get up so early, had to stay so late. Then, she hardened, anger burning through. This was why the ghost boy—the human boy, too—had to be taken in.

"Hi, Dad," she replied. "Have a good day at work." She tried to sound cheerful, smiling back at him. But her eyes smoldered like coals alighting to flame.

"Have a good day at school," he responded distractedly. He was already wearing that damn uniform. "Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, too, Daddy." And he shut the door, not to be seen again till the next morning. They never had time to really talk, other than when he made the time to scold her for her ghost hunting activities.

Valerie sighed again, supposing it would be best if she changed now.

The secret ghost huntress sat bored in Lancer's class as the man droned on and on about 1984 or Lord of the Flies or some other piece of literature she didn't care about. She rested her cheek on her fist and examined the rest of her classmates carefully, wondering if any of them were half-ghost, or if Phantom was even a junior, as opposed to a sophomore or senior (a freshman was too young, she suspected). Maybe on Friday, with the blood tests, they'd find out. Or maybe he'd weasel out of it, as he had everything else. Her eyes were just beginning to droop close, her lashes weighing a million tons, when something vibrated against her thigh.

Her ghost detector.

She immediately raised her hand, feeling like Danny when she did it. The boy had left just seconds prior; he really needed to get his bladder checked or something because needing to go to the bathroom that much couldn't be healthy. Lancer sighed and waved her off.

Now she just needed to sneak past the GIW. But when she ventured to poke her head into the main lobby near the front doors, nobody was there. A yell came behind her, sounding something like, "After him!" Valerie wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. She slipped through the front doors easily, heading for a large hedge to hide behind. After thoroughly checking her surroundings, she activated the suit.

It felt like a second skin at this point, interlocking links clicking into place along her arms, legs, torso; a smooth, metallic skin that protected her from ghost rays and punches and kicks and anything else they could throw at her. And her board, so sleek and fast. She blasted into the air with a smirk, glancing down at her radar for the ghostly signatures. Her brows furrowed; there were about ten unknown signatures—all fairly powerful, from the looks of it. But one was stronger than the rest, and it had been identified by her tech.

Her smirk widened. "Phantom," she whispered, and raced off to the fight.

The ghost boy was just sucking one of the ghosts—a large one, with a horse, in gleaming white armor—into his thermos as she arrived. No matter how many upgrades she got, she knew she'd never be as fast as him. Not that she needed to be; she had the better aim, the sharper wits, the more powerful weapons. He was going down. The money, to help her father, to help herself, would be hers, along with payback for what he'd done to her.

She watched as he began to fight the other ghosts as well. They were of a lesser level, and it was evident in how they fought and carried themselves. Underlings were never as imposing as their masters.

Phantom swooped in to save a man from falling debris—the other ghosts were destroying things, not really focused on the people themselves. That was good; Valerie could keep a low profile and not have to worry about anyone getting injured. She could also avoid blame for the hundreds, probably thousands at this point, done in property damage.

Still, even as she hid behind a billboard, she kept an eye on things. If anyone appeared to be in danger, and Phantom wasn't going to get there in time, she would move. For all the ghost boy's crimes, he could save people when he wanted to. That didn't absolve him from what he'd done, however; it only made it worse. He could've stopped the dog, but he hadn't. He could've decided not to kidnap the mayor, but he had. He could've stopped the robberies, but he'd joined in instead.

Fighting out in the nearby street, Phantom landed a particularly solid kick to the side of one the ghosts, sending it flying into the wall. He pulled it into his thermos, wiping sweat from his brow. Valerie watched him closely—whoever he was as a human, he'd be ripped. Noticeably stronger than anyone else. So either he'd hidden his capabilities, a good possibility, or he was a well-known, brilliantly athletic boy. Either way…

"Three down, about a million to go," the ghost boy said, glancing around. His shoulders lost some of their tension, though he remained alert. Valerie thought she knew what was running through his head: no GIW, no Red Huntress, no Fentons. Ha. She'd show him. She did wonder where the others were, but figured the other ghosts may've been taking up their time—or something else.

Valerie watched, staying hidden the whole time, as Phantom fought off a few more, rescuing people who'd been trapped or injured and unable to move. The paramedics were just a few blocks away, and the ghost boy flew anyone in need of medical attention (which was almost everyone he came across; the ones who didn't need medical attention had all left) to the ambulances and fire trucks to be assisted. He was tiring, cuts and bruises beginning to show along his face and arms. When he landed, he stumbled and favored his right foot.

Still, the other ghost hunters didn't show as the ghost boy disposed of the rest of the group of attacking spirits. Valerie really began to wonder where they were, when she was struck with an idea: what if they'd all thought the same as she had? What if they were all waiting for the ghost boy to tire, and then they'd pounce? It made sense. Let Phantom wear himself out "saving" everyone, doing their job for them, and then go after him.

Well, she'd just have to get there first. She had an advantage, anyway, as the only airborne one, not to mention she was a better shot than Jack Fenton and the GIW combined. Maddie might give her a run for her money, but she was always so determined to bring ghosts down as a unit with Jack that she disadvantaged herself. Not so with Valerie.

She watched closely as Phantom defeated the last of them. He slowly drifted to the ground, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but the abandoned, rubble-strewn street. Valerie brought her blaster up, lined up the shot, and bam. She barely watched as the ghost boy looked up at the noise in time for the shot to slam into his chest, sending him to the ground on his back. She flew in low and fast, raising her arm up just over him, releasing a net—but he was up and flying, galvanized by pain and adrenaline, and the net captured nothing but a couple of rocks.

"Huntress," Phantom acknowledged, giving her a glare. He rubbed his back with one hand. "Look, can we just not do this right now? I've had a long few days, and I'm sure you have too…"

"Yeah, right," Valerie scoffed. "You've been laughing at us all! The infamous ghost boy, the one we've all tried so hard to catch, right under our noses! I bet you loved that, huh?" She sneered at him, even though he couldn't see it.

"Sure, if that's what you want to think," Phantom sighed. "But I don't have time for this." He sped up, dodging just in time as she fired off a shot. He was covering his chest, though, keeping his sides to her. The fabric was still smoking a little—it had to have hurt. Even if he got away, it would be a tell on his human form. Valerie was pretty sure wounds transferred over, from what she remembered of Dani.

"What, late for class?" Valerie called scathingly, giving chase. She heard the screeching of tires behind them, and turned to look. Oh great, the Idiots in White. Phantom had seen them, too, she was sure; he sped up, one hand hovering around his hurt chest. She'd feel bad, but—well. 

"Not on your life," she heard him say, though he hadn't really yelled it back at her. Instead of wasting his breath on banter, he poured on the speed, straining to go faster. As tired as he was, though, it wasn't very fast. Definitely not fast enough to outfly her, if they went at it long enough. She relied on machine, and he on his own flesh.

"On behalf of the United States government, we order you to cease running, Phantom!" One of the GIW called over a megaphone. He was shouting out of a window of their van as they pursued the chase. The ghost boy muttered something, something Valerie couldn't make out. She urged the board to go faster, following after Phantom even as he jetted through billboards and fences and lamp posts. She dodged them all, winding under or over or around, staying right on his tail.

You're mine, she thought. He was lagging, slow enough that she might be able to—

A shot came out of nowhere, going wide and missing the ghost boy by about a foot. Phantom swerved wildly, and Valerie growled, having to re-aim her gun to get a clear shot. As much as she liked the thought of her enemy revealed by a scanner or a blood test, the GIW were absolute shit in the field.

Phantom phased into a building—tall, metal—and Valerie watched on her wrist radar, waiting for him to turn human and disappear. But it didn't happen, and the Huntress laughed when she realized why.

"Scared?" she taunted, moving closer to the building.

The ray came seemingly out of nowhere, Phantom appearing right in front of her. How had he moved so fast? It caught her in the shoulder, forcing her back but not doing much else.

"Of you?" Phantom's mouth upturned into a mockery of a grin. "Never."

Another of the GIW's shots went wide, and the same guy shouted, "Surrender, Phantom, if you know what's good for you!" His eyes darted toward them before resting on her—the greater threat. Valerie brought her gun up. His muscles tensed, ready to dodge when, with great fortune, the Fentons' ridiculous RV barreled onto the scene, sliding to a halt opposite the GIW's vehicle. He looked up at the noise, and Valerie, using the distraction, pulled the trigger.

It hit him right in the shoulder, and he gasped. No time—Valerie brought up her arm—couldn't miss now—and fired a weighted net. Down he went, falling the last five feet to the ground, the Huntress following.

The Fentons got out of their vehicle, and all the ghost hunters watched as their prey went intangible, trying to escape, only to have the net electrocute him. He let loose a yell. A couple of the agents stepped forward, as did the Fentons.

"Red Huntress," Maddie began, even as the agents advanced closer. Maybe to convince her to hand the ghost boy over?

"By law, we must take Phantom into custody," one of them interrupted, holding up a pair of glowing handcuffs.

"Don't even think about it," Valerie warned. She stepped forward, placing one foot on Phantom's shoulder. He gasped—in pain or fright or surprise. The Huntress grinned beneath her helmet, looking down at him, at the place where the ghost belonged.

"He's mine."

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: A Predator's Fight for its Prey

"Honestly, dude, your mom said it all wrong," Tucker commented quietly as the trio entered the school building. "Your hair could never be 'pale blonde.' It's very clearly a snow white. Like you used the world's strongest bleach." Danny almost snorted. Death, he thought, the world's strongest bleach.

"Did you watch the whole interview?" he asked his two friends quietly. Tucker shook his head, but Sam nodded.

"They really did show only the important bits," she informed him. "The rest of it was just more stuff about ghosts in general, and how you were different. Mixed in with their usual, ah, viewpoint."

"You mean they rambled on and on how they hated me, and the thing the news showed was the only part when they were even kind of impartial," Danny said miserably, hunching his shoulders and fingering the straps of his bag. Sam seemed to hesitate before she shrugged.

"Yeah, pretty much. Sorry, Danny, but your parents are completely irrational when it comes to ghosts," she confirmed, patting his arm consolingly. Danny watched her shoot Tucker a very clear say something look. He coughed a little before he focused on Danny.

"B-but I'm sure if they knew it was you…" Tucker trailed off. "They love you, Danny."

They reached Sam's locker, and the girl ducked slightly to put in the combination. "Yeah." Danny sighed. "I know." Sam pulled her books out, slipping the ones she'd need into her bag.

"Any new ideas on catching the person that did this?" she asked, zipping her backpack closed. "Because we weren't very productive last night." This was as close as they'd come to mentioning Danny's suspected breakdown and his insistence on ignoring them.

"Not-a-one," Tucker said. His locker was next to Danny's, and the three of them trekked through the halls to the other end of the school. "I mean, what can we do? Short of revealing his identity, that is."

"Definitely not an option," Danny muttered as they reached the two lockers. He ducked to see the numbers clearly.

"But who could know that you're half ghost, not know your identity, and want to expose you?" Sam pondered. Danny glanced around, nervous about being so blatant, but their entire conversation had been barely above a whisper, and hardly anyone ever hung around in this part of the school—the boys' bathroom just around the corner smelled.

"Not the ghosts," Tucker said. "They could've revealed your identity already, but they haven't. Honestly, the only person I could see doing this is Vlad."

"I haven't even seen or heard from Vlad in months." Danny closed his locker. "He wouldn't just… do this. He'd give me an ultimatum or something. It just doesn't feel like him."

"But who else could it be?" Sam questioned, tugging on one of her strands of hair.

"Maybe it's just some random person that found out, somehow, but not my identity," Danny speculated. He pulled his backpack onto his shoulders, and they began to make their way to their first class of the day.

"And they just happen to have half a million dollars laying around, too?" Tucker asked incredulously, sliding his glasses up his nose and examining Danny seriously.

"They could be lying about giving the reward," Danny offered. "No one knows who they are; if they decided not to deliver, it's not like they could be held accountable."

"Point." Tucker rubbed his chin. "But still." They fell silent as they walked into Lancer's class, where they'd be discussing the night's reading of 1984. Danny had actually managed to do it, as no ghosts had seemed interested in attacking last night. It had been a while since a proper attack, actually, and he glanced around nervously as he thought that they were probably due for another one.

The three of them took their seats, watching as Lancer looked at them in surprise. Or, well, he looked at Danny in surprise. Was he really late so often that Lancer was surprised when he showed up on time? He stared back levelly, and the teacher backed down, not making any comment.

The bell rang a few moments later, signifying the start of class, so Lancer started to go over the important bits in the reading, as well as pass out a worksheet with questions that they were to discuss with partners and answer. It was rather boring and mind-numbing, for which Danny was grateful (the last thing he needed was to think about the upcoming blood tests, his subsequent interrogation, or their lack of progress in finding the culprit who had started this). He talked with Sam and Tucker on the differences between Julia and Winston, the first question, when he shivered. His eyes widened, and a breath of chilly air was exhaled in front of him.

Sam and Tucker looked at his questioningly, but he shook his head. He didn't hear any nearby screams, so if he'd sensed it when it was so far away… Whichever ghost it was, they were probably powerful. And thus something he would have to take care of. Not that he didn't want Sam and Tucker's back up, but when powerful ghosts showed up during school, they were generally his responsibility. He slowly raised his hand, a well of deep dread beginning to form in his stomach. It swallowed his other emotions till he felt hollow, consumed and wrung out by his dawning horror.

"Mr. Fenton?" Lancer called, approaching their table. It was as if Danny was viewing himself from outside his body. His lips were not his own when he answered.

"May I go to the bathroom?" he asked. Lancer nodded, moving away to speak with another student that had raised their hand. Danny stood, pushing in his chair, preparing internally to face what he knew was going to be a bad fight. Not because of the ghost, oh no, but because of the humans. They were definitely going to go after him—the GIW, his parents, the Red Huntress.

"Be careful," Sam whispered as Danny left the room.

But before he properly faced anything, he had to get out of the school. And not through the normal routes—the GIW would be suspicious if he left, only for the ghost boy to show up. Even an idiot could put two and two together to figure that one out. So he found an empty classroom, went inside, and, still in his human form, duplicated himself. The duplicate easily transformed into Danny Phantom, flying off to distract the GIW, while Danny Fenton exited through the front doors.

He ducked in between some cars in the parking lot and whispered, "Goin' ghost," because who in their right mind would shout it so loudly literally anyone could hear? He had a secret identity to keep. The bright rings travelled across his body, turning his T-shirt and jeans into a skin-tight black hazmat suit. He sprung into the sky and sped off, trying to locate the exact disturbance.

In the end, it wasn't difficult to spot: the excessive amount of mist, the shrieks of terror, and the smashing of glass gave it away. He spotted one massive ghost knight, an even larger horse behind him, holding up a woman that looked familiar—she was Mary Yang, he remembered. The ghost was about to slice open her throat, mere seconds away, so Danny poured on the speed. He wouldn't be able to divert the blade's path or distract the ghost, so the only option was to make a shield around her. He held up his hands, praying that he'd get there in time, and he had.

"I can't say I'm an expert on weapons safety," Danny said, addressing the ghost. It was time to get his attention focused on a non-human person who could take what the knight could dish out. "But I don't think you're supposed to do that with them." Mary looked up at him, surprise crossing her face as her eyes widened and her skin paled.

Danny touched her arm, making her intangible, and pulled her out of the knight's grip, letting go as soon as she was behind him. The people that had gathered below the building cheered, but Danny wanted to yell at them to get away—the ghosts behind them were wreaking havoc, and Danny was about to fight them all. The debris could hurt them. No time for that, now, though; he had a civilian and a ghostly villain that required his immediate attention.

"Who are you, child?" the knight demanded, curiosity staying his hand. "How dare you interfere with what my Mistress has demanded?" Oh, goody; the guy had a Mistress, presumably someone more powerful than her minions and who was evil enough to send this guy out to murder someone.

"Firstly," Danny raised one finger, prepared to make the knight mad (better to focus his attention, take it away from Mary), "your mistress sounds like she needs a hobby. I'm told yoga is rather relaxing. Secondly," he raised another finger, "this is my city, not yours, so I'm the one who gets to ask who the hell you are." The knight looked taken aback by this proclamation; clearly he wasn't used to being back-talked in this manner. Not precisely the effect he'd been going for, but he hadn't really landed the cherry on top of his verbal masterpiece. "And finally," Danny's fingers curled into a fist, "I don't appreciate people who think they're better than everyone else."

He brought back his arm and delivered a powerful uppercut to the knight's face before he even seemed to know what was happening. The knight staggered backward. Perfect. Now, they could duke it out, preferably in the air to give Mary the space she needed to escape. Hopefully, she'd be smart enough to do so.

"You are an insufferable nuisance," the knight declared, "and you will perish by my blade." He whipped it around, but Danny launched himself into the sky, hovering there, waiting for the ghost to come after him.

"You want to kill me?" he called. "You'll have to come and get me first." Danny finger-gunned the knight, shooting out an ecto beam that blew the knight's helmet clean off, revealing a grinning skull beneath. It rattled slightly as he spoke.

"You will pay for your insolence!" he screamed, charging at the teenager with all he had. Danny braced himself, brining up another shield to stop the knight's sword from shearing his body into two. Then, as the knight readied another swing, he ducked low, slamming a stronger ecto-beam close range into the knight's armored stomach. The ghost flew backward, bringing up his own hand to fire a blast. Danny dodged easily, trying to think of a good way to get him to lose the sword so he didn't have to worry about dying as he unscrewed the thermos to suck him up.

He fired a beam at the hand holding the weapon, but the knight dodged. He watched Danny with that permanent grin he had, his bones clicking together as he moved. The half-ghost found it extremely unsettling. Perhaps if he got the ghost angrier, he could disarm him somehow. Or do something to give him enough time to put him in the thermos.

"You know," Danny said, testing out his theory, "we've danced, but I still don't know your name. How am I meant to serenade you on your balcony after the party?" He brought his leg up to kick the ghost in the shoulder. Barely deterred, the knight swung his sword in an arc, a move that would've decapitated the young half-ghost had he not quickly dodged to the right.

"I am Resistis Demortem. Sir Demortem to a young usurper like yourself!" the knight shouted back. What a name, Danny thought. Who the hell went by a mouthful like that?

"God, were your parents drunk when they named you?" he mocked aloud. The ghost sliced with his sword, only it was a feint, so as Danny ducked, the knight brought his other fist up and smacked his chest, shoving Danny onto the roof. The half-ghost let loose a shocked oof. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Mary had reached the service hatch and had swung inside of it. He breathed an internal sigh of relief; that was one less person to worry about.

As the ghost charged once more, ready to kill him with the sword, Danny pushed himself up to collide with the knight, planting his shoulder right in the ghost's sternum—where his core would be, roughly, and thus a weak spot. He felt the knight shudder a bit, and as he was distracted, Danny gripped the knight's sword hand, twisting it to force him to let go. The half-ghost tossed the weapon onto the roof.

"Gah! No!" the ghost cried, swooping low to retrieve his blade. Danny took the moment to get out his thermos and twist the cap off. Demortem rushed at him, weapon now in hand, but Danny aimed his soup container at him, pressing the button to suck him up. Now, for the other ghosts.

There were so many, all of them destroying property and terrorizing people. As he'd noticed before, these ones didn't seem as interested in killing people as Demortem had been, though they were still very clearly bent on causing chaos. He spied one about to smash a window with her stave, and he tackled her before she could.

"Get off of me, traitor!" she yelled, writhing under him to get free.

"Traitor?" he muttered confusedly. She spat at his face, and Danny narrowed his eyes at her.

"Any ghost who doesn't believe in our Mistress's mission is a traitor to their own kind! A complete—" Danny trapped her in the thermos before she could say anymore. He spied a man about to be crushed by falling debris and raced to save him, pulling him out from under it just as the piece of building collapsed, smashing down to where he'd been. The man didn't seem injured at all, so Danny decided to fly him just far enough away to be out of the action.

"Thank you," the man gasped, still looking very afraid and shocked from his near-death experience. "I don't know what everyone's thinking, saying you're a bad ghost. You just saved two people's lives." He said it almost distractedly, like he was thinking aloud. Danny found a spot far enough away from anything and set him down gently, patting his arm reassuringly.

"Any time, sir," he said. "Try and run when you see the ghosts next time, though, okay? Evacuating the area is probably the safest thing to do in these situations." The man nodded, his eyes seeming far away, and Danny flew off.

The next ghost he fought was destroying a coffee shop down the road from where Demortem had been. He'd just broken the display cases with some rich-smelling scones and was about to throw the cash register when Danny pushed him out onto the street. The ghost grunted, using his dagger to slice at Danny's arm. Danny moved back, but not far enough, and the blade cut through his suit to his upper arm. Ouch. He kicked the ghost into a nearby wall, pulling out his thermos to suck him up. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it.

"Three down, about a million to go," he groaned rather loudly. He looked around, wondering where the hell the other ghost hunters were. Caught up with the others of Demortem's gang? Waiting to strike? He didn't know, and he didn't have time to think about it; more ghost had to be captured, and more people had to be saved.

He went intangible, searching buildings that had all but toppled down, the ghosts having completely destroyed certain structures. He found two unconscious kids—a boy and a girl, about seven and ten. The girl's temple was bleeding, and the boy's arm was bent oddly—broken. He scooped them up gently, still intangible so as to not shift the debris, and took them over to the paramedics, who knew better now than to try and find civilians until all the ghosts had been rounded up.

"Thanks, Phantom," a woman said as she took the children from him. "Let us know when it's all clear so we can go in."

"Of course," Danny responded, giving her a cocky salute as he flew back. He'd worked with them often enough, as they were rather underprepared when it came to the undead. 

Minutes, and then hours, passed as Danny found a routine fighting the ghosts and rescuing the humans. He grew exhausted, and as this happened, sloppier. More ghosts landed hits on him, and he sprained his right ankle. He was moving through the thick molasses of his own tiredness, and he hadn't even faced his worst adversaries: hunters. It had been such a long time since he'd had a long battle like this. He moved another boy—this time a teenager a tad younger than himself—to the paramedics. The boy thanked him awkwardly as Danny journeyed back to the scene of the crime.

Finally, he was battling what he believed to be the last ghost. She snarled at him when she saw him, also realizing that she was the last of them. She attacked viciously, hitting his already-aching bruises and aiming for his still-bleeding wounds with her short sword. As he brought out his thermos to suck her up, she lashed out at his sprained ankle with her own foot, forcing it back into the unnatural position which had hurt it. He gasped, and she leaned in close, sneering evilly.

"You may have defeated us this time, but the Empress, my Mistress, will conquer all. She'll annihilate you, and this world, and all those that oppose her. You can never—" Danny viciously shoved the thermos into her stomach, pressing the button that would trap her within it.

"Not interested," he murmured, floating down to the ground. The remains of the fights and the ghosts' destruction littered the ground around him, and he tucked the thermos away, rubbing his eyes. Now, to get out of here before anyone shows up to catch me.

But then, he heard something, a whirring, a whining—the sound of a blaster about to fire—and he whipped his head around, the shot coming in too fast to dodge—

Oh, shit. It hit him right in the chest, and he felt all the breath leave his body, his sternum pulsing and throbbing in agitation. He landed hard on his back, rubble digging into his spine. That's going to leave a bruise. Valerie, dressed as the Huntress, zoomed in out of nowhere, bringing up an arm to fire a net at him.

But he was ready this time, and he flew up into the air, avoiding it easily. Had she been waiting for him? Where had she come from?

"Huntress," he acknowledged, giving her a glare. He rubbed his back with one hand. "Look, can we just not do this right now? I've had a long few days, and I'm sure you have too…" In recent months, while they hadn't had a truce, per se, Valerie had definitely calmed down, listening to reason and more often joining up with him to fight the worst baddies. But she seemed pissed. Probably because she felt duped, and if there was one thing Danny had learned about Valerie, it was that anyone who injured her pride would get a reckoning, regardless if they were right and she was wrong. Sometimes, he admired her stubbornness, but not when it hurt him.

"Yeah, right," Valerie scoffed. "You've been laughing at us all! The infamous ghost boy, the one we've all tried so hard to catch, right under our noses! I bet you loved that, huh?" Yes, definitely an injured ego. He was certain the grudge she had because of Cujo wasn't helping, nor were the incidents with Freakshow or the mayor. All of it had been inflamed, blown out of proportion with what had been revealed.

"Sure, if that's what you want to think," Danny sighed. "But I don't have time for this." He sped up, dodging just in time as she fired off a shot. He was covering his chest, keeping his sides to her. His suit was smoking, and the wound burned. He knew it was bad, but adrenaline was keeping him going, now, and he didn't have time to stop and examine it.

"What, late for class?" Valerie called scathingly, giving chase. Danny heard tires screeching, turning to see the GIW chasing after him. He saw how it was: let the ghost boy defeat all the ghosts, then come in and take him. These people were sick fucks, but he'd already known that.

"Not on your life," he said, more to himself than anyone else. He flew faster, pushing himself as much as his battered body would allow. But he had to end it quickly; they would get him for sure if this was prolonged.

"On behalf of the United States government, we order you to cease running, Phantom!" One of the GIW called over a megaphone. He was shouting out of a window of their van as they pursued the chase.

"Fucking dammit, dammit all to fucking hell," Danny muttered, trying to go as fast as possible. It wasn't fast enough, it would never be fast enough—he was just too goddamn tired. A shot came out of nowhere, but luckily it went wide. Danny swerved, trying to prevent anyone and everyone from landing another hit.

He needed a break—he was running out of breath. Because, while he didn't need as much oxygen in his ghost form, he still needed some, just like he needed some ectoplasm in his human form. Danny ducked into a building, trying to take deep breaths.

"Scared?" he heard Valerie taunt. Now was his chance—she was moving closer; he could take her by surprise. He raced out of the building, firing an ecto-ray that hit her shoulder. He had to get out, but it hadn't been as powerful as he'd hoped. His energy reserves were low, and soon he might now be able to really fire anything at all.

"Of you?" Danny's mouth upturned into a mockery of a grin. "Never."

Another of the GIW's shots went wide, Danny having hardly seen it, and the same guy shouted, "Surrender, Phantom, if you know what's good for you!" He was getting to tired, but he knew what to focus on. His eyes darted toward them before resting on her—the greater threat. Valerie brought her gun up. His muscles tensed, ready to dodge when his parents came barreling onto the scene. He looked up, missing Valerie firing directly at him.

It hit him right in the shoulder, and he gasped. What was happening? It all hurt so much—could he even move his arm? He felt an urge deep within himself to change, to conserve his energy, to sleep, to rest, to recover. But he couldn't do that—he was trapped. Valerie had thrown a net at him, and it was too heavy for him to buck off. He tried going intangible, only to be electrocuted for his trouble. Everything burned now—he'd been coated in hot oil, thrown into a bonfire. His muscles twitched, and he took in a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. This was the thanks he got for helping people?

"Red Huntress," his mom began, sounding as if she were underwater. Everything sounded muffled, dead. Was he dead? No, only half-dead. Half-dead was okay, though, so long as it didn't become full dead.

"By law, we must take Phantom into custody," a GIW agent interrupted, or probably it was a GIW agent. Danny opened his eyes again, but everything was still black and blurry and bobbing up and down, waving like branches in a violent breeze.

"Don't even think about it," Valerie warned. She stepped forward, placing one foot on Danny's shoulder. He gasped. Holy fucking Jesus could she not? The injury already ached, and he could feel a sort of warm wetness all over, which would be the ectoplasm leaking from his body. The ghostly equivalent of blood.

"He's mine," Valerie said, making the proclamation to the other ghost hunters that also wanted him.

"Huntress," his mom sounded disapproving now, "he might be half-human." The warning was clear: he was human, so he deserved better than a boot to his wound. Or something. Thanks mom.

"Oh, I'm sure he is," Valerie said, "So I'm going to turn him over. But not before I expose just exactly who he is." Oof.

"How?" Mom demanded. "Look, if you give him over to us, we have theorized a few painless ways to test which hypothesis of ours is true. There's no need to reveal him to all these people—unless you're doing it for the money. He may be a criminal, but he still deserves basic respect. Besides, how can you be sure he isn't just possessing someone's body?"

Well, at least someone's kind of on my side. Even if the lack of faith was depressing, it was still much better than everyone just assuming he couldn't feel pain. Valerie laughed darkly, and her blurry, masked head appeared closer to his face.

"But I know which of your theories is correct, Maddie," she said, and Danny made a noise of protest, batting at her boot with weak hands. "What? Don't want me to tell?" She stepped off him, turning to face the other hunters. "I've met other half-ghosts in my time," she said vaguely. At least she wasn't about to out Dani, he thought hazily. "And you were spot on. He can change forms, has some kind of human secret identity. One which, I feel, he's hid behind long enough."

"We agree," the GIW agent said, "which is why you should hand him over to us. As representatives of the United States government, we can appropriately dish out the justice he deserves." Valerie gave a barking laugh.

"No way. I appreciate your help, but as soon as I expose his identity, he's getting locked up."

"But Huntress, if he's half human the way you say, his wounds should be treated now," Mom argued. "Anything else is cruel." Valerie sighed.

"Trust me, it's exactly how I say it is—he's half human. And as soon as he reveals his identity, this standoff can end. So what do you say, Phantom?" she asked. "You know this can't end any other way."

The hell it can't. She made it sound so easy, so clean. Expose his identity and take him to the police, who'd punish him for the crimes he hadn't committed by locking him up for the rest of his half-life. If he got out, or even if he stayed in prison, the GIW would likely fight to get ahold of him. His human form was his respite, a way to get away from them. What Valerie was proposing couldn't and wouldn't happen. Danny struggled to get his unfocused eyes to gaze up at her.

"Fuck off, Valerie," he whispered to her. A warning—you reveal mine, I reveal yours. She recoiled as if struck before bringing herself closer.

"You think I can't make sacrifices to ensure you're put away?" she responded in equally hushed tones. Suddenly the both of them were distracted as the sounds of skidding tread echoed through the space.

Two people showing up on—oh my fucking God. Now he really was thinking of Vlad. It was the goddamn "Extreme Ghostbreakers." He hadn't seen them since Vlad had put that million-dollar bounty on his head.

"My guys," Sullivan announced, "the ghost dude is clearly ours."

"Yeah," added Brenner. Danny almost shook his head. This was ridiculous. The GIW began to interject, ready to defend their prize, and his mom had gotten involved, his dad staying silent. Valerie loudly, and with exasperation, mentioned that he was in her net, having been brought down with her shot, and they hadn't even been there.

All distracted, all not watching him. He had to escape, find a hiding spot, and change forms before anyone noticed. Where to hide? The mall was just a few blocks over, probably abandoned because of the ghost activity, but intact enough the paramedics wouldn't be searching it. He could find a bathroom. Or a storage closet. Or a backroom. Something. How to escape the net, though? He thought through it all, and, well, the power he had was definitely strong enough. But was he strong enough to use it?

He sucked in a deep breath, and wailed. The sounds of the hunters' yelling cut off, the net was blown to bits, and he was up and flying, rushing as fast as he could—he could hear them gathering behind him, not fast enough.

"After him!" Someone called, and he had to be at the mall now. And suddenly, he was. Teleportation, something that took so much power the rings were already coming over him. Somewhere to hide, where no one would find him, bleeding and hurting in his human form. His eyesight flickered—he was about to pass out. He turned intangible—a parking garage was just below this. He drifted down, hit the ground hard. Human. No one was around—good. He had to find a place to hide, place to hide. He crawled toward the corner of the parking garage, obscured by a pillar. Behind that. Not the greatest, but he couldn't… He was fading… He was…

Gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Found by Friends

Mikey Davis sat with his eyes glued to the screen, the mouse gliding over to hit the rewind button once more. The video replayed, Phantom going into the building and going intangible to get the jewelry out without breaking the glass and setting off the alarms. But, as Mikey had noticed before, something was wrong with the whole thing. Phantom was off, somehow. He wore a creepy smirk—and, unlike the cocky one he normally donned, this was malicious. Pleased. Not at all like himself. But something else was wrong. The lighting of his eyes was weird; in other photos or videos, they illuminated everything, and they should've cast a brighter, more green shadow. Instead, the light looked almost red. If only the video had a clear shot of his face…

There. Mikey paused it, zoomed in, and—Phantom's eyes were crimson, not the toxic green they normally were. Everyone in Amity Park knew differently colored eyes were a sign of possession. Was it possible for a ghost to be possessed, though? Well, half-ghost. Perhaps the human side left him more vulnerable? Mikey couldn't believe no one had gone back through the footage and seen this.

Yesterday's Phan Club meeting had sparked this. Some of the members had left, claiming that, as a full ghost, Phantom's actions of robbery and kidnapping were allowable—he wasn't human, after all; who knew what kind of bizarre behavior quirk had sparked it? But, now that he was human and had as much control over himself as anyone else, he had to be held to higher standard. This argument made about as much sense as Dash's reasoning that shoving Mikey in lockers was okay. And Mikey had very strong feelings about being shoved in lockers.

So, he'd done what he probably should've done before: decided to investigate the kidnapping and robbery claims. Phantom himself always seemed to either awkwardly ignore the question or deny that he'd done it outright when the incidents came up. Mikey thought that, with all the things Phantom had done, these two events seemed out of character. Why help people only to rob them later? Why save the lives of everyone only to kidnap their mayor? He'd gotten home, done his homework rather quickly (What could he say? He was academically gifted) and gotten down to business.

It had been difficult, trawling through gigabytes to find even reports of what had happened. He even tried calling the police station to see if he could access the files, or get an interview, or something with someone, but they'd said the case was classified. And gee, he wondered who had done that? He suspected the GIW were also behind the lack of information on the internet about Phantom, but he'd found a couple places where people had cleverly disguised what the article or whatever was actually about.

In the end, he may or may not have side-stepped a couple of things he wasn't supposed to, may or may not have gotten access to a couple of things he wasn't supposed to… Such as the video of Phantom robbing the bank. He'd found it last night, far too late to do any investigating, and had gone to bed, telling himself he'd take a look in the morning.

And it was clear, from what he'd seen, that the half-ghost was not under his own power. He took a screenshot the image and sent it to himself, so he'd have access to it on his phone. Some people might suspect he'd doctored the photo to clear Phantom's name, but he knew that the people who mattered—his friends, mainly—would believe him. He'd found a couple statements from the mayor, too, saying that he didn't recall the event at all. Which was a little fishy, to say the least, but Mikey hadn't found anything concrete yet.

In the middle of his investigation, he'd been sent the latest on the Phantom situation—a news clip of Huntress revealing exactly what type of ghost he was, just before he escaped. The whole thing was so strange to Mikey; what classmate of his could be Phantom? When he'd originally heard the Fentons' three hypotheses, he'd suspected the corpse one to be correct. Now he knew, though, that the boy who'd been shot yesterday, the boy who'd somehow half-died, the boy who everyone was hunting...

Most likely went to school with Mikey. Sat with him in the cafeteria at lunch, hated on Lancer with the rest of them (1984 was such a good book, but Lancer teaching it had kind of ruined it for Mikey), endured Tetslaff with the rest of them. A normal kid no one suspected was half-ghost.

But Mikey knew he was a fellow student, so he'd begun a running list of people it could be. He didn't know, however, if physical attributes carried over at all, or if Phantom looked completely different as a human. So he hadn't ruled anyone out yet. And if he based things off of height and body type, too many boys fit the bill. Mikey would have to narrow it down somehow… The injuries, as much as he hated that the hero had gotten hurt, might be a dead-giveaway. Or if anyone was absent. But that could also give Phantom up to the GIW, or someone else who wanted to hurt him. If Mikey did find out who he was, he'd need to keep his realization to himself.

Because he'd seen the video of one of Phantom's so-called "crimes," and if he'd done that under duress… The mayor likely wasn't a different situation. He—and others—had been saved by the ghost boy too many times for Mikey to truly justify doubting him. Or exposing him. The money might've been tempting, but he knew that, with his identity revealed, Phantom would be more hunted than ever. Other governments—or more branches of the US government—would go after him, and without the shield of his human identity, the stress would be constant.

Mikey knew that if he found out, he'd do everything in his power to help the boy who had repeatedly saved everyone's lives. But before that happened, he actually had to go to school.

Standing from his desk and stretching, he sighed. The redhead closed his laptop's lid and slipped it into his bag. As long as he wasn't caught, he could do more research at school. And it wasn't like anyone paid attention to him…

Cold. He was so, so cold. The ground stole the warmth from his body—a slow, draining thief that offered nothing in return. His muscles aching, his eyes droopy, he was too tired to even lift himself up. Didn't he have somewhere to be? Was this it? This dim place, hiding in a corner that reeked of garbage? That didn't seem right.

Everything was under water: noises were muffled and he moved strangely, not strong enough to even shift so the pillar he was pressed against didn't dig into his elbow. Even the pain was bizarrely dulled, like his nerves had given up on transmitting signals, as sleepy as he was. Sometimes, he closed his eyes and thought time passed, but when he opened them, everything looked the same. And there was no sun or sky or anything. Had the world gone dark? No—he was underground.

What a dumbass.

There was something sticky on the ground next to him. Under him, around him, drowning him. Like blood, but with an odd sheen. That wasn't normal, he thought. Blood shouldn't look like that, with a green tint. As if he was filled with Christmas…

His eyes closed again, and when he opened them this time, he felt more coherent. He was shivering, trembling as if in an earthquake. He rubbed his arms slowly, clumsily. Where the hell am I? Then, he recalled the fight, the capture, the escape. To here… Had anyone seen? Were there cameras to reveal him? He supposed the pillar did cover him quite well. He pushed himself up to sitting position, propping himself up with the wall behind him. "Ah!" he cried, his shoulder flaring with pain in protest. He grabbed it, curling in on himself. His chest didn't feel much better, and his eyes watered from the agony.

What time was it? He pulled out his phone: 1:24 AM. His notifications showed fifty-seven missed calls and forty-three unanswered texts, all from Sam, Tucker, Jazz, and his parents. All worried, or worried-angry, or just angry. He shakily pressed the button to call Tucker. Jazz was still away at a college thing or whatever (which had been planned months in advanced and really couldn't be canceled, despite Jazz wishing it could be), and Sam was probably with Tucker.

"Danny!" Tucker exclaimed, picking up almost immediately. "Where are you, dude? Are you okay? What happened?" Danny inhaled slowly, trying to marshal his fuzzy thoughts. There was a disconnect between his mind and body, some faulty wiring that made anything he tried to do short-circuit. "Talk to me!" Tucker said desperately. "Danny, please, are you alright?"

"I—" Danny cut off, choking a little. His throat was sore—probably from screaming, and inhaling smoke, and wailing. "I'm o-okay. A-at the mall's p-parking lot… Pick m-me up? I d-don't think I can w-walk. O-or fly." He coughed, his dry, irritated throat berating him for speaking so much.

"We're coming. Just stay on the line, okay? Don't hang up, just keep talking to me," Tucker said, sounding worried. "Why did you escape to the parking lot? Where are you exactly?" Don't make me talk, Danny thought miserably.

"F-first place… I th-thought of. Hidden behind a p-pillar… In the corner. 'S why n-no one s-saw me… Plus, in th-the underground g-garage. On a Wednesday." Not like it would've been busy. And the pillar was big.

"Thursday now, man," Tucker said. "Your throat sounds busted. Did you smoke a pack of cigarettes before you called me?" He asked it lightly, trying to liven the mood. Danny couldn't even muster a pity laugh.

"Ha," he muttered sarcastically. "Y-you're so f-funny, Tucker." He let his head fall back to the wall gently, trying not to aggravate the bruises he probably had there. They smarted, but he was more relaxed now, ready to drift off again… Everything was so peaceful. Not like his ghost fights or like with Valerie or his parents. His parents—they'd be pissed at him. And he might get suspended again for ditching so much of school, not that it did anything. Maybe just another of Lancer's speeches telling him to apply himself, implying he was lazy and stupid and unmotivated.

Lazy. He tried so hard, but it was never good enough, was it? He closed his eyes. No matter how many villains he fought off, no matter how many lives he saved, no matter how much of himself he gave, it was his fault in the first place. He wasn't doing anyone any good—he was just cleaning up the mess he'd made by activating the stupid portal. He was guilty, so he deserved it. If he had applied himself, maybe he would have been smart enough not to turn the damn thing on, and they could've never gone through this whole fiasco. There wouldn't be thousands in property damage, or an increase in the price of insurance, or anything. Amity Park would be a normal city in the Midwest, not some freak place everyone assumed was hyped up on LSD.

Their reputation was his fault—his own reputation was his fault. He was half human; he shouldn't have let Freakshow just control him as he had. He should've broken out of it sooner. He could have—the situation with Sam proved that. But no, it hadn't taken hurting people or robbing them to snap out of it—it had taken his best friend nearly dying. He made stupid mistakes and didn't care about anyone, really. Did he? He was just a dumb ghost defending its territory… Just a dumb ghost that didn't deserve anything because he was only cleaning up the mess he'd made… A ghost that, according to thirty-nine percent of the population (his disapproval rating), deserved to be hunted, caught, experimented on.

They knew how much of a failure he was, knew that he had to be stopped. Knew he was just a stupid little kid that didn't need praise or even a good job because he was a ghost and ghosts didn't have feelings. And he was unmotivated and lazy and stupid, and he deserved it, didn't he?

Didn't he?

"—Danny? Danny, answer me! Stay awake, dude," Tucker demanded over the phone. Danny shook his head, which sent the world spinning in all directions, and realized he'd been crying. It just hadn't seemed fair. Life wasn't fair, but everyone was just being ridiculous. He couldn't even muster anger, just a hopeless despair that rested in the middle of his stomach, intent on dragging him down to an early grave.

"I-I'm still here," he croaked. "S-still awake." And he had to go home, face parents who were disappointed in him, who hunted him, and then to school, where everyone would be watching, especially the agents with those steely eyes, ready to pierce through his lies to the truth—that he was a freak of nature, an abomination that couldn't exist. Sitting here, injured and half-awake, it was just so overwhelming. And humans had done this to him, other people who thought he deserved the pain.

Was it so easy to hate him?

The tears kept coming, and Danny couldn't stop them, as much as he tried wiping them away. He curled up, pressing his palms into his eyes. We can add crybaby to the list. Lazy, stupid, unmotivated, freak, crybaby. No wonder no one likes me, as Phantom or Fenton. A stupid whimper rose from his chest, like he was dog that had been kicked. An animal.

"We're almost there, Danny, just hold on," Tucker reassured, though the note of panic had never really left his voice. It was constantly there in the background, a high pitched sound of terror that whined in Danny's ears, reminding him how much he'd always let his friends down. He hadn't even managed to wake up and text them. No, he'd passed out, left them wondering.

He was nearly bawling now, silently. He didn't want them to see him like this—they'd already dealt with too many of his breakdowns, and he was just being stupid.

As always.

"We're entering the garage," Tucker updated him. "Tell us when you see us, okay?" Danny's gut clenched at the thought of his friends seeing him, even as relief relaxed some of the tension in his face.

"A-alright," he agreed. He shifted his head so he could better see. Headlights came around the corner first, followed by the rest of Sam's dark car. Danny wiped his eyes. "I see y-you."

The car stopped, and Danny saw two figures step out. "G-go forward. I'm in the c-corner in f-front of you."

"We're coming," Tucker said, and he hung up the phone. Danny let his arm drop, clutching the device. The two figures—his best friends—came closer, breaking into almost a run when they caught sight of him.

"Danny!" Sam exclaimed, racing up. She kneeled in front of him, taking in his battered appearance, the evidence he'd been crying. Her face instantly turned to one of sympathy. Tucker landed next to her moments later. "We were so worried. We saw your fight on the news, Valerie saying those things to expose you…" Sam took his hand and squeezed it. "But don't ever do that again. Call us before you pass out, so we're not up half the damn night searching for you!" She punched his uninjured shoulder gently, letting him go with a warning because of his wounds.

"I-I'm sorry," Danny whispered. He looked down at his hands, all of the self-recriminating thoughts flooding back.

"Let's get him into the car, Sam. I'll drive; you can start getting him back together for school today. Luckily, the mall hasn't re-installed cameras in their garage after your last fight here." Tucker stood up, watching Sam.

"School?" Danny questioned. They really thought he could go as he was? He'd be revealed in a heartbeat, in the blink of an eye. Dash would hurt him, aggravating his injuries, or he'd bleed through, and everyone would know. They'd all know.

"It'd be too suspicious for you not to show up," Tucker told him, resignation and sadness in his eyes. Danny looked to Sam, hoping for some kind of disagreement, but the same look was in her eyes.

"It's okay, Danny. We'll look after you. But he's right; if you don't go, it could be… Well, this is the type of thing the GIW, and the entire school, are watching for." She rubbed his hand comfortingly with her thumb before letting go and standing up.

"Okay," Danny finally agreed. They were right—it would be too suspicious.

"Help me," she instructed Tucker, lifting Danny by the waist on the side of his hurt shoulder. The other boy pulled Danny's arm across his shoulders, and the two easily carried him, light as he was, to the car.

"And we're lucky the ghost fight was so close," Tucker said. "Everyone had already fled when they heard about it, so hardly anyone was here. If they had been, this could've ended very differently." His theory made sense. Otherwise, Danny definitely would've been found, and possibly handed over to the GIW.

They opened the back door and set him down in the back, Sam climbing in after him. They'd already flattened the back seats, and blankets were spread across the surface, ready for him. Tucker clambered into the front seat, content that Sam was caring for Danny; he'd never been as good as her at stomaching the gruesome wounds and helping to heal them. He could, of course, if need be, but she was the expert. Just as he was in other areas.

Sam helped Danny out of his shirt, and, though they'd done this plenty of times before, he still felt a light blush rise to his cheeks. She ignored it in favor of taking out the first-aid kit and digging through its contents.

"What hurts the most?" she asked, gazing intently at the burns on his shoulder and chest from Valerie's gun. Danny thought for a moment.

"Chest, sh-shoulder, ankle," he said as Tucker drove smoothly away. Sam nodded, getting out the antiseptic, some bandages, and tape. Danny close his eyes as the chill of an alcohol wipe made its way around his chest. He hissed when it made contact with a cut, but Sam was careful not to put it in his chest wound—yet.

"We covered for you," Tucker called back as Sam continued her ministrations. "The clone you made at school, and then the fight, was enough to distract the GIW from finding out who exactly was missing—and the other teachers just thought it was normal. We don't think any of them suspect anything, or not that we could tell. They called your parents, of course, but Sam called them later to tell them that you'd arrived at her house after school. She managed to convince them you were fine there, but they sounded ticked."

"You'll probably be grounded," Sam agreed. "Take these." She gave him some painkillers and a bottle of water to wash them down with. He downed them both gratefully, though they only took the edge off the pain.

"I'm going to clean the big ones now," she warned, and before Danny could try and convince her no, I'm good, that'll really hurt, she'd begun. He groaned, gripping the edge of the seat till it caved under his unnatural strength. "It has to be done, sooner rather than later." She worked efficiently, quickly, like she'd been doing this for a lifetime—and three years maybe was a lifetime, in this business.

Tucker drove slowly and carefully, taking more unused roads and taking advantage of the fact that it was two in the morning. By the time Sam got to Danny's shoulder, his vision was hazy, his chest was heaving, his face was sweaty. He couldn't stay coherent, or awake.

"It's okay," Sam encouraged softly, running her fingers through his hair, making soothing noises. "Shh. Go to sleep now." Danny closed his eyes, giving in to his deep fatigue and trusting that his two best friends would look after him no matter what.

The Red Huntress stood before me—only Valerie's mask was off, showing the hatred set deep in her face. Behind her were two towering GIW agents and his parents, looking bug-eyed and alien. But I was in my human form, Fenton and not Phantom. So why were they all looking at me like that? Like I was an amoeba under a microscope, an inhuman specimen to be tested on, a monster to be eradicated.

"Finally got you," my classmate said in a sing-song voice. "Finally, I know the identity of the person who ruined my life."

"Valerie, I didn't mean—" I tried to say, stepping forward desperately. She had to understand that it wasn't my fault.

"You don't get to speak!" Valerie thundered, ramming her fist into my gut. I fell to my knees, breathless. "I'm turning you in, spook. A criminal like you needs to be locked up. And who better than the government to contain you?" She smirked cruelly, stepping aside to let the huge, giant-like agents come forward. One held glowing green chains, the other scalpels. I looked up at my parents, who seemed, too, to have grown taller.

"Please!" I yelled. "You know what they'll do to me! I'm your son, please!" I was sobbing now, not that I cared.

"Are you?" My mom came forward, prodded at my cheek, turned my head with her hand. "I don't think so. You're diseased, sick, and these nice men are here to fix you. Then, you'll be my son." She sounded indifferent, as if I were a stranger.

"Dad?" I couldn't look, couldn't see the nothingness that would surely match my mom's.

"If it were up to me," my dad said with uncharacteristic severity, "we'd rip you apart molecule by molecule. See what makes you tick—a thing like you needs to be studied, of course. For science."

"But I'm, I'm your son!" I screamed. "Please! Don't let them take me away."

"We'll visit you every week," my mom assured, sounding far away. The agents had cuffed my hands, were dragging me to a metal table. "And once you're cured, maybe you can come home. Maybe you can be our son again."

"Don't worry," my dad added, sounding more cheerful. He smiled at me. "It's for science!" The agents strapped me down, and as much as I tried to phase through, to change forms, to do anything but kick and scream and flail helpless, I couldn't.

I couldn't.

"Please!" I shrieked. "Please! Mom! Dad!"

"Don't call us that," my mom admonished distantly, not even looking at me. "Not till you're better."

"Hurry!" my dad urged the agents. "I want to see what's inside him!" The agent wasted no time—only he was a scientist now, having donned a lab coat when I wasn't looking.

"Of course, Jack," he responded absently, leaning closer to examine my chest. But his voice was Vlad's, not some stranger's, though his features remained the agent's. "Let's cut him up." My torso was bare, my shirt having gone somewhere, and the blade pressed just below my navel. It sliced through my skin like water, as though it were not even there. I stared silently in horror as it traveled up my middle, leaving a trail of green-red tears weeping silently onto the table.

"How fascinating. Jack, come closer. I need someone to hold his organs for me." The Y-cut was finished, he was peeling back the skin, and from somewhere deep within I screamed and screamed and screamed. The man who was not Vlad but had Vlad's voice gently picked up my pulsing heart. "My, my, you don't need that anymore, do you?" he asked, peering down at my face. He handed it to my dad, who took the beating thing eagerly, poking it and squishing it.

The man tapped his green-red colored fingers on my chin, leaving marks there. "Ah, don't worry, little badger. When you're not alive, you can live without a heart."

"Danny!" The half-ghost was writhing in Sam's bed, batting at his friends' attempts to keep him in bed and not irritate his wounds. He didn't see them as Sam and Tucker—they were the man and his dad, one holding his most vital organ and the other a knife, poised to torture and study him.

"It's not real! Whatever it is, it's not real!" Sam shouted. Her parents were on a vacation in Florida, and her grandma slept like the dead. She grabbed his arms, stopping him from clawing at his chest, which had already bled through the bandage. Tucker was leaning on his legs, trying to keep him from rolling off the bed or kicking someone.

Danny's eyes were wide with panic and terror, uncomprehending. He sobbed and shrieked like a man possessed, and Sam pulled him close, wrapping her arms around her horrified friend.

"It's not real," she whispered into his ear. "It's not real." He slowly calmed down, stopped fighting. Tucker let go of his legs and came around to his other side. He was weeping, crying desperately into her shirt. Sam moved carefully onto the bed, sitting next to him. Tucker patted his back. Neither asked what the nightmare was about, or if he was okay.

Both answers were obvious.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: A Discovery

Danny nearly fell out of his chair in first period. It was a close thing, only prevented by Tucker's quick—but rather gentle—kick. More of a tap with his foot, and Danny was sitting upright, trying to pay attention as Lancer droned on about—something. Well, it probably wasn't important anyway. If it was important, his friends would fill him in later. Or whatever.

"…need permission slips for tomorrow. Technically, you can give them at the blood draw itself, but the process will go faster if we get them today. So, please, hand them over," Lancer was saying. The slips? Danny felt himself go cold all over—the blood draws were tomorrow. Of course, as a seventeen year old, he could sign himself out of it (which he had done), but the thought of an interrogation, in his condition… He could barely sit up without wanting to curl inward on himself.

His chest still burned, his leg still ached, the cuts and bruises under the make-up still itched and smarted. Anything faster than a shuffle sent his entire body into a frenzy.

And his hands were trembling, though he hid them beneath his desk. From fear and stress and dread. The images from his nightmare—his dad and Vlad working together to dissect him—still haunted him. They circled and circled in his mind like vultures.

He felt better than he had in the garage last night, though. He wished he'd stop having so many breakdowns, even if his friends did seem to understand that the stress was getting to him. They were his two support pillars, always there. The dark, self-deprecating thoughts he'd had alone and in pain had been chased away with medical attention and their presence. And maybe they would come back to tear at him, but he knew he was strong enough to fend them off so long as he had them—as cheesy as it sounded. And Jazz, of course. If she'd been there, she definitely would've made about a thousand emergency pancakes.

As Lancer moved through the maze of desks, collecting the papers, Danny shakily unzipped his bag, rifling though his papers to discover the crumpled slip. He handed it to his teacher wordlessly, and saw the surprise written in the older man's raised brows.

"Mr. Fenton," he began, keeping his voice low, "are you sure you don't want to go through with the test?" Even though he'd said it quietly, Danny saw Dash, to his right, perking up at the question. Good teasing fodder for later, probably. God, he could almost hear the taunting now: Fen-toenail, why aren't you getting your blood drawn? Too scared?

Actually, not a half-bad idea. It would fit with his persona as weak, loser-ish Fenton.

"I don't like needles," he informed Lancer tonelessly, trying to look as if he was embarrassed. He gazed at the desk in front of him, slumping down.

"Well, if you're sure," Lancer paused, but seemed to take the hint, travelling down the row for more permission slips. Glancing behind him, Danny saw Tucker flash him a thumbs up—his acting had been passable. Or Tucker thought it was passable.

Turning back to the front, he saw Dash whispering something to Kwan out of the corner of his eye. Though it wouldn't have been audible to normal ears, Danny's slightly-above-average hearing heard the tail-end of the comment: "—attention, obviously." Then, they glanced at him and giggled. Maliciously. Damn. He didn't think his body would be able to take another beating, even if it was fist-happy Dash and not trigger-happy Valerie. Valerie. God, he knew she'd be mad, but he had hoped the knowledge that he was half-human would've held her back, not made her more dangerous.

The thought of her watching them all, watching him for signs of Phantom, only seemed to increase the shaking of his hands. And revealing him—that had been low. Maybe he should've expected it, given her penchant for holding grudges, but she knew he was human. Human, and she hadn't even seemed to care.

Glancing at the clock, he almost groaned when he realized they had maybe five minutes before their next class.

He could almost feel the aggression brewing next to him as Lancer moved back to the front of the room, thanking them and reminding them that, just because they wouldn't have class tomorrow didn't mean the homework for Monday was moot. The emotion, the intent, was tangible in the way Dash and Kwan kept shooting him looks, kept making snide remarks.

When the bell finally rang, Danny didn't even try to escape his fate by going first. He'd tried that before, and it only served to piss Dash off further (not that he needed much of a reason in the first place). Instead, he gingerly packed up his things and carried his bag in one hand, unwilling to attempt putting it onto his back. Sam and Tucker hovered over him.

"We won't let him touch you," Sam said. So they'd noticed. Danny almost laughed.

"It usually doesn't work like that," he croaked.

"Let us do the talking, dude." Tucker decisively took Danny's bag from him, unwilling to see his friend struggle. The half-ghost gave him a grateful look, glad to be rid of the excess weight. His hands still shook, though, from stress and trepidation.

"You've done enough," Danny disagreed. "Besides, this might… help." Not exactly the right word, but he wasn't about to say it would aid his cover for Fenton to be re-affirmed as meek just now. That might be too much of a giveaway.

"You save lives," Sam countered. "So let us save you, even if it's just from some petty bully." Here, she nearly whispered the next words, "Because no one else knows, so no one else can. Please. You're injured enough as it is—and if he lands one wrong blow…"

"Fine," Danny shrugged. "But it's not going to work. Dash is single-minded, and he hates me." Not that he didn't appreciate their trying, their intentions. They braved battles, bullies, wounds, parents, and punishments for him (or maybe for the people he was saving. Or maybe a bit of both). He didn't deserve friends like these, so prepared to do anything for him.

(He ignored the fact that he'd also do anything for them.)

Tucker sighed. They began to walk toward the dreaded door. "Resisting our help won't change the fact we're going to help. Especially when Sam's in a mood. She has a one-track mind: vegan-ism, devil worshipping, and helping Danny. Her three goals in life, though I think the first two might be the same thing." Sam rolled her eyes.

"At least my brain's not scattered—like yours. I'm not the one who switched out the Fenton Thermos for one filled with soup," she muttered.

"To be fair, Danny's dad shouldn't have made the ghost-catching one and the soup-carrying one look so similar. It had a button and everything."

Almost out into the hall, now. They were doing a good job of distracting him, Danny had to admit. Maybe with these two flanking him, Dash might just walk away—or wait until lunch or after school, at least.

"What did the button even do?" A note of genuine confusion found its way into Sam's voice; how Jack Fenton's mind worked was a baffling puzzle on a good day. The thought of his father—not the nightmarish version last night, or the ghost-obsessed one, but his actual dad, goofy and loveable—nearly made Danny smile, but then they were out the door. And he was waiting for Dash to pop out at them.

"You know, I'm really not su—"

A jacket-clad shoulder slammed into Danny's chest. He gave a gasp of pain, black spots dancing before his eyes. Oh, God, he was going to black out. Breathe, just breathe, he told himself. No reason to pass out. Sam held him up by the elbow as covertly as she could.

"Watch it," Tucker snapped.

"Hey, Fen-tina," Dash greeted, ignoring Tucker. Kwan and a couple of other buddies came up, squad-formation. Danny almost winced in preparation—all those people ganging up on him.

(Glinting helmet, red shining in the sun. Criminal, criminal. White suits, white-hot pain, white hair. Green blood, red blood).

No. Danny almost shook his head; Dash wasn't Valerie (and also wasn't nearly so dangerous, no matter what he pretended). "Heard you didn't want to get your blood tested. 'Cause you're a fucking wimp," Dash said, crossing his arms.

"Lay off, Dash," Sam nearly snarled, stepping in between him and Danny. Tucker subtly moved forward, too.

"You gonna let your little girlfriend defend you, Fentina?" Dash called, not responding to Sam.

"Not my girlfriend," he muttered. God, his chest still burned. Could Dash take a chill pill?

"I'm not his girlfriend," Sam confirmed. "And we just need to get to our class. We'll be late otherwise."

"You'll be late anyway," Dash countered, and Danny had to give it to him—that was a fair point.

"It's the principle of the thing," Tucker interjected. "If we're going to be late, it needs to be because of us, not because of you. Justice can't be served if you make us late, but we get punished for it. Because if you made us late, then you'd deserve the detentions. It's like being framed for murder." Dash frowned in confusion, but turned his attention back to Danny.

"I know you're not afraid of needles, Fenton," he said, as serious as he was malicious. Perhaps even a bit of pride—chest puffed, shoulders back. "You've gotten the flu shot before no problem. So what is it really? Is it the blood? Are you such a baby you faint at the sight of it?" Dash fake-swooned into Kwan's arms, and they all broke into laughter.

Danny felt a cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck. With those words, Dash might easily uncover the deception. Their lies had never felt so flimsy, so inadequate. Like a single log trying to dam an entire river—impossible.

"Come on, Danny, Tucker," Sam growled. She grabbed their elbows (gently in Danny's case) and began to steer them around the group. By this time, most everyone else had dispersed.

Dash grabbed Danny's arm, whirling him around so they were face-to-face. Danny gasped, willing the tears of pain in his eyes not to fall. Dash definitely couldn't see him cry. "Don't think you can get away so easy. I wanna have some fun, y'know? Got an F yesterday on the math test, and I deserve to relieve some stress." He smirked, grinding his fist into his open palm. "Besides," he added, leaning closer. Danny could smell his expensive, overpowering cologne and mint mouthwash. "You so obviously wanted attention with that 'afraid of needles' ploy. So, I'm gonna give it to you."

He gripped the front of Danny's shirt, drawing his fist back in preparation to hit. The pressure on his wounds made the half-ghost see stars, sparking white lights flashing in his vision. He gasped. Take it, he thought. You have to take it. You're not Phantom; you're Fenton. You don't have any injuries. You're just a human.

Just a human.

The punch landed squarely on Danny's jaw before Sam shoved Dash out of the way, Tucker taking his turn to support Danny. With all the jerking around, the half-ghost felt something wet and warm on his chest—blood. And he'd bleed through, if he wasn't careful.

"Don't touch him!" Sam yelled. Her eyes gleamed angrily, and her skin flushed. "Stop being such a dick-wad!" Dash held his hands up, as if surrendering.

"Be careful, Manson," he chuckled, "someone might think you had a crush on him."

"Be careful, Dash," Sam snarled back, "someone might think you're a terrible bully who has no regard for anyone but himself. Oh, wait, I guess that is what you are." They squared off, Sam staring up at him steadily. The bell rang, and Dash shook his head.

"These losers aren't worth it," he muttered. "Let's go to class, guys." And the jocks turned to march to their next class, having proven their superiority. Sam watched them go like an animal who'd fought off an attack and was bracing for more.

She whirled around, coming forward to wrap an arm around Danny's waist. Tucker still supported Danny's unhurt shoulder. Between the two of them, most of the half-ghost's weight was off his feet. He leaned dizzily into them.

"Sometimes I forget why we're so intent on never making you mad," he muttered. "And then you go and do something like that." It had warmed his heart, actually. Sam was always so willing to stand up for him. Tucker, too.

"Somebody needs to be your knight in shining armor," Sam retorted.

"Does that make Danny the princess?" Tucker asked. "And if you two are about to kiss, warn me so I can look away." Sam reached around and pinched his arm. Danny stared at the ground, willing the blush on his cheeks to fade. But the thought of kissing Sam…

"Ah! You've given me enough bruises this week, Sam; maybe lay off the violence. I thought you were supposed to be a pacifist," Tucker groaned, rubbing his arm. He hadn't seemed to notice the blush, which Danny was thankful for—even if Tucker didn't tease him about it in front of Sam, he'd definitely hear it later.

"I'm a knight, remember? We're very violent," she said. "C'mon. Let's get my princess to the bathroom—I think he's bleeding through."

Mikey had shown his friends the picture in the cafeteria that morning. They'd been as excited as him, eyes shining and gesturing animatedly. The only other time they ever seemed to get that way was when they were playing D&D, or Doom. It was nice that they were as passionate about it as he was. Nathan Lester especially seemed pleased about it. But he was even more passionate than the rest of them—as evidenced by his persistence with Valerie.

"So if he was controlled when he did it, he can't be charged with the crimes. That means he can't be locked up! Mikey, if this gets out…" Nathan trailed off. Mikey grinned—exactly. If it got out, Phantom would be clear. There would be no reason for the ghost hunters to attempt to capture the half-human as brutally as they'd done yesterday.

"It makes me wonder, though," Mikey began, looking around, "why no one saw this before. It's almost like it was—covered up, you know? And I can only think of one organization that would have that power…" Nathan nodded, and to Mikey's left, his other friend Abigail nodded, too. Unlike Nathan and Mikey, she didn't wear glasses. Her dark eyes peered intently at the screen in Mikey's hand.

"The GIW have a lot to answer for," she said. "If they've covered up his innocence… Plus their complete disregard for human life—half-ghost and otherwise."

"Yeah," Mikey agreed. Thankfully, they weren't near an exit, so no agents were around to hear them. Who knew what would happen if they knew Mikey had information that could clear Phantom's name? Well, partially clear his name.

"And since he was being controlled here, the mayor incident is looking less and less like a case of kidnapping," Abigail said. "Do you want us to help you look for proof after school today?"

"Yes, that would make the whole search far more efficient." Mikey slipped his phone away, not wanting to draw attention, though nearly everyone was discussing Phantom anyway. Their conversation wouldn't be out of place. "And speaking of searches," he lowered his voice, "is everyone here today?"

"You know only the attendance papers can tell us that," Nathan replied. "But I haven't noticed any suspicious absences—not yet, anyway. Once we get to class, it might be more obvious. Why? You think the ghost boy's not gonna show up?"

"With injuries like those?" Mikey asked. "He'd be nuts if he came. But I guess he'd be more nuts if he didn't."

"And while we may not have access to attendance records," Abigail pitched in, "the GIW do. And now that everyone knows that he does have a secret human identity, anyone absent today is going to be watched very closely in the future." She leaned back, stroking her chin thoughtfully. Calculating.

"So, say he does show up," Nathan proposed, "what then? He's injured—could barely fly, last we saw him." He leaned forward, propping his head up with his hands. "How's he supposed to make it through a day of school?"

"He'd only have to hide his wounds," Mikey suggested. "And tired, lazy students are common. Way too common to figure out which one might be Phantom."

"We talked about absences before, though," Abigail said. "Which student do we know is perpetually absent?" She gave them a look, eyebrow raised, like she did in Calculus when she'd already figured the problem out and was waiting for them to solve it themselves.

"Fenton?" Nathan asked, then laughed. "You're kidding, right? No way—have you seen the kid in gym? He'd have to be ripped to be Phantom!" But Mikey sat in silence, thinking it over.

"Keep your voice down!" Abigail hissed, looking around. She had a point: the boy did have a suspiciously large number of absences, tardies, and general slacker-y-ness. Mikey remembered freshman year when Danny had been top of the class with the three of them. He would've said the boy was one of the smartest in school, if not quite the genius his sister was.

Now, though? Danny wasn't taking a single Honors or AP class. In the one class they did share—Chemistry, which was mandatory—Danny slept most of the time, never turned in his work, never did anything, in fact. It had all started mid-freshman year when…

When the ghosts had first shown up. And some people speculated that ghost attacks happened all throughout the night (though no one had documented it) and that someone—probably Phantom—took care of it. No sleep—he'd be tired. Constant ghost fighting—no time to turn in work. The attacks—he'd be late and tardy and skip all the time.

Like he did now. He ran off. Mikey recalled that yesterday he'd seen Fenton walk out the front doors… right before the ghost attack, and Phantom had shown up. He tried desperately to think of a moment when he'd seen Fenton and Phantom at the same time—but he couldn't.

How had they not seen it? "She's right," Mikey said, nearly whispering. "Oh my God, Abigail, how did we not see it before?"

"Hold on, hold on," Nathan protested, holding his arms up. "There's no way! You have no proof it's him! Besides," he continued, "I've seen him when a ghost was attacking." Mikey frowned.

"Maybe he has a way of being both human and ghost at the same time," he theorized. "A power of some kind."

"Now you're just making stuff up!" Nathan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "There's nothing but coincidence indicating it's him!"

"Maybe we don't have any proof right now," Abigail admitted, "but it all fits." She seemed so sure, Mikey thought, but then, Abigail always knew when she was right. She knew when she was wrong, too, but she hardly ever was.

"Do you think they'd look similar?" Mikey asked. "His human and his ghost—bodies?" How did one phrase that question anyway? Were there two separate bodies, somehow? How did it all work? Mikey had so many questions, and though the Fentons had answered some with their interview…

The Fentons. Danny Fenton's parents. That must've been hard. Well, if Fenton really was Phantom.

"Only one way to find out," Abigail said. She pulled out her own phone, and found a clear picture of Phantom from the internet. She held it up. "Now you find one of Fenton. I think Tucker posted one of the three of them on Instagram a couple days ago."

Mikey, who hardly ever used Instagram (he preferred the less mainstream corners of the internet. Except YouTube. He liked YouTube), had to fumble a little to find Tucker's page.

"You both are so sure it's him," Nathan said. "But I still don't think it is. Fenton just—he just doesn't have the right personality, guys. I mean, Phantom has a presence, and Fenton doesn't."

"We'll see," Abigail said.

"Sorry, I'm not super used to the platform," Mikey muttered. There. Tucker, Fenton, and Manson. Smiling at Tucker's dinner table. The battle continues, the caption read—Manson had a quinoa salad in front of her, Tucker a steak. "Here." He lifted it next to Abigail's picture.

"I'm telling you guys, you're absolutely—" He'd seen it then.

Their expressions were different: Phantom looked livid, mouth open in a furious yell; Fenton was grinning boyishly. The color of their eyes—one pair toxic green, the other sky-blue—were different. Their hair color—one white and one black—was different. At first glance, everything seemed different.

But their faces?

Their faces were exactly the same.

"Holy shit," Nathan breathed. The three couldn't tear their eyes away from the two photos, as if they'd been hypnotized. Even Abigail, normally cool and unruffled, looked almost surprised. Like she half-expected her guess to be wrong.

But it wasn't.

Fenton was Phantom.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: The Half-Dead Legend (thank you Tucker)

Danny couldn't think. He was feeling better, yes, and cleaner. Fresh bandages wrapped around his cleaned injuries, and he'd taken two painkillers—and some raw ectoplasm. To help with the healing, of course. Usually, the portal saturated his house with enough ectoplasm that he didn't need to ingest any; he just absorbed it naturally. But when he was hurt, it gave him the extra boost that his body needed.

Despite this, he really should've been in bed, resting. He should not have been up and around, dealing with Dash and his crap or his teachers and their crap (Ms. Garcia had sent him another of those disappointed adult looks. Yeah, Dash's bullying and the irritation of his wounds had been his fault, thanks). But here he was, stuck in Chemistry, because someone had decided to tell everyone he was half-ghost—and Valerie had decided to tell everyone he had a secret human identity.

And at their next confrontation (which would happen eventually, inevitably), Danny would have to decide—should he reveal Valerie's identity, as she had revealed his? He had threatened to, and he supposed he already had to her dad. Maybe doing so would get her off his back. He could say he worried about her getting hurt, but he didn't.

His wounds smarted under the bandages, and he thought, She can take care of herself.

But there were cons to revealing her: he'd have no one to pick up the slack when he wasn't there, and they had worked together before against their mutual enemies. If it got out she was underage—as everyone rightly suspected him to be—and they stopped her from fighting, the ghost-fighting support would be gone. Only, he was included in that ghost fighting, unfortunately—or was it human fighting, now? Because apparently he was a human criminal instead of ghost scum.

Go figure.

"Danny, please pay attention," Ms. Garcia called from the front. At least she was polite about it, unlike some of the other teachers, who only became angry with him. Really, along with Lancer, she was one of the nicer teachers toward Danny. "Everyone's supposed to come to the front and grab a worksheet."

All the students in the chemistry classroom had moved to the desk near the board to collect a paper. Everyone except for Danny. He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. God, he couldn't pay attention. He couldn't think about anything except for his own numerous problems. Focus on ionic and covalent bonds? Try and balance equations? Not now.

"Sorry, Ms. Garcia," he said, moving to stand up. His ankle protested—his healing was probably focused on his chest and shoulder, not his more minor injuries. That didn't stop them from aching, however. Even with the medication, his pain only felt dulled, washed out. Like it'd been de-saturated, not made invisible altogether.

Before he could force his body to move further, a paper landed on his desk. Danny looked up and saw Mikey Davis (considered one of the smartest and most awkward kids in school) standing there, having given him the worksheet. Danny sat back down.

"Uh, thanks," Danny mumbled. The blush came back; did he look so pathetic that his peer was taking pity on him? Maybe he had played his Fenton-loser persona too well.

He only really knew the boy through Tucker, anyway. Even if Danny had fallen behind in school, his two friends hadn't. Tucker especially was a killer at math and science—and though Sam was no slouch at science, she preferred history and English. Even then, she'd never really gotten to know Mikey like Tucker had. Danny's best friend liked to call him and the redhead "homework buddies"—there to help each other with schoolwork, not really hang out. He'd said Mikey was surprisingly hard to get to know (took one to know one) and mostly hung out with Nathan, Abigail, and a couple other so-called "nerds."

"Don't mention it," Mikey said, pushing his glasses up his nose. His eyes almost seemed to narrow, like he was searching Danny for something. Danny stared back, trying to tamp down his discomfort. He still shifted in his seat, and Mikey seemed to shake himself out of his spell, returning to his own desk.

"Today," Ms. Garcia began, standing, "you'll be put into groups. There's a project due next week, and don't worry—I'll explain it and hand out a rubric." The class almost seemed to give a collective sigh; group projects were the bane of any student's existence. Danny didn't really care, though. He'd just do the bare minimum and leave the rest of it to whoever had had the bad luck to be grouped with him. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, but more that he didn't have the time.

"Don't sound so excited, please," Ms. Garcia smiled at them. "I'm going to let you choose, and I want three to four people in each group." This time, the class seemed to sigh in relief.

Well, at least he had no chance of being put with the jocks, then. There weren't any of his main tormentors in class—no Dash or Kwan—but there was a little posse of them who occasionally joined in on bullying him.

"I'll give more directions once everyone's settled, so please go find a group," Ms. Garcia said. The room transformed into a bustling hive, kids moving from place to place and grouping up with their friends. Danny didn't expect anyone to come his way; Tucker and Sam, who were basically his only friends, weren't in the class with him. So he was rather surprised when Mikey and Abigail approached him.

"Would you like to join us?" Mikey asked. He pushed his glasses up his nose again, and Danny wondered if it was a nervous quirk. He almost frowned, but smiled at them instead, though he questioned why they would want to be with him, of all people. He wasn't smart (at least not at school, not anymore), and they were two of the smartest.

"Sure," he agreed. Was it pity, like he'd thought before? Or something else? They slid into the seats next to him, having brought their things with them. It was almost like they wanted to be in a group with him, but Danny couldn't fathom why. The class began to quiet, everyone rearranged. Everyone had basically stuck to their cliques—everyone except Mikey and Abigail, that is.

Ms. Garcia, sensing this, began to give further directions. Danny watched her, appearing to listen, though his thoughts started to drift. The rest of his group could fill him in later.

Mostly, his brain swept back to Valerie. The Red Huntress out for his blood. His ex-girlfriend who had liked him so much she'd broken up with him to protect him from himself so she could hunt him. Okay, maybe don't think about it, he told himself. He'd get a headache. But if he didn't think about her, he'd think about the blood test tomorrow.

Dash had come dangerously close to seeing through his I'm afraid of needles act, though he had unintentionally covered for the half-ghost with his Danny's afraid of blood accusation. Even if the GIW bought that (and Danny was praying they would), he'd still be interrogated—interviewed, they'd said—about it. They couldn't get his blood.

Danny had once looked at his blood himself through a microscope, curious. And though he had normal red blood cells, one could see ectoplasmic "blood cells" interspersed throughout. It was the reverse in his ghost form—mostly ectoplasm with some human blood cells. He was never completely human or ghost, just mostly human or ghost. A ghost with human attributes and a human with ghostly attributes.

And while he maybe could've stolen the blood sample back, replaced it with a normal one before the GIW tested it, Danny couldn't take that risk. So he'd signed himself out of the blood test and hoped he could keep it together through an interrogation. And Dash had given Danny a better cover than Danny had thought of himself: not a fear of needles, but of his own blood.

"—And because your project will have a lot to do with the concepts on the worksheet, I'll be giving you class time to work on it together. Basically the rest of class, actually, until I tell you more about the project. But be warned: this is the only class time I'm giving you for the project," Ms. Garcia finished. She sat at her desk, pulling out some papers to grade. Danny frowned, looking down at the sheet.

A lot of it was simple, he'd admit. He'd helped his parents work on their inventions and had been forced to listen on many science-based lectures from an early age. This had given him an okay scientific foundation and a decent understanding of certain areas—mostly biology and physics—though they were specific to ghosts. Probably, if he'd been feeling better, he could've done the basic worksheet easily; science classes were the only ones he didn't really have to try to get good grades in. Not good enough to be an astronaut, of course, but for never studying or doing any of the work or being in class, a B-plus was decent.

So it was a pity Danny wasn't feeling well or focused enough to do this. He looked down at it, and the questions—Circle the polar molecules below; Which of these molecules is soluble?—blurred in his mind and seemed disjointed to him. How could he think logically about atoms or whatever when he had far more important things to worry about?

"I say we each do it on our own unless we're confused about something—"try everything—"and we'll check answers after we're all done. It's only fifteen questions, so it shouldn't take all class period," Abigail said. Mikey nodded. The two whipped out their pencils and began to work on the problems, occasionally talking with one another.

Danny looked around at the room—the cheesy posters on the wall, the experiment the last class was leaving out overnight. He put his head on his desk, cradled with his arms. Maybe a little power nap would do him some good…

"Danny, I know you probably find this class boring, but could you please show some basic respect and stay awake?" The tone broke through his sleep, and Danny blinked blearily up at his teacher. She was only five-foot-two, but her word carried weight—and Danny did try to show her respect. When he was awake.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night." She clucked her tongue.

"How far have you made it on the worksheet?" she asked. Danny's gaze immediately went to the paper, but to his astonishment, the entire thing had been filled out. It was even in his hand writing (or a close approximation, anyway).

"Um," he said. She picked it up and flipped it over—everything was answered. And correctly, too, it looked like.

"Well," Ms. Garcia sighed, "just make sure you're contributing to the group, alright?" Danny nodded hesitantly as she walked off. He turned around to the two other members of his group.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded. First the paper, then the group thing, and now this. Something was going on. Mikey seemed to start almost guiltily at the tone, but Abigail said nothing.

"Uh, you looked tired?" the redhead replied. "I was just trying to be nice."

"Yeah, you have been trying to be nice. I want to know why," Danny said, sitting up straighter. Mikey glanced at Abigail, as if she might answer for him, but the quiet girl said nothing.

"Look, Danny—" he began, but was cut off as Ms. Garcia started to speak, giving out instructions for the group project. Mikey's lips pressed into a line, and he slipped a piece of paper over to Danny.

We can talk at lunch, it read.

Even knowing, Mikey still hadn't been able to see it. Well, he could—but only superficially. When looking for the muscles and the face shape, he could spot them—because baggy clothing and bad posture could only do so much.

But Danny'd still seemed slacker-ish: not paying attention and sleeping when they were supposed to be working. Mikey had done the worksheet for him, and it still hadn't computed. This boy—this awkward teenager who had slept nearly the entire class period—he was a half-ghost superhero?

And then he'd straightened. He'd pierced Mikey with his blue eyes, and he'd demanded to know why. And it had clicked: the boy, seemingly lazy and stupid, was Phantom. He was. Sweat had broken out on Mikey's hands, not from fear, but because he was intimidated. He'd slid the note over.

Danny had nodded.

"Oh my God," Nathan said in hushed tones at their lunch table, "I still can't believe we've known Phantom as a human basically all our lives." Mikey nodded.

"Yes. It's… insane," he agreed. They were waiting for Abigail to come back with her school lunch before they went outside to confront the trio, who always sat outside in decent weather.

"We can help him now!" Nathan exclaimed, still keeping his voice low. They were nowhere near any agents, and the buzz of hundreds of teens' voices surely would've drowned him out if he spoke a little louder. But they weren't taking any chances. "With ghost fighting and alibis and—and everything! We'll be like a team!"

"I'm pretty sure his friends already know," Mikey pointed out. "Those three… They're inseparable." Nathan shrugged, as if that didn't matter.

"Yeah, but we know now. And we want to help," he countered. Well, that was true enough, Mikey supposed. But he wasn't sure they'd be as welcoming as Nathan thought. Danny had been so suspicious of Mikey even being nice to him. God knew how he—well, they—would react to the three of them knowing.

Mikey saw Abigail coming with her food, and he stood up, taking his own lunch. Nathan followed suit.

"Ready?" she asked. Nathan nodded eagerly, clutching his brown sack. If he wasn't careful, he'd tear it.

"I'm so ready you wouldn't even believe it," he said.

The three pushed open the door to the walled-off section of the cafeteria outside. The sun was out overhead, giving the cool November day an edge of warmth. Puffy clouds gathered in the sky. As usual, the three teens were sat at the only table under the huge tree, eating their lunches. They looked up as the three approached. Their expressions reminded Mikey of zebras watching a lion, wary and wondering if it was time to flee.

"Can we talk to Danny?" Mikey asked. "Alone?" Just in case Tucker and Sam didn't know; they didn't want to accidentally reveal their hero. And even though Mikey was intimidated, a thrill of excitement sent his heart beating into overdrive. This was Phantom standing in front of him—the one who'd saved all their lives on multiple occasions.

"Alright," Danny said. His two other friends glanced at him, and he gave them a nod, like it's fine; I'll be fine. He concealed a wince as he got to his feet, favoring his right foot.

Oh, everyone's so blind, Mikey thought, seeing the limp, the suggestion of injuries. Anyone with observational skills could figure out Phantom was Fenton. But maybe it just seemed easy now that he knew. No one else even suspected Fenton was Phantom. Danny walked over to them, and Mikey had never realized how tall the boy was—taller than all of them.

"Okay," Danny said, voice quiet. "Talk. What was that about in Chemistry? And why are you being so—weird about it?"

"I—that is—we—uh," Mikey started, pushing up his glasses. It had seemed so much easier in his head.

"Dude, we know you're Phantom!" Nathan blurted. Mikey barely caught the flash of fear cross Danny's face—the paling, the widening of his eyes—before it was replaced by confusion. The boy laughed, and Mikey could barely tell it was forced.

Maybe it wasn't that everyone was blind. Maybe it was that Danny knew how to act.

"That's real funny, guys, but you shouldn't joke about that, y'know? The GIW might overhear you, and I don't think they'd find it so, uh, comical," Danny said, scratching the back of his neck and gazing around nervously.

"Don't try and lie," Abigail cut in. "We're not stupid; we figured it out. Everything makes sense now, Danny. It makes sense that you're Phantom." She held her tray steadily, staring into his blue eyes.

"How?" Danny croaked. His mask cracked; he seemed to have realized he wasn't getting out of this one. He seemed panicked, terrified. His hands were shaking—had they been doing that before? "How did you figure it out?"

"We won't tell anyone," Nathan assured him. "We think it's awesome!" Danny pushed his hands to his sides, clenching them. Trying to stop the shaking, perhaps. He was leaning to the left, keeping the weight off his right foot.

"Why don't we sit down," Mikey suggested quietly, leaning in, "and we'll explain what we know, and how we know it." Danny let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine," he said. "Let's sit." He swept an arm back, and the three newcomers sat on the cool metal, their backpacks going onto the grass. Danny sat on the other side of them, in between Sam and Tucker, so each group was on one side of the table.

"Uh, although I appreciate having friends as much as the next guy, what are you doing here?" Tucker asked, putting his—was that an all-meat sandwich?—into its container. He looked at Danny questioningly, as if asking why did you invite them here? Mikey would've been hurt, but, well…

"They know," Danny replied. He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. It was like one of those bad-cop interrogation scenes from a low quality crime movie. Now all he needed was a bright light to shine in their faces. "And they're going to explain the how and the why, and we'll go from there."

Tucker choked on his bite of pure meat. He hacked and coughed and generally couldn't get it up. Alarmed, Danny patted his back until his airway cleared. "What?" the boy nearly shrieked. "They—what?"

They definitely knew that Fenton was Phantom, then. Mikey looked to Sam, hoping for a better reaction, but her eyebrows were drawn downward, a scowl on her face. Her arms were crossed. She looked like a parent who'd just discovered their kid sneaking out—a look Mikey wasn't particularly familiar with.

Nathan held his hands up, as if surrendering. "Look, we just… We were thinking about it, and you came up, and so we looked at your picture compared to Phantom's, and you looked the same!"

"Keep your voice down!" Sam hissed. She planted her hands on the table in front of her. "There's an agent just on the other side of the wall, genius."

"Sorry, sorry," Nathan muttered, head down. So easily excited.

"Why don't you explain it?" Danny suggested, gazing at Mikey. The redhead took a deep breath, thinking about how best to explain it.

"I guess it started yesterday. I was sifting through some footage of Phantom—well, you, I guess—when you were robbing the banks. It didn't really make sense, with everything else you'd done." Mikey couldn't meet the other boy's eyes.

"Anyway, I discovered that your eyes were red, and I knew it couldn't have been you. So I showed these two when I got to school, and it's like Nathan said. We got to talking about who you—Phantom—could be. And Abigail figured it out, what with the absences and tardies and stuff. We brought out a picture of you and Phantom, and you guys looked the same," Mikey finished, pushing his glasses up his nose. The sweat on his face was making them slide down even more than usual.

"You know, it's when I hear things like this that I really wonder how we kept your secret so long," Tucker said, shaking his head. "I mean, just imagine if you as Phantom and you as Fenton got in the paper! Or on TV. Or, you know, if anyone literally just thought about it. Too bad no one in this place has any brain cells." Sam turned her glare on him.

"Not helping!" she said. Danny ran a hand through his hair again. It looked messier every time he did it.

It's true, Mikey thought. What Tucker had said was true. Anyone could've figured it out, and it was lucky that it had been them—and not Dash or Paulina or the GIW. But also, on some level, not everyone could've figured it out; too many people were blinded by Fenton and Phantom's reputations. Timid and dumb versus cocky and quick-witted. Not to mention their physical perceptions.

"Oh, God," Danny mumbled under his breath. He put his head in his hands.

"We're not going to tell anyone," Abigail repeated Nathan's words from earlier. "We can keep a secret."

"Damn right you can," Sam practically growled. Mikey could almost feel himself shrink in size. The Goth stood up and glowered at each of them—like it was personal. And, Mikey supposed, it was. "You won't tell a soul. Not your parents, not your siblings, not even your other friends. You'll keep this to yourselves." Her finger jabbed the air in front of it, and her gleaming black nail seemed sharp enough to tear it.

His eyes still covered, Danny grabbed her arm and tugged her down to sit on the bench. "Stop it," he told her. "You're scaring them." Mikey felt indignation rise in his chest like righteous fire. He hadn't even looked at them; how would he know? Well, he thought, looking around at his friends, I guess she did scare us a little.

"Good," Sam muttered. "They should be scared. Keeping this secret is scary." She narrowed her eyes at the three of them, and Mikey swallowed. Nathan was twiddling his thumbs, and Abigail's only sign of discomfort was that she wouldn't look at Sam.

"C'mon, Sam," Tucker said. "Lighten up. They haven't told anyone, and they won't tell anyone." He eyed them. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

"Of course we haven't!" Nathan exclaimed, offended. "We could never out our hero," he added, voice softer. "We want to help you."

Danny placed his hands on the table. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and his gaze was far away, thinking. "You can help me by doing as Sam says: don't breathe a word of this. To anyone. In fact, unless you're sure you're alone, don't even talk about it with each other. We can't afford any attention right now—and that includes attention on you guys. If the GIW think any of us are involved with Phantom, there'll be hell to pay."

Mikey figured it was sound advice; the three of them had far more experience with this than they did. But he couldn't help the hurt welling inside him—did Danny really think they'd be so careless? They hadn't told anyone. They'd been careful. They'd done everything right.

But the hero didn't trust them. And even with the hurt, Mikey could see why. They'd never helped him with Dash, had never offered to help him with schoolwork until today. And maybe it was because they'd never seen through the mask until today, but Mikey understood.

He understood. They'd just have to show him he could trust them, show him how helpful they could be. Surprise him in the best way possible. So Mikey wiped his hands on his pants and nodded. Nathan, however, didn't seem to understand.

"We won't talk about it," he vowed, his face uncharacteristically serious. "But I wanna help you! You're like a living legend."

Tucker snorted. "Try half-dead legend." The three newcomers looked at each other; was it okay to joke about that? Danny only sighed. Probably normal, then, or at least normal for Tucker. Mikey might have to test the waters before he decided such risky word-play.

"Lunch is almost over," the half-ghost said. "We can talk about this later. At… not my house. My parents are—busy."

His parents, right. The ghost hunters who had shouted on more than one occasion about tearing the ghost boy—their own son—apart molecule by molecule. He almost winced—the situation sounded awful. Mikey didn't even know how they'd reacted to Phantom being half-human, aside from Maddie's protest at his inhumane treatment at the hands of the Red Huntress.

"I haven't even finished my sandwich," Tucker mourned, poking it with a finger. "Five different kinds of meat—it's a masterpiece."

"And Lancer thought I was lying when I said you'd gone crazy," Sam muttered, eating her last carrot.

"Ah, but who was it that went crazy first?" Tucker asked. He wrapped the sandwich back up and tucked it into his lunchbox.

"We can meet at my dad's house," Mikey offered. "We can use my basement—he doesn't mind; we disappear down there all the time for D&D."

"Cool," Danny said. He gave the redhead a slip of paper. "Here's my number. We'll text times. And, uh, thanks for not telling anyone."

"You've saved our lives," Mikey told him. "All our lives. So don't even worry about it."

Boy, was that the truth—from the sounds of it, Danny had enough to worry about already.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Danny Makes it Worse (and Jazz Returns)

Mikey's house was spacious—two stories high, somewhat sprawling, located in a suburb twenty minutes from the school. It was in one of the nicer neighborhoods, the buildings specially reinforced to stop damage from ghosts. This was something not everyone could pay for—and something the mayor was only willing to subsidize for public buildings.

Danny had spoken to his friends about what had happened. Tucker was willing to give Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail the benefit of the doubt. They'd come to speak with Danny immediately, after all, and hadn't told anyone. Both good points. On the other hand, Sam was hesitant to trust them so readily. They needed watching, she'd said. She'd looked worried, a furrow between her eyebrows, a slight frown on her purple lips.

Only, they were too busy to watch the three nerds, and while a deep, paranoid part of Danny agreed with her, he felt Tucker made the better argument—for now, at least. That might change should this meeting (for lack of a better term) go south. If he thought too hard about it, though, thought about how easy it had been for them, how little time, how it could've been someone else (someone less friendly—an agent, his parents, a hunter, his other classmates), he began to shake. Began to sweat.

So, he tried not to think about it.

At least Jazz was returning tonight; he could talk it over with her, figure something out. She always seemed to see these situations more clearly than he did. Danny took a deep breath and stepped up to the front of the house. He rang the doorbell and heard Mikey's "I'll get it!" from within. The door opened to reveal the smaller boy's nervous face. "Come in," he said, letting the door swing wide to allow Danny entry. "I think we're just waiting for Abigail, now."

The inside of the house was no less nice than the outside: it was decorated tastefully. From the entryway, Danny could see a man—presumably Mikey's dad—sitting at the dining table, squinting over the screen of a laptop. He glanced over and gave Danny a wave, so Danny waved back.

"This way," Mikey said, leading Danny down a separate hallway. "That was my dad, by the way. He's, uh, working." Danny grunted in acknowledgement, staring at the pictures of Mikey's family hanging on the walls—they seemed happy. "Do you want anything? We have juice and stuff." The boy kept glancing at Danny from out of the corner of his eye, as if he was trying not to stare.

"I'm fine," Danny said, "but thanks." The other boy looked curious, almost fearful—as if Danny were going to change into a scary ghost at any second. Danny resisted the urge to sigh, and instead smiled. "Basement?" he prompted.

"Uh, yeah. It's down here." He opened a door near the end of the hall. It had steps leading down into an already-lit room. The stairs were carpeted. "You can take your shoes off here—Dad thinks we'll ruin the floor or something—" The doorbell rang, and Mikey looked in its direction. "That'll be Abigail. Why don't you just go down, and I'll go get her?" Danny nodded, and off Mikey went.

The half-ghost removed his shoes and walked down, feeling the trepidation rise within like boiling water—hot and uncomfortable. Sam and Tucker are here, he reminded himself. He wasn't alone in this; they'd be with him to explain and to figure out the rest of their game plan. But—three more people knowing? It was unthinkable, crazy. He could still feel the cogs in his mind churning, as if he hadn't completely processed what it meant yet.

The basement itself was cozy. There were shelves of books and games—both video and board—and movies. There was a cool-looking TV-and-console set-up, comfy couches, and a table with chairs—and people—sat around it. Nathan was there, looking both eager and awkward; Sam looking irritated, legs crossed; and Tucker, who was fiddling with his beret.

"I mean, there has to be something we can do—it's just so suspicious," Nathan was saying. His back was to Danny, and he didn't seem to hear the half-ghost come in.

"There is something we did, so drop it," Sam replied. She leaned back and eyed Danny. "And besides, the man of the hour himself is here; why don't you ask him?"

"Ask me what?" Danny slid into the seat beside Tucker, who looked him up and down—no doubt checking for any sign that his injuries were bothering him. Lucky for them, there had been no ghost attacks since the white knight and his group of terrors. Danny hadn't had to go out and fight, so he hadn't done anything that might exacerbate his wounds.

"Oh my gosh," Nathan said, one hand on his chest. "You scared me."

"Yeah, Danny, jeez, you're like a ghost," Tucker teased, smirking. Nathan looked at him with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe what the boy had said. Danny shook his head.

"The joke was funny the first ten times," he told his best friend, "but it's not anymore." He poked Tucker in the arm. "So stop." Tucker batted his finger away, nose in the air.

"My humor is so brilliant, even the great Danny Phantom doesn't understand," Tucker said. Danny smacked the beret off his head, and Tucker yelped, diving to go get it.

"I beg to differ," Sam interjected. "I didn't think it was funny even the first time." Nathan was watching each of them speak like it was a tennis match, turning his head every time a player hit the ball.

"Where's Mikey?" Tucker asked. "I thought he was going to get you or whatever."

"He went to get Abigail." Danny shrugged. "Anyway," he turned to Nathan, "really, what did you want to ask me?" The boy leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, like he was about to explain some brilliant plan to the half-ghost.

"The blood tests tomorrow." Nathan tilted his head. "Is there really no other way besides opting out? They'll interrogate you about it—and, well…" He trailed off. "I was just wondering if there was anything we could do to help. Now that, you know, more people are on your team."

Danny ran a hand through his hair. It was sweet, he supposed, the sentiment of wanting to help. But these three had no practical experience, and the three of them—him, Sam, and Tucker—couldn't afford to try and train any newbies right then. With the GIW, everyone hunting him… They had to lay low. Even when Jazz had come onto their "team," she had needed some practice, and that was with the life-time experience of having ghost-hunters for parents. Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail? Without practice, they would be a liability, and there was no time to help them practice. It was a bad idea to get them involved—not just for Danny, but because they might get hurt.

Fighting took skill. Danny could vividly recall the amount of injuries he'd received from his first few fights, and that was with powers. Even if he would be looking after the three to make sure they didn't get hurt, the likelihood that they would was through the roof. Tucker and Sam and Jazz all knew the risks and had been doing this long enough that they could—and, most of the time, would—hold their own and help him keep everyone safe. Abigail, Nathan, and Mikey weren't like that, however; they didn't understand the risks.

"I…" Danny wondered how he could say all that without hurting Nathan's feelings. "I appreciate it, really. But there's nothing you guys can do, alright?" He met the other boy's eyes and tried to impress upon him how serious this was. Nathan nodded slowly.

They heard creaking on the stairs and turned to see both Mikey and Abigail coming down, arms laden with snacks.

"I figured we could use something to eat," Mikey said. The two dumped their loads onto the table: chips, cookies, fruit, and juice boxes now littered the table.

"Thanks," Tucker said. "I know I can't do anything on an empty stomach—"

"Explains so much," Sam muttered.

"—and Danny still hasn't met his calorie quota for today," he finished, glaring at Sam.

"Calorie quota?" Abigail asked, sitting down next to Nathan. Mikey joined her.

"Ghost powers burn a lot more than you'd think," Tucker answered. "Even when he's just sitting there… Doing nothing… He needs to eat way more than a regular person."

"That explains the eating in class," Mikey said. Danny flushed, dipping his head down. It was odd to have someone other than Sam, Tucker, or Jazz know this much about him, understand him in this way. It made him feel vulnerable and relieved at the same time—because this was him, wholly and truly, but they weren't rejecting it. In fact, they seemed interested. In him. Danny Fenton. He hadn't really thought about it before, at lunch; it had all gone so quickly.

The feeling was bizarre.

Sam and Tucker made sure he had all the food he could ever want—two cookies and some chips, courtesy of Tucker, and an apple ("For the vitamins"), courtesy of Sam. And then, it was down to business.

"We've been talking," Sam began, sipping from the juice box. It was an odd sight—Sam, in all black, with such a serious look, drinking from something bright and colorful and sweet. "And we think it would be for the best if, during school, you didn't really talk with us. Not more than normal, anyway."

"But why?" Nathan asked. "It sounds like Danny could use all the support he can get. And we can help be that support!"

"It could also tip people off that something's happened, though," Tucker pointed out. "Say Dash or Kwan notice—then they wonder: why are the nerds hanging out with them? Why are they suddenly so buddy-buddy? And the wondering leads to questions, and the questions lead to answers, and boom. Danny's secret is out." Danny stared at his cookies, feeling too sick to eat. It had been his idea, to make sure they'd stayed in their own "cliques," but the reality of how easy it had been for them to figure it out frightened him. It scared him like his parents did when they started talking about dissecting ghosts—or him. It scared him like Vlad did when he would take things too far.

"But do you really think they'd notice if we talked at school?" Mikey asked. "We're so low on the food chain." He rubbed his chin, looking deep in thought.

"Think about it," Abigail broke in. "We're low, but we're not invisible. People pay attention to us because they think we're smart—and they pay attention to Danny because they think he's a loser. If we change any of that—they'll wonder why. And do you really think other kids will be able to keep their mouths shut about this?"

"Exactly," Danny added. "If any of you tried to stand up for me, tried to help me, or even spoke with me during school, it would be out of the ordinary. And, right now, everyone's watching for things that are out of the ordinary. Maybe once this dies down, we can consider becoming 'friends,' but for now it's too risky." He stared down at his food, trying to will himself to eat it—it felt like he'd hardly had anything all day. If he wasn't careful, he might pass out again.

"That's why we should be friends in school," Nathan argued. "You really think you can handle Dash and the hunters and the GIW and school work without help?" The notion grated on Danny. They'd been doing their best with what they'd been given, and he hadn't died or been exposed yet, had he? Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were really all the support he needed.

"We've been doing it so far," Sam retorted hotly, scowling. She crossed her arms over her chest. "We've managed all those things without you guys for years—and while we appreciate your help, we don't need it."

"Not very well," Nathan said. "At this rate, he'll have to re-do junior year, and he almost died yesterday, didn't he? You're not doing good enough."

Sam opened her mouth, all the muscles in her back tensing, but Danny cut her off before she could even begin.

"You're wrong," he said softly. They all turned to look at him. "We've been managing—maybe not as well as we would've with more help, but I'm passing all my classes. I'm fine. We're fine. And we're not saying you can't help at all, but it's too risky to be seen, do you understand?"

Nathan frowned, pressing his lips together tightly. Mikey nervously prodded his glasses up his nose, and Abigail refused to look at any of them.

"Nathan," Mikey said, "they're probably right. They have more experience with these types of situations than us. Why don't we just do what they say?" Danny held his breath as Nathan considered this. If the boy didn't agree, he might jeopardize everything—the lies Danny had built around himself to protect him from those who would hurt him, his family's safety, Sam and Tucker's safety.

"Fine," Nathan finally agreed. "For now, we'll do it your way—but we'll talk about it later, and I still want to help outside of school. At least with homework—you shouldn't be just passing your classes."

Danny sighed, rubbing his head, and Sam slumped her seat, seemingly angrier than before. Thank God, he thought. That could've been a disaster. Forget helping—if Nathan couldn't see the danger now, he might never see it, and that in itself would be more dangerous to him than anything else. Delusions, after all, hid reality.

"Now that that's taken care of," Abigail said, "I wanted to ask you something." Her voice was soft, as usual, but held the quiet intensity she was known for. Abigail Rodriguez was shy but not to be angered, everyone knew. Even Paulina didn't mess with her. "About the stealing, and the kidnapping—why did you do that?" Danny ran his hands through his hair. He glanced at Tucker and Sam, who stared back; they were waiting for him to take the lead.

"I don't know where to begin," he murmured.

"Just—summarize it," Mikey suggested. "We don't need to know everything, only that you didn't actually do those things." Danny laughed.

"Well, I didn't actually do those things," he responded. "The stealing I barely even remember—the memories are flashes, really. A human called 'Freakshow' was controlling me, making me steal. He had this staff that could force ghosts to do his bidding, and, as much as I'm human, I'm also a ghost… And the rest you know."

The newcomers seemed to digest this. How could anything control ghosts? They'd always thought of ghosts as scientific—what with Danny's parents—but the staff sounded like magic.

"And the mayor?" Mikey asked. Danny shook his head to dispel the image of Walker from his mind—that ghost needed a serious reality check.

"He was possessed. A ghost, Walker, was trying to frame me, make it look like I was kidnapping him. I guess it worked." Danny gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Every time I tried to explain it, everyone just ignored me, so I stopped trying…" He picked at his cookie, breaking off one of the edges to nibble at it. Talking about this had brought back bad memories—when the whole city had hated him, when nothing he did seemed to be right, when he couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong to make the universe hate him so much.

He was better at beating back the dark thoughts, now, at least in the light and with people. But prodding at all these old wounds… It hurt, he realized. He'd never really spoken about what had happened to him except with Sam and Tucker. It had just seemed a given that everyone else would never believe him, would never support him.

And yet, here they were—Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail.

"How did it happen in the first place, anyway?" Nathan asked. And then there was that—Sam and Tucker had been with him through it all; they never needed to ask about some things. They had never asked how it felt—his screaming had told them. They had never wondered how being so isolated, so different, made him feel—the nightmares he had about his parents told them.

And what did he tell these newcomers, anyway? Did they even have a right to know? It was so private—the pain, like every single one of his nerves had been set alight at the same time. That he could almost feel his tissues shifting, stretching and molding into something alien. That when he first realized what had happened, days later, he'd almost wished the portal had just killed him—because what kind of existence was this, caught between worlds?

"Don't ask me that," Danny whispered. "Not now, alright? I don't think I can…" Tucker put a hand on his shoulder. Nathan blushed, embarrassed that he'd made his hero uncomfortable. Mikey pretended not to see the exchange. Sam pulled out her phone to check on the time.

"I need to be home soon," she said, not even commenting on it; they could discuss it later, if needed. "And I'm dropping these losers off, so we should probably leave."

"Wait," Mikey said. "I know you said we couldn't help in school, but outside of it… If you need us to cover for you, or—or help you with homework, or anything we can do, let us know. You've saved us." He met Danny's blue eyes. "We'll help any way we can."

Danny looked down. Could they even help him? Could anyone? It all felt so overwhelming, sometimes. But they wanted to, and with alibis… It couldn't hurt if it was an emergency. And maybe he could get his grades up, manage to get into a good college.

"Okay," he said. "If I need you, I'll let you know."

When Danny got home, it was to a quiet house; his parents were out. Hunting, no doubt. Or grocery shopping—either was likely. He'd seen Jazz's car out in the driveway, and he was relieved she was finally back from her trip. Inside, he saw that she'd spread out seemingly all of her papers onto the table—it was more paper than table, at this point.

"Danny!" She leapt up when she saw him, rushing forward to hug him. "How are you? Sorry, that was probably a stupid question. I never should've went away—God, everything must've been awful." She pulled him into her arms and squeezed him tightly. Danny smiled into her shoulder and squirmed away.

"Jeez, I'm fine—except I think you broke a couple of my ribs." He mock-winced and gripped his side. She put her hands on her hips.

"Very funny," she muttered, turning back to her table. Danny sat down, looking them over.

"Are you planning a battle?" he asked, poking one that had diagrams of—was that a catapult?

"No," Jazz huffed. "They're just—things, okay? I'm examining our options." She scribbled something onto one that looked like a castle.

"And you needed to draw them out?" Danny questioned. "I knew you were weird, but not this weird."

"You'll be congratulating me after I tell you what I've figured out," Jazz admonished, holding up one of the papers triumphantly. It had some kind of ring drawn on it. "This is the key to our success."

"Am I getting married?" Danny asked sarcastically. "I always knew a sugar momma was the answer to my problems. The money makes everything else go away."

"I'm not above hitting you," Jazz said. "I know this is partially you coping and trying to relieve stress—but I am not above hitting you. It's the Fenton Ghost Catcher." Danny raised an eyebrow and squinted at it.

"Where are the bits in the middle?" he asked. "And what—oh."

"And it dawns!" Jazz practically shouted, snatching back her paper. "Separate your human and ghost half, and you'll pass the blood test no issue!" Danny gripped her shoulders and grinned, hope welling inside him. This was the best news he'd heard since that damn caller revealed he was half ghost. A way to escape the GIW was just what he needed—this way there'd be no suspicions, no anything. He could tell them his parents had talked him into it, even though he was still scared of his own blood. Maybe he could even fake a fainting spell, just to really sell it.

"You're brilliant," he told her. "Let's go to the lab and see if we can find it while Mom and Dad are out." She beamed and set her paper down on the table with the rest of them. We'll need to clean that up before they get back, Danny thought, or there might be questions we can't answer.

They headed down to their basement. The portal was closed, and beakers and weapons littered the tables and shelves, some half-built. The locked, ghost-proof filing cabinet—where they recorded where everything was kept and held their blueprints in—was situated in the corner. Danny made his way over to it and pressed the passcode into the keys—3556. It clicked open.

"Is it under 'G'?" Danny asked, thumbing through the files.

"I think so," Jazz replied, peering over his shoulder.

"Ghost Acantha, Ghost Axe, Ghost Bat, Ghost Bazooka, Ghost Cattle-prod—we have one of those? Here it is—the Ghost Catcher." Danny pulled out the plans. Their mother was rather organized and regularly updated the plans. "It's on shelf B2, being—" Danny groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Jazz, it's being upgraded."

"Well, maybe they finished the repairs," Jazz said optimistically. She went back toward the side of the room next to the door, searching for shelf B2, Danny following close behind.

"They would've updated it," Danny told her, frowning. The hope that he could've avoided suspicion had been doused, and the weight of what was going to happen tomorrow was settling back onto his skull. He feared it might crack, the thing was so heavy. He should've known better than to hope, to think his situation might've magically gotten better.

"Found it," Jazz said. She showed him one of the pieces—part of the outer casing. Danny frowned at it before burying his head in his hands.

"Thanks anyway," he said as he put the plans back and re-locked the cabinet. "It was a good idea…" Jazz set the piece onto the shelf and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Danny," she apologized.

"It's fine," he replied. "Like I said, it was a good idea." He made to leave and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "You should clean up your papers before our parents get home; I'm going to go to bed. I have a big day tomorrow."

And, Jazz's sad eyes watching him the whole time, he slowly walked up the dark stairwell.

The next morning, Danny awoke in a daze, as if he couldn't escape the clutches of sleep, its fingers still holding him down in dreamland. He rolled out of bed, leaving himself only twenty minutes to get ready.

This could be the day, he thought. The day to end all days. And if the GIW exposed him, even after he'd found a way around their detectors, even after he'd escaped them and Valerie… He would feel cheated. All of that, and a simple interrogation would be what made him reveal himself?

No. He wouldn't let them. It would just be questions, right? Intimidation tactics. But they were only agents, only human. Much less scary than ghosts, he told himself. It wasn't true, of course—with ghosts, he didn't have to worry about dissection (though Skulker's threats of skinning him did kind of freak him out) or jailing (with the exception of Walker). He knew how they worked: their motives, their fears, their fighting styles. But the GIW, for all their fumbles, were unpredictable—and that made them dangerous. As much as he liked to point out their incompetence, sometimes—most times—they scared him.

The thought of the table, his hands and legs and head strapped down, a gleaming scalpel coming down onto his skin. He cringed and pressed his palms into his eyes, willing the images to leave his mind. He needed to be calm and collected—they could have no reason, none at all, to suspect he was lying or in any way related to Phantom. Anything less than that would be a death sentence. Maybe he wouldn't die, but his life? The lives of his friends and family? He shuddered to think about it, even as he got dressed and brushed his teeth.

His body was on autopilot as his mind raced. He and his friends had gone over the questions the GIW might ask him, and how he could respond, or lie, to make himself seem innocent. And he was innocent, technically; the GIW were unreasonable and didn't seem to understand all he did for the town. Even when he'd been exposed as half-human, they'd refused to see it. At least his parents had decided to treat him humanely, even if they still wanted to jail him or whatever.

He ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something to eat before he had to go. Thankfully, nothing had attacked last night, and his injuries, after so much rest, were feeling much better. He'd been a tad stiff, but after a hot shower and some careful stretching, he felt as good as new. He could hear his parents down in the lab, but it looked like they had made French toast before setting to work. Danny wasn't sure he could eat, but he knew he needed to. So he scarfed down a couple of pieces before Sam texted him that she was there.

He went out to the car and sat down. Both Sam and Tucker could see he didn't want to talk, so they distracted him with music and bad jokes, trying to draw him into some light-hearted banter. As they pulled up to the school, however, the conversation became serious.

"Danny," Sam said, "if things go south in there, if you need us to create a diversion—or help you hide, or anything, you know we're on standby."

"I know," Danny said, staring down at his legs and trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Not that anything will go wrong," Tucker added. "You're basically a master liar now. I bet you could tell everyone your name wasn't Danny Fenton, and they'd believe you." He patted Danny's shoulder as Sam began to park.

"Thanks," Danny muttered. "I… I don't think I've ever sat through someone accusing me of being Phantom before."

"You learn something new everyday," Tucker said mock-wisely, adjusting his glasses. "It'll be exciting."

"Look, we've practiced for this," Sam said. "And Tucker's right: you are a good liar when it matters. You can do this. And if you can't, we'll be a few rooms over ready to help."

Danny nodded. And he'd just managed to get rid of the lump, too. The three of them left the car and entered the line to be scanned by the agents. Danny watched them and wondered if any would be present at his interrogation—if it would be under one of them that he would crack, if one of them would outsmart him and get him to reveal himself. What if he said something only Phantom—and not Fenton—could know? What if they threatened to hurt or kill him? What if they threatened his family?

Danny almost couldn't stand it when the agent ran her scanner over his body; the urge to run was so strong, like primal instinct had totally overpowered his rational brain. Go, go, go, it told him. Away from the threat. But the threat was everywhere—nowhere was safe. And if he ran now, he'd be leaving his hiding place. It would be like a hidden baby deer being so afraid it bolted, only to have the wolf devour it.

Only, Danny was pretty sure a baby deer's instinct to stay still was much stronger than his instinct to flee. As the agent finished, Danny forced himself to slowly—and calmly—walk into the school. His hands, which were shaking, he shoved into his pockets. He was so out of it he even smiled to Dash as the boy passed him, and the blonde gave him an irritated look.

Sam and Tucker walked with him to the gym, where they'd be getting their blood drawn. The section for those not getting it was off to the side, in a separate group of chairs. Danny almost sighed in relief—there were a couple of other kids there, too. They appeared unconcerned, and Danny tried to mimic their air of apathy. One of the agents—a pale, brown-haired woman—sat at the front of the chairs.

"I'll take you one at a time into where we'll be interviewing you," she said to them. "It may take anywhere between ten minutes to an hour—that all depends on you. All we ask is your cooperation and honesty, okay?" She stared at the four of them, her eyebrows pulled together. They stayed quiet. "I said: okay?"

"Okay," a couple of them called. Danny couldn't find his voice, but this seemed good enough for the agent, who sat back down.

"Alright. First we have Julie Anderson." A girl behind Danny stood up, and the agent looked her up and down, assessing. "If you'll come with me, please." The agent led the teenager out of the gym, but the agent was back seconds later, so Danny assumed that wherever the interrogation was, it was close by.

He watched as the other, luckier kids went into curtained-off cubicles to get their blood drawn. Some of them seemed nervous, tapping their feet and rubbing their arms. Others looked angry, and he even heard Dash telling the man who was going to draw his blood that, "You're not going to catch him. Phantom's way smarter than you." The man ignored the comment and led the surly football player into the area regardless.

It almost warmed Danny's heart—except Dash only cared about Phantom, the intangible, infallible hero. Who knew if he'd still support the half-ghost if he knew his human form was Danny? Sure, in the alternate reality he had, but his animosity toward Danny had increased since then. And if Danny's identity were to be revealed, it might be under very different circumstances. Would everyone's image of Phantom be ruined if they knew it was weak, wimpy Fenton standing behind him? Not that he had a very good image with some in the first place.

Julie came back in no time, and then it was "Richard Dodds." Danny knew he'd be next—and then the other girl after him. His palms began to sweat, and he tried to focus on anything besides his impending interrogation—and possibly his impending exposure. What would his parents think? The "criminal" Phantom being their troubled son Danny all along… Would they blame themselves? Blame him?

At this point, Danny was fairly sure they wouldn't dissect or torture or excessively hurt him—but their words could hurt. How they looked at him could hurt. And would Sam and Tucker's families even let him see them again? It had been his friends' decisions to stand by him, even when it meant putting themselves in danger, but would their families see it like that? The Mansons already thought he was a bad influence, and while the Foleys liked him alright, they also adored Tucker, their only child. If they thought that Danny was putting him in danger, they might pull the plug on their friendship. Maybe they'd even move away…

Richard came back far too soon, and when the agent called his name ("Daniel Fenton"), it was as if something else was controlling Danny's body. He didn't want to stand—but that was what he did. He didn't want to follow her—but that was what he did. It was like watching a puppet, only he wasn't the puppet master.

He'd been right; the "interrogation room" was a classroom not too far from the gym. Inside sat a tall, thin man with graying hair. He wasn't an agent Danny had ever seen before.

"Go on and sit down," the woman said, and Danny realized he'd been standing in the doorway, staring at the man. Off to a great start. Danny forced his legs to move, and they responded, even though it was like wading through concrete. The man was sat at the teacher's desk at the front of the room. It was well-lit, with desks and posters and other normal things. It seemed too ordinary to be the place Danny might lose everything.

"Thanks, Agent V," the man said, and the woman nodded, closing the door. Then, the man's dark eyes were on him. They swirled like a storm in the middle of the night, but the rest of his face was impassive, as if he wouldn't let the thing inside control him. Danny let his backpack fall to the floor with a thud and lowered himself into the chair, never once letting his eyes stray from the man—the predator—in front of him. There was one door behind him, two windows behind the man, and a vent to Danny's left—all good escape routes, should the room be phase-proof.

"So, Daniel Fenton, huh?" the agent asked, looking down at a paper in front of him. "I'm Agent R, but feel free to call me Agent." Danny kept looking at him blankly—what? The agent laughed. "The other two did the same thing. It was supposed to be a joke, Daniel."

"Danny," the boy corrected. "I like to be called Danny." He couldn't seem to tear himself away from those eyes. When the light caught them, it was like lightning flashing inside the man. Danny felt a shiver run up his spine.

"Very well then. Danny it is," Agent R said, leaning forward. He steepled his hands together on the desk in front of him. Danny noticed distractedly a sign to the agent's right said Mrs. Harrison. "So, this is how this is going to work. I'm going to ask you a question—as straightforwardly and transparently as possible—and you're going to answer—as honestly and directly as possible. Does that sound good?"

Danny nodded, trying not to scratch the back of his neck—a recognizable sign of nervousness. "That sounds good," he said. He was shocked that his voice sounded so normal; it felt like his very organs were trembling, as if they knew they were in danger. But his voice came out clearly, and he consciously kept his muscles from tensing up.

"Excellent." Agent R sat back. "The first question is pretty easy to pass: why did you exempt yourself from the blood test?"

Because if I hadn't, I'd be caught or on the run now. I might be strapped to a table, you staring down at me and demanding they cut further, just so you can see how I tick. Because my parents would know, and even though I don't think they'll hurt me, they might hate me. Because Sam and Tucker don't deserve to have to deal with this—and I don't want to either.

"I don't like the sight of blood," Danny replied. "It makes me feel ill. I got a cut—when I was younger, you know—one that bled a lot, and I passed out when I looked at it." He hoped the explanation was just right—not too long or too short. He didn't want to tell any unnecessary lies, but normal people who didn't have secrets like his liked to talk about themselves. And, because he was posing as a normal person who didn't have secrets, he too would have to talk about himself.

"Hm," the agent said, writing something onto the paper in front of him. "The other two were exempt for medical reasons. Are you sure you couldn't man up and take the test anyway?" His tone was still light, but it carried a darker undertone, now. Danny could see the storm breaking through Agent R's stone façade in the way his fingers tightened and shoulders tensed. Sam definitely wouldn't have liked the implication—"man up" was something she tried to get rid of in people's vocabularies. After this, Danny couldn't help but agree with her.

"I mean, isn't it a little unnecessary?" Danny chuckled, trying to make it sound incredulous instead of anxious. "Me, the son of two ghost hunters, a ghost?" He spread his arms as if to say, See for yourself. Agent R's eyes narrowed.

"We try not to judge based on background," he said stiffly. "Everyone's a suspect until proven otherwise."

I'm pretty sure it's "innocent until proven guilty," not the other way around. Danny shrugged.

"Well, I don't really want to pass out is all. And needles are painful," he said, trying to act like a whiny, wimpy boy instead of someone with something to hide. He shifted in his seat, as if impatient. "You're not going to keep me here forever, are you?"

"Of course not." Agent R's shoulders relaxed a fraction, and Danny wanted to wipe his forehead in relief. "But as the son of two ghost hunters, you of all people must understand how important it is to have your cooperation. We need to stop Phantom—who knows what kind of damage he might do if left unattended. What if the other kids—many of whom I'm sure don't like needles—also decided to opt out? Where would we be then?"

A guilt trip, then. God, Agent R was like the rest of the adults in Danny's life—Don't you care about your grades? Don't you want to make us proud? Danny had expected to be scared during this "interview," not irritated. But here he was, irritated.

"They didn't, though, did they?" he asked. "And I want to help in any way I can, but I know I'm not Phantom. There's no way me refusing to get my blood tested has this much effect on your investigation." Agent R's lips thinned.

"If you had wanted to help in any way you could, you would've let us take your blood," he argued. "And it's a good thing these other kids understand the importance of our investigation—even though you should've been the first to line up!"

Well, Danny supposed he'd been the one to play the "my parents are ghost hunters" card first. He'd just have to deal with it. He watched as Agent R opened one of the drawers of the desk. He brought out a needle and tube, all wrapped neatly in plastic. Danny felt his face pale, and he wished he had some kind of control over that.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this," the agent said. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, and Danny's stomach turned, the French toast he'd had earlier threatening to come up. No, no, no. What the hell is he doing? Danny clenched his jaw and tried to stay as calm as possible—he's just trying to scare me. It's just to get me to cave. Big, tall man with a needle, like that's going to make me more cooperative. It would be illegal for him to take my blood now.

Since when do the GIW care about what's legal?

"W-what are you doing?" Danny asked, cursing the stutter in his voice. Though, if he really had been afraid of the sight of blood, he might really have stuttered there anyway.

"I can technically detain you for twenty-four hours. You're acting suspicious, you know—shaking and stumbling over your words. It's clear you're hiding something."

"I'm not suspicious," Danny denied. He hadn't been shaking. Somehow, he still wasn't shaking. How wasn't he shaking?

"But no one else knows that, do they?" Agent R smirked. "I have the grounds to take you to our HQ and hold you there. And maybe something will happen there—maybe something painful." He caressed the needle.

Was he threatening to torture Danny if he didn't comply with getting his blood drawn? Who was this guy? No way would Danny agree. Going with them might mean they'd find his injuries; although they were healing, there were still noticeable burns on his torso. Not to mention that he didn't exactly enjoy pain. But he couldn't exactly give in and let the man draw his blood, could he?

"You're crazy," Danny whispered.

"Maybe." Agent R set the needle down, suddenly serious. "But, Danny, you need to consider your options very seriously. We have to know if you are who you say you are. And if you require a littler persuasion, away from prying eyes, that's what will happen. Or," he tapped the tube in front of him with one gloved finger, "we can avoid all that unpleasantness. Agree to let me take your blood, here and now."

Fuck no.

"And what if I tell people? You're threatening me—my parents won't like that, and neither will the school," Danny said. If this got out, the agents might be banished from the school entirely.

"Who would believe you?" Agent R asked. He smiled at Danny. "Besides, you don't want to do that; then, everyone would ask why you were so adamant against getting your blood drawn you refused even under the threat of torture." Suddenly, he stood up and slammed both of his hands on the desk. The tube rattled, and Danny jumped at the noise. "Why are you so adamant against getting your blood drawn, Danny?" he demanded.

Danny felt the shaking begin—first in his hands, and then in his entire body, like it was trying to fend off Agent R as it would the cold. He tried to slow his breathing, and his heart thundered in his ears. Agent R was right.

"You think no one would notice that you'd tortured me?" Danny questioned. "Really? Or maybe you think the rest of the world would be okay with you harming an innocent minor."

"It doesn't matter," Agent R said, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his suit. "We'll get your blood one way or another—here and now, with a needle, or later, with something far more painful. You said you pass out at the sight of blood? I wonder how much blood we could get with a knife." The agent leaned closer over the desk, until Danny could smell his breath. "And I imagine, with how you're acting, we'll find something in the blood."

"I'm not Phantom," Danny said, crossing his arms. "You won't find anything. You're acting insane!"

"Maybe you're not Phantom." Agent R shrugged, leaning back. "But you've got something to hide. And I, for one, want to know what it is."

And then, inspiration struck. There wasn't anything Danny could do to prevent this—not really, not without revealing his hand more than he already had. But just because Danny didn't have anything on the GIW didn't mean no one had anything to hold over them.

"Try it," Danny challenged. The shaking stopped. Agent R cocked his head, like a dog that had come across something interesting. "My parents are helping you install the shields around school, right? You've been wanting to partner with them for a long time."

"Yes, and…?" the agent said. "I fail to see what this has to do with our investigation." He tapped the tube again, and Danny found he was starting to hate the sound.

"What happens if their precious son—their only son—is tortured or threatened at the hands of the GIW? You can kiss the ghost shield—and my parents' blueprints—goodbye." Danny smiled derisively. I've got you now.

Agent R's nostrils flared, and the within raged on the outside as he balled one hand into a fist and pounded it into the desk. Danny watched him with wide eyes.

"You can't do this!" the agent raged, spittle flying from his lips. The tube flew off the desk and rolled underneath Danny's chair. This only seemed to enrage the agent more, and the man kicked the wall.

"Nobody's ever told you no before, have they?" Danny asked. I am calm; I am relaxed. There's no reason for me to be scared beyond what a normal person would be. He was fine, really. He was. The display of unfettered anger didn't make his insides turn to jelly and paralyze his muscles. It didn't. He didn't imagine his own face as the part of the desk the agent had punched, or his stomach as the wall. He didn't. His breath wasn't coming faster, wasn't ripping through his lungs like each inhale-exhale would be his last.

The agent rounded on him, storming in front of the desk. Before Danny could decide—run or fight—the man had gripped the front of the teenager's shirt, pulling the half-ghost to his feet.

"This doesn't end here," the agent snarled. "You don't get to keep secrets from us!"

If he looks down, Danny thought, he'll see my burn. And then it really would end, this game of cat and mouse. This running and hiding and fighting. Danny wanted it to end, in some deep, dark crevice of his soul. He wanted relief—he wanted to know what would happen, what everyone would think.

But not like this.

"I think it does," Danny said, ripping himself away from the agent. His shirt tore, but Danny paid it no heed. He scooped up his backpack, the agent watching him silently, studying. The storm was trapped inside again.

"We'll be watching you," he called softly as Danny walked across the classroom. The half-ghost opened the door, but paused.

Without turning around, he said, "My parents will be watching you."

Then, he slipped out.

When he got home that night, relieved the week was finally over, he couldn't help but notice the white van parked outside the house. The streetlights barely penetrated the dark windows, but Danny could see inside.

It was Agent R. And, like he said, he was watching.

Watching very closely.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Ain't no Rest for the Wicked (and Danny)

He came home that Friday, rattled. He'd told Tucker and Sam what had happened, and they'd agreed that he'd done his best, that there wasn't anything else he could've done. But he still felt he hadn't done what he should've—maybe there had been another way, a way that didn't involve his parents. What if the GIW decided they were done playing games and just broke in to steal the plans? Or something else?

His parents were at the kitchen table, eating. His mom smiled at him when she saw him.

"Danny!" she greeted. "Why don't you come sit down? There are some things we want to talk with you about." She patted the seat next to her, and Danny felt himself freeze up. Did they know? Was this some kind of bluff—make him feel safe and secure and then spring the handcuffs on him? Or had the GIW told them he didn't want to be tested, and now they were going to confront him? His dad's laugh broke the silence.

"Don't look so worried, Dann-o—you're not in trouble." Danny put his backpack by the door and sat down next to his mother, watching them the whole time for any sign that they knew. But they were just his parents looking at him, their son. Not ghost-scum or criminal. Danny smiled at them.

"So what's this about, then?" he asked. They'd been eating fudge, and Danny took a piece, letting the familiar sweet taste relax him.

"We just wanted to let you know that you won't be seeing much of us," his mom said. "I know we've been busy lately, and, well, I think we're going to be busier. But, of course, we also want to make time for you kids…" She trailed off, looking past Danny into the kitchen, thinking. They really were already busy, spending their time in the lab or out hunting or whatever it was.

"It's okay, Mom. We understand you have things to do," Danny said. His mom patted his shoulder.

"Oh, sweetie, but that's no excuse." She ran her hand through his hair, smiling softly at him.

"Which is why, if you want to spend time with us, we'll make time for you. We know you're busy with school and friends, but you always gotta make time for family!" his dad added. Danny smiled up at the man.

Sometimes, when they were yelling at him for missing curfew (though they had given up on that long ago) or failing a class (which he hadn't done in months now), it was hard to remember that they did care about him. That was partially why they'd yelled at him; they wanted him to make the best choices for himself. And he believed that, had he been any other kid, the extra support and prying—the caring—would've helped. At least, he was pretty sure it would've. But he was Phantom, half-ghost, and thus something his parents hated. Even if—now that they knew he was human—they didn't want to hurt him, they still thought he was a criminal.

"Where were you guys last night?" Danny suddenly blurted. His parents glanced at each other, as if gauging how they should answer. Was it something about him? Or was it something they thought he wouldn't like? It hadn't been shopping—there was no new food in the house. And there hadn't been any ghosts out, so they hadn't been hunting.

And from the looks on their faces, they had been doing something important.

"Look," his mom began, "we really don't want to bother you with that stuff. You should be focusing on school, not—well, not ghosts. We know you sometimes don't agree with us when it comes to those post-consciousness ectoplasmic forms, and we want to respect your opinion—"

"—Even if it's wrong," his dad muttered.

"—Even if there's no evidence to support your claims," his mom corrected, shooting a look at her husband. Ha, Danny thought darkly, I have more evidence than you—both anecdotal and scientific. Not that they'd ever know; then, they would ask where he got it, and obviously the fully-human Danny Fenton couldn't have gotten it. "There's no reason to distract you with what we're doing…"

"But I want to know!" Danny set down his piece of half-eaten fudge. "I need to know. I can't focus on school with everything—everything going on. Ghosts are such a big part of town—and so are you guys—and I like knowing what's going on."

Why were they trying to hide it, anyway? They had never attempted to hide what they were doing before—Danny's parents had always been eager to share their projects. Danny wondered what was different this time.

"C'mon, Mads, if he wants to know…" his dad said, polishing off one more piece of fudge. His mother sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"We went to the police station; we're working with law enforcement to see if we cant bring Phantom in for questioning," Maddie confessed. "And I know one of your classmates is probably Phantom, and you're probably feeling confused about all of this…"

She seemed to think the knowledge would hurt her son somehow, as if he'd made some kind of connection to Phantom just knowing that he went to the same school. To be fair, he did have a connection to Phantom, but it wasn't from school. And the police? Question him? Danny didn't understand; he was on good terms with the police. Or, at least, he had been. They'd worked together many times to keep civilians safe—why would they betray that now?

"So you're still going to try and capture him?" Danny asked. He tried not to sound too hopeful, and he kept his eyes trained on the pattern of the tablecloth. "Even after…" His hand twitched, wanting to go up and rub at his chest.

"We know he's human, now," his dad said. "It was unclear before, but Red Huntress seemed sure he was actually half-human—and Phantom wasn't disputing it. We can't keep treating him like he's a ghost."

"Which is why we're going to ask him to come in," his mom added. "For questioning only. The police want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but we need to know about his crimes—and the fact that he's a minor changes everything. Do his parents/guardians even know he's Phantom? There are just so many things we don't know."

Bring him in for questioning? Only questioning? The idea seemed too good to be true; his parents had always been so dead-set on hurting ghosts—ignoring the fact that they'd never even really spoken to one or been to the Ghost Zone. The reason for their new-found kindness was far-fetched to Danny. They were giving up hunting one of their biggest "enemies" for questioning him?

"He's still part-ghost," Danny whispered. How far did it go, this sense of empathy? How long would it last? He was pretty sure his parents wouldn't physically hurt him if they knew Phantom was him, but… There was always that but.

"And we have no idea how that might alter his mental, physical, or emotional processes, but he's always been different from other ghosts," his mom said.

"We just know why, now," his dad piped up. "A scientist can't dispute facts, and the fact is that Phantom's half-human. So we can't treat him like we were treating him." It warmed Danny to hear that, but it also chilled him. It was only because he was half-human that they cared about not hurting him. Other ghosts—like Wulf or Dora or Frostbite—they were still fair game. To his parents, they still couldn't feel pain or sorrow or happiness.

They hadn't decided to stop hunting Danny because they'd realized who he was, as Danny had always hoped. They were stopping because of what he was. Had they still thought he was full ghost, it wouldn't matter that he'd save countless lives. It would only matter that he wasn't human.

"Shooting at a child," his mom murmured, eyes far away. "Threatening a teenager…"

Could Danny even tell them when he knew they still hadn't really accepted half of him? Would they want check and see how his processes had been altered? Would they respect his decision if he said no?

"So—so if Phantom was a full ghost, you'd still be hunting him?" Danny asked.

"Of course!" his dad exclaimed, sounding enthusiastic. "There'd be no reason not to."

There'd be no reason not to.

A scalpel slicing into soft skin.

No reason.

Screams.

Not to.

Danny sat there. He couldn't even meet his parents' eyes. All he'd done, all he'd sacrificed, and if he'd actually, completely died in that stupid portal, they wouldn't have stopped. Maybe not ever. It seemed that the only way to prevent them from going too far was humanity—dealing with anything else, they lost theirs.

"Danny, what is it?" his mom asked. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine," Danny muttered automatically. His parents wouldn't physically hurt him. Not now. "It's just—he's done so much for this town. And if he wasn't part human…" There, he'd said it. Would they understand? Could they understand? The look on their faces said they didn't know why he was asking, that they were confused. A line appeared between his mom's eyebrows when she was puzzled, and his dad tilted his slightly, like a lost puppy.

"Sweetie," his mom said, "if Phantom wasn't part human, there's no way he would've saved the town in the first place. Ghosts don't work like us; they never do things for altruistic reasons."

She was wrong. Danny could feel it in his bones, in the way his core thrummed whenever he changed into his ghost form (protect, protect, protect). He would've protected Amity Park no matter what, dead or alive. Hated or loved. He couldn't bear to see the people within hurt—or anyone hurt, for that matter.

"I, um, I'm going to go to my room." Danny stood. "Homework." He smiled weakly at them before leaving, a new question on his mind.

Should he go in to be questioned?

The rest of the weekend was entirely uneventful, ghost-wise. Uneasiness swept over Danny as the hours progressed and no ghosts decided to show themselves. No screaming, no property damage, no injuries, and no ghost sense. It was quiet, and the quiet seemed to penetrate Danny's body, implanting a seed of dread. Why weren't the ghosts attacking?

There was always the off chance that they'd simply decided not to, all of his regular enemies giving him a break because of happenstance. There was also the chance that it was malicious, however; they might be preparing to invade and fight him all at once. Most of them were loners, though, and didn't play well with others. But maybe they'd gotten tired of fighting for what seemed like eternity, no end in sight (and certainly no chance of winning for them). Maybe they wanted to take him out, once and for all.

The idea wouldn't let go, burrowing into his mind like a mole burrows into the dirt—unrelenting and seemingly everywhere. Eating, sleeping, sitting, standing, the thought plagued him that something bad was coming—the alliance of all his enemies against him. What else could it be? Why else would they stop attacking unless they were preparing for something greater?

There was no way they'd given up—Danny knew his enemies, and they weren't like that. They didn't know the meaning of "give up"—hardly any ghost did. Their obsessions made it hard to let go of a goal once they wanted it (though he also knew that they didn't have to attack him or innocent civilians). He'd spoken with Sam and Tucker about it, afraid that they'd been taking the bulk of the fights, but they reported minimal ghost activity—and anything ghosts that did come through weren't things for anyone to worry about.

They'd also told Danny not to worry too much about it—just appreciate the break for what it was—but the half-ghost could sense the worry and tension in their voices over the phone, could see the worry lines in their foreheads when he saw them.

There was another possibility, too, besides a random break or an alliance. It was one that Danny didn't dare contemplate—because it would likely mean that the situation was far more dire than an alliance against him. If they hadn't stopped attacking because they were preparing to attack him, they had stopped because something else was occupying their time. And the thought terrified Danny—what could he do if some greater threat was coming? With everyone ready to capture Phantom, whether to get the reward or to figure out his identity, planning and fighting something that could quiet the Ghost Zone was a bad idea. Not that he would have a choice.

And checking the Zone itself wasn't an option; his parents were inventing in the lab almost twenty-four/seven. Even if they left for a while, there was no way Danny could come back in time. Plus, if his enemies were coming together to fight him, he wasn't sure going into their territory was wise. So Danny was stuck waiting.

He even wondered if it had something to do with the Empress's attack from before. But he, almost entirely alone, had fought off a band of her soldiers. Was there any way she was strong enough to be causing ghosts in the Zone trouble?

There wasn't even anything he could really do about the GIW. If he told his parents that he'd been threatened, they would wonder why he was so dead-set on rejecting the blood test. The chance that they might help get the agents off his back wasn't worth it. Even though he was using them (well, their inventions) as leverage, he couldn't talk with them about it; it would just bring up too many questions.

So he was lying in his bed, Sunday night, staring at the ceiling. He'd actually had the chance to do some of his homework; the essay for Lancer was almost done, and he'd talked with Mikey and Abigail about the Chemistry project. They'd told him not to worry about it. He felt bad for it—guilty—like he was taking advantage, though he hadn't asked them to.

The van still hadn't left, either. Danny lifted his head off the bed, and he noticed that it had moved maybe a couple of spaces down. To avoid suspicion? Danny wasn't sure, and he supposed it didn't really matter—it mattered that they were watching them. He needed to do something to get him off his back, but there was nothing he could do except submit to a blood test. And his parents definitely weren't focused on upgrading the Ghost Catcher; they were working on providing the police with more ghost equipment. Apparently, they were preparing to face ghost attacks completely on their own, because Phantom, as a minor, couldn't be allowed to fight anymore.

Danny wondered how long they would last. There was more to fighting the ghosts that came into Amity than equipment; Danny knew when they arrived, knew what they wanted (usually), and was able to take hits no one else could take (except maybe Valerie in her suit). They wouldn't be able to respond as quickly or as efficiently, especially with the higher-powered ghosts. And the attacks came at all hours. The police might need an entire unit, or more, dedicated solely to hunting ghosts. And what would they do with them afterward? Kill them? Would they just keep them trapped in containers forever?

Danny didn't know.

He rolled onto his side, curling up. At least now his injuries were healed. He glanced at the clock—with all the extra sleep, he was barely tired, and he didn't think he'd be able to fall asleep with the GIW just down the street… But his body knew sleep was far too precious to waste, and he was asleep in minutes.

He jolted awake, five hours later, with a cold gasp—his ghost sense. He glanced at the clock: 3:17 a.m. He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to scrub the tiredness off of him. The ghost he had sensed was far away—farther away than usual—and was unfamiliar to him. It must've not come through the portal below.

The portal had weakened the boundary between the Ghost Zone and Earth in a three-mile radius, and whoever this ghost was, they were at least two-and-a-half miles away. And the signature was still strong. Danny scrambled out of bed; he knew it had been to good to last. Looking down at his pajamas, he watched as they transformed into his black hazmat suit. He stretched and, turning invisible, flew out of his window. The van was still there, but he could see the agent inside dozing off. Hopefully, he could get to the ghost before anyone else. Maybe, he thought wishfully, he'd even be able to take care of them and get home before the GIW decided to bother him.

He soared upward, as high as he dared, and looked down at the city—his city. Only the streetlights and occasional cars glowed in the darkness, and Danny swerved above the streets, heading in the direction that he'd sensed the ghost. Living near the edge of town, it didn't take long for Danny to realize the ghost was out in the woods. He frowned; usually ghosts looking to make trouble preferred the city.

He swooped low as he reached the trees, the wind brushing through his hair. He scanned back and forth, watching closely for signs of ghostly activity—glowing, shouting. And then his ghost sense went off again. And again. And again. He thought his lungs might freeze over. He coughed slightly, trying to clear the sensation. Even with multiple ghosts, he usually only sensed them once—unless they were coming through different portals. Why were so many ghosts coming through—and from so many portals? And so far away? Maybe they had teamed up to fight him, as strange as it seemed.

The ghosts were farther away, now, deeper into the woods. Danny hesitated, hovering. His silhouette blotted out the stars. What if this was an ambush? He could be captured or injured, and if Fenton disappeared at the same time Phantom did… It was a risk he'd have to take, he supposed. He rushed forward, more determined. Besides, he needed to get there before any hunters—and leave before the hunters arrived, too.

The sounds came first for Danny—screams that echoed into the night: young and old, women and men, terrified and furious. He could make out the clashing of metal—swords—and the high-pitched whines of ectoblasts. Danny's eyes widened; ghosts were fighting here. He flew faster, and soon he could spy the flashes of light and the eerie glow of ghostly bodies. And at last, he smelled it: ectoplasm, like singed metal. Turning intangible, Danny dove down through dark branches toward the fight.

He took in what was happening in a flash, mere seconds: trees knocked over and undergrowth trampled by a hoard of ghosts, coming through various portals that seemed to be opening and closing at random. But they weren't the kind of ghosts Danny was accustomed to; instead of raring to fight, angry, these ghosts looked desperate. Ragged. And some were clearly families, parents clutching at their spectral children, dragging them through—and then away. There had to be at least a hundred through, and more were coming.

Guards—knights—flanked the civilians. They bore a familiar emblem, one Danny would recognize anywhere. And then he saw the queen herself: Dora, ragged and bloodied, limping. Her head and arm were wrapped tightly in bandages, and she looked to be directing her people. She clutched a scepter in one hand. On the other side of the portals was where the sounds of fighting were coming from, Danny realized.

Danny hurtled himself beside her. "Over this way!" she was yelling, beckoning her people out of the way. She flinched when she saw him, raising her arm up as if to fire. Danny held both his hands up.

"Whoa there," he said. "No need to shoot. What's going on?" He nearly had to yell above the din of everything else. Dora's shoulders sagged—and for a second Danny thought she was going to pass out—but then he realized it was in relief. She smiled at him, though the crevices in her face, evidence of her weariness, took from the effect.

"Sir Phantom," she greeted. Her voice was hoarse, brittle like snapped twigs. "How I welcome the sight of you; we are in dire need of aid." A knight flew out of the portal to their left and approached her, bowing low. Dora turned her attention to him. "Report," she ordered, her right hand gripping her scepter tightly.

"My queen," he said, straightening, "the battle fares poorly. There are numerous people remaining still in the citadel, and our enemies are mere moments from breaking through our defensive wall." Enemies? Wall? Someone was attacking—Danny could figure out that much, but why were they coming here? To the human realm? Why weren't they evacuating to somewhere else in the Ghost Zone?

Dora stared at the ground, bringing her bandaged arm up to press against her forehead. "Tell me, Sir Gareth, be there any way to keep them from breeching the portal to allow my people enough time to flee in their entirety?"

"If there be a way, I see it not, my queen," he said, eyes solemn and shiny. Danny could see he was plainly exhausted—he shook, ectoplasm leaking from his leg. He had landed on the forest floor to conserve energy, and his aura flickered.

"Dora, what's—" Danny began, but she cut him off.

"We have not the time for lengthy explanations," she told him calmly. It was the calm of someone who knew this was the end, one way or another. "My kingdom teeters on the brink even as we speak, and I must ask you a favor." Danny blinked, tilting his head.

"I don't understand. What favor? What is going on?" he demanded. A ghostly babe cried in their father's arms as they passed. Danny wondered what had happened to their mother. The chaos was overwhelming—and what poor timing, too. Whatever was happening would require his whole attention, something his secret identity couldn't afford.

Dora gripped his arm, coming closer to him. He could smell her ectoplasm as it leaked from a cut on her cheek. "I beseech you, Sir Phantom: help us." The strength of her hand was bruising, but Danny couldn't tear himself away from her pleading eyes. "My people perish. I have not the strength to protect them any longer." Could Danny save them, though? He thought through his options: the Fenton thermos couldn't hold all of them; the Ghost Zone wasn't an option; and whatever had invaded over her kingdom had to be strong. And there was another problem.

"If the hunters find you here, they'll slaughter you or capture you," Danny said. Dora's face scrunched, as if she was trying not to cry. She pressed her face into his shoulder.

"Our fate is the same, then—here or there. But please. Please. We might have a chance…" She choked, as if holding back a sob, and stepped back, releasing him. "I will do what I can here," she said to him. Danny nodded—there had been no debate, really. He could feel it deep inside him, the thrumming of his core.

(Protect, protect, protect.)

Taking a deep breath, Danny leaped up and launched himself through the portal, above the heads of the fleeing ghosts. The other side was absolute chaos. Beneath a green sky, citizens and soldiers alike flew frantically, trying to escape the fighting or running towards it.

Huddled in the stone courtyard below, hundreds of ghosts waited to shuffle through the portals as knights did their best to protect them. Every now and then, a stray blast shot through the crowd, injuring or destroying one of the ghosts. Sometimes, they didn't even scream, numb to it all.

Danny noticed immediately where the knights were weakest—a hole had appeared in the line, the remains of faded ghosts smearing the ground around it. Already, one of the enemy ghosts (was that one of Walker's goons?) was flying through the gap.

Danny threw himself forward just in time to land a punch squarely on the ghost's jaw, slamming him into the stone ground below. Danny lifted him up, and, still dazed, the ghost did nothing to resist as he was heaved at his comrades, bowling into one of them.

Beside him, knights turned and shouted.

"Sir Phantom!" the ghostly knight to his right yelled. She smiled at him even as she gutted an enemy through with her spear. "What a pleasure it is to meet you!" Danny grunted in reply, blasting back a couple of ghosts who had been ready to fire themselves. They fell back, but more replaced the injured ghosts—and it was Walker's goons, Danny could see now, mixed in with very familiar-looking medieval soldiers.

"Is there a plan?" Danny called over the noise of battle. "A strategy?" He landed a kick in the stomach of one of the goons, who went intangible too late. As he turned tangible again, aiming to punch Danny back, the half-ghost ducked below and snapped the goon's jaw upward. There was a cracking noise, and the ghost whimpered, clutching his face.

"Keep them occupied so all the citizens can get through!" The knight fired a blast, which flashed directly into the slit of one of the enemy knight's helmets. She grimaced as the enemy knight cried out in pain. "Not much else to do besides that. We were under siege for days before they got into the citadel. All worn out. Don't have much of a plan." Well, then.

And he fought on. He fought until he was drenched in sweat, his bangs clinging to his forehead and eyes stinging. He fought until his muscles ached and his mostly-healed chest throbbed just a little, in time with the pulsing of his core. He fought on until he was littered with cuts and burns from blades, debris, and ectoblasts. Hours or days could've passed—Danny wouldn't have known the difference. All he knew was the blurred motion of his limbs, the heat of his ectoblasts, the chill of his intangibility.

He fought until he was in a cloud, a fighting daze—and he hadn't even realized the knight behind him had fallen until she gasped. He turned to see one of the enemy soldiers pulling a long sword from the knight's gut. Danny growled and hurtled himself at the soldier, forcing her back in a flurry of blows. He lurched to the side as she jabbed at his left, only to fall into one of her ectoblasts. His side smarting from the burn, he went in close, ramming his shoulder into her chest. She gagged, her core pulsing, as Danny's fist crushed her nose. He knocked the sword from her grasp with a well-aimed kick, and she flew backwards, retreating under his onslaught. He aimed one last blast at her, catching her in the chest.

Danny glanced around—others had fallen, too, without him noticing. And behind him, there was still at least a hundred citizens left. The knight, and Dora, had been right—the soldiers were flagging, however much they seemed to be putting their heart into it. They wouldn't last much longer like this—Danny was only one person, after all. Something needed to happen, or they would fall, leaving the citizens to be harmed and the enemy a free pass into the human world.

"Get behind me!" Danny bellowed to the remaining knights. They blinked at him, as if their minds could no longer comprehend anything save fight, fight, fight. "NOW!" Danny roared at them, and they finally began to move, wading through enemies to stand behind him.

He dodged as one of the goons fired at him, returning fire quickly and with far better aim. Head, shoulder, chest, and the ghost went spiraling down. Danny took a second to look behind him, and in a sort of V-formation, the knights closest to him had assembled. It would have to be enough.

Caught in Valerie's net, it had only taken a short wail to break through—and that had spent his energy, used it up and wrung it out. This time, he was in slightly better shape—no sneak attacks, with allies at his back. Not trapped, either. But if he hoped to fight afterward, or do anything, he had to be careful about this.

So he inhaled, taking in the scent of dust and ghostly wounds and rot, and he wailed. The enemy's front line went flying, and others in the back scrambled to find cover. Some of the ruins of houses below—the people's houses—crumbled and cracked. A little more, he thought. He could give a little more. Just a little.

His voice began to crack, the vocal chords creaking under the strain, and Danny saw one of the buildings completely collapse under the onslaught. There. Enough. He cut it off and plummeted a couple of feet in the air before he regained his senses.

Behind him, the soldiers and knights were cheering, but the fight hadn't been won yet. Danny used one hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, and he flew up beside one of the more decorated knights, assuming him to be a leader.

"That should buy us some time," he croaked, massaging his throat with one hand. It wouldn't be long now. Looking down at the citizens, he saw that there was maybe seventy or eighty left.

"Thank you, Sir Phantom," the knight said. "Our morale is boosted, and we are better for it. When the fighting begins anew, we will continue with vigor and strength." He patted Danny's arm, and one of his bruises protested at the touch. Danny offered the knight a weary smile.

"We better—because that was a one-time thing. Not a power I use every day." The ghost nodded, looking out over the battlefield. Already, the enemy had begun to crawl out from where they had taken shelter: crumbling walls and fallen debris. Though dirty and injured, they also seemed angry.

"Oops," Danny said. "They might be fighting with more vigor and strength, too." He watched them warily, stretching out his arms and back, trying to work out any kinks before he started to fight again. The knight shook his head.

"Anger lends only foolishness." The ghost pressed a hand against a weeping cut. "You have given us further advantage." He grimaced in pain, his hand coming away a vibrant green. He drew his sword from its scabbard, anticipating the fighting to come.

But the enemy just seemed to be hovering, as if waiting. For what? Danny thought. He tensed, thinking of all the ways this could go more wrong. And how close were the hunters to where Dora was now? In the woods, it would be difficult to get here. How long did it take to set up helicopters, anyway?

"Why do they not advance?" the knight muttered to himself. The rest of the soldiers were murmuring, too. Danny kept his eyes trained on the enemy. And—they were parting. He squinted—to let a figure fly through. Large, imposing, and dressed in the crisp white Danny was starting to hate. Walker grinned at him from across the battlefield.

"Dora so tuckered out she had to send in an abomination like you?" he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. Danny wondered why he was doing this—a power play? Because he didn't trust his own minions ability to defeat Danny?

"Were you so tuckered out you couldn't face me yourself?" Danny demanded, tone equally belligerent. "That must be why you waited for your goons to tire me out—make them do the work, then take the credit." He crossed his arms and stood straighter, trying to mask his fatigue. Walker laughed, and it sounded like a bomb going off.

"Of course not, boy!" he shouted. "I have other—more important—things to worry about than abominations who belong in jail. But you have my full attention, now." Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw three of the four portals wink out of existence—nearly everyone must be out, then. How was she even closing the portals? And how had she opened them? Danny nearly shook his head; he had more pertinent matters to attend to. Soon it would just be Danny and the soldiers.

"And here I thought I was the only criminal you'd go after!" Danny hollered back. The volume made his burning throat sting. "We were supposed to be exclusive. I feel cheated! Used!" They needed to end this, fast. Unfortunately, the half-ghost was fresh out of ghostly wails.

"Don't worry," Walker said. He was flying closer, and Danny twitched, his body itching to fight or flee. "I still have plenty of time to lock you up." He stopped, floating fifteen feet away, hands on his hips. "And you'll be mine for the rest of your miserable half-life." He sneered.

"You'll have to beat me first," Danny warned. "It's like dating: not official until you've taken me out to a nice restaurant. Paid for my meal. I'm expecting five-star handcuffs." Walker growled, advancing. The half-ghost slipped into a defensive stance, arms raised. Why was Walker even attacking Dora? Why had he teamed up with these medieval soldiers and knights—ones who reminded Danny eerily of the Empress's, which he'd fought days earlier.

"Enough talk," Walker snarled. "You're as good as dead, boy." The warden arched in front of Danny, intent on landing the first punch, but Danny threw himself to the side, the ghost's fist glancing off his shoulder.

"Well, you're not wrong," Danny admitted, aiming a kick at Walker's side. "Being half-ghost and all." The warden dodged, bringing out his baton to smack Danny. He grunted as his swing missed.

Around Danny, Dora's soldiers engaged with Walker's goons, screaming war cries and raising their weapons. The half-ghost danced his deadly dance with Walker, who re-sized himself periodically, trying to throw Danny off. But he was adaptable, and adjusted easily to Walker's oddly fluid—and yet somehow completely blunt—fighting style.

The warden managed to insert one booted foot into Danny's ribs, and the half-ghost heard them creak in his chest, bruised but not broken. He gasped painfully, trying to regain his bearings. Throwing himself at Walker, he punched the warden's head, knocking his hat clean off. Walker gave a wordless yell of anger, and as he went to crack Danny's skull with his baton, the half-ghost dodged neatly underneath the ghost's arm, coming around to kick his shoulder.

From this vantage point, he saw that the last of the citizens were leaving the courtyard. They'd done it. Now all they had to do was retreat themselves—probably easier said than done.

"Retreat!" Danny yelled, shoving Walker to the side. The knights' heads perked up, and as a unit they began to back toward the portal, fighting all the while. Danny watched helplessly as the knight he'd spoken to went down, fading as he was pummeled out of existence. Walker, taking advantage of this distraction, punched Danny's gut. As the half-ghost tried to resist the urge to double-over, he began to concentrate.

I've done it before, and I can do it again, he thought, staring at the portal.

"A retreat? Got so tired you decided to give up?" Walker mocked, gripping his baton tightly. Danny flew sideways as it swept past him.

"Not on your life," he said. The knights were right there at the portal, and they were looking at Danny sorrowfully, as if they had already accepted the half-ghost would not make it there in time. Do it, Danny ordered himself. Now. He needed to be there, not here. There, by the knights and the portal and the—

Suddenly, he was there, standing beside the fighting knights. Over fifty feet away, Walker gave a howl of rage. But Danny knew he could teleport, too—they needed to get through fast.

"Sir Phantom!" one of them exclaimed. "You're here!"

"Yeah, real observant," Danny said. "Now through!" And, tugging on a couple of the more dazed-looking ones, they tumbled through the portal all together. It closed not a second later, the world seemingly dark afterward.

Danny just let himself lay there, even as some of the others began to get up; he was so tired. And the sky was lighter, now—the sun was coming up, or would be soon. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. He had so many questions, and the hunters were probably on their way (he could almost hear the thwump-thwump-thwump of helicopter blades), and he was just so—damn—tired.

Dora came rushing over. "Sir Phantom!" She crouched beside him and did her best to help him up, though her arms were shaking badly. "I cannot thank you enough—you have saved my people from a terrible fate." Danny opened his eyes a crack, and he was certain he could hear helicopters in the distance. Probably the GIW; no one else, as far as he knew, had access to ghost scanners that reached the woods—not to mention access to helicopters.

"Don't thank me yet," he grumbled. "The hunters are on their way." He heaved himself to his feet, Dora standing a moment later. And this, at least, was not a mystery to Danny; after days of withstanding a siege, probably fighting all the while, it was a wonder Dora was standing at all, probably. "You can go deeper into the woods," Danny told her, doing his best to brush sticks and dirt off his suit. "It's federally protected or whatever, so if you go deep enough, no one will be there. And it should be far enough away scanners won't be able to detect you."

Dora nodded. "We will travel farther, then," she said. Her green skin was dull. "And what of you?" She examined him, taking in his battered appearance. Danny grinned, raising an eyebrow.

"Me? Well, they're so intent on figuring out who the ghost-boy is, so I figure I'll make a good distraction while you make your escape." Dora frowned at him and gripped his shoulders. Danny's grin faltered at her seriousness.

"Then again I must thank you. Later—I will send someone to inform you of everything that has transpired. It is vital that you know, for I fear what may come to pass should you remain ignorant." She removed her hands and gently kissed his forehead, like a mother would.

"I would appreciate that," Danny said. He bent his knees, preparing to shoot off into the sky.

"Good luck, Sir Phantom," Dora whispered, and Danny leapt out of the trees, ready to give the GIW the chase of their life—so good, in fact, they'd forget any other ghost was ever even there.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Tucker has Big Brain (and Danny has Confused Brain)

Helicopters, Danny found, went a lot faster than he had anticipated. The blades seemed to be an ever-present drone in his ear as he urged his exhausted body forward. After he'd flown up to greet his pursuers, the agents had wasted no time firing at him. Danny lurched to the side, trying to summon a cocky smile.

"Phantom," one of the agents yelled over the wind, "come with us peacefully, and you will not be harmed!" In one hand he gripped the smoking gun that had just fired at Danny. The half-ghost laughed, shaking his head.

"For some reason, I don't believe you!" Danny moved again as the agent fired. He almost didn't make it in time, and his sluggish movements, as well as the rising sun, reminded him that he didn't have any time to lose. "And I really can't stay and chat—I'm pretty busy, you know," he said and bolted mid-air.

He heard more yelling behind him, as well as the roar of the helicopter's engine. Sweat cooled on his brow even as it formed, Danny racing to keep ahead of the machine—and the agents within. Danny's top speed clocked in at a little over two hundred miles per hour, but this number dipped drastically with fatigue.

And now was not the time to be fatigued. Just be faster than them, Danny ordered himself. It's only until we get to Amity—which is seconds away—and then I'll… I'll… Oh, God, he didn't have a plan. This was shaping up to be just like last time—except nobody had ambushed him and gotten in a cheap but powerful shot, and the fighting maybe hadn't been as bad, and really the GIW had far worse aim than Valerie. And there weren't as many hunters—the X-treme whats-its weren't there; his parents weren't there; the Red Huntress wasn't there.

So maybe it was only kind of similar.

Danny leant into the wind as hard as he could, desperately wishing he wasn't as tired, or that the GIW had been slower. Amity loomed in the distance, and Danny decided his only chance of escaping would be to go human—their broad, non-specific trackers wouldn't detect him then. But first he had to hide, and he had to make sure they didn't spot him. If they did, it would be game over.

Where to land was the question now. He soared over lit streetlamps and deserted roads—at least no one was awake yet. More places to hide. He needed somewhere public, somewhere not too far from Fentonworks—but far enough they wouldn't suspect it as his destination. A place where it would be easy to slip away. A place that would be completely deserted right then…

He went intangible, hurtling into an office building a few blocks from his house. Cubicles occupied most of the large room, and Danny quickly transformed, opening a thankfully unlocked door labeled "Staff Only." He heard the GIW storming in after him, and Danny glanced around to see that he was in a storage closet. Nowhere to hide in there, really—he was too big for the good places.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He'd show up on the radar—but only for a split-second. If they weren't paying attention…

"Search the area! This was the last place we detected him. He's turned human so he can hide. The cowardly scum!" a voice yelled somewhere outside the door. Danny didn't have much time. He turned intangible, tumbling through the wall and into a bathroom. He couldn't be too far away from where he'd been originally—why had he landed right in the middle of the building? If he kept going in the same direction, trusting that they weren't looking at their scanners too closely, he could make it out.

It was a good a plan as any.

So Danny shifted into the next room and the next and the next—staff lounge, office space, closet, another bathroom—until he was greeted with fresh air and the lightening sky. On the scanners, he would've appeared for only a second at a time. He didn't think the GIW had caught on to his ploy—they milled about the front and near the windows, as if they thought he couldn't use his powers in human form. And maybe—it dawned on Danny—they actually didn't think he could.

Barefoot and in his pajamas, Danny crept away from the building, taking as many side roads as he could until he reached his house—which took close to probably fifteen minutes. He kept glancing over his shoulder, thinking they might be behind him, having finally caught on. But they never were.

He went intangible one final time as he slipped into his house, landing in the laundry room. He tip-toed up the stairs, hoping to catch some sleep before he had to get up for school. Once in his room, he wasted no time falling into bed, dirty, sweaty pajamas and all.

Uploaded 10 Hours Ago

456k Views

PROOF THAT GHOSTS EXIST—NOT CLICKBAIT!

By Fisharefriendsnotfood

The video opens with Mary shakily greeting her viewers: "Hello, everyone… I know that in my last video, I called it all a hoax, but it's not. Ghosts are real, and one kidnapped me. I have it on video, and I'll show you, but I have to warn you—it's kind of graphic." Here Mary rubs her arms, staring at a space somewhere below the camera lens. "I know that, even with this proof, not everyone's going to believe me, but… I just ask that you watch and keep an open mind, okay guys? I'm not sure when I'll upload next—this has been a fucking crazy week for me…" The video proceeds, detailing Mary's experience on the bus and afterward on the roof.

The comments are all over the place:

Iwasherefirstloser commented: WTF?! You can't just play that and not explain it, Mary!

Freeforever1010 commented: Did they pay you? Why are u posting this nonsense? I bet the videos staged

JustoneReadheadedboy commented: I told you, didn't I? We're just lucky we have Phantom. Without him, the estimated casualties are crazy.

Fre-sh-avaca-do commented: This looks 100% legit. Don't think its fake. Maybe try to be a little more respectful about something traumatic that just happened?

"You think the GIW or the government or whatever will be able to take it down in time?" Nathan asked. Today, the three of them were tucked into a quiet corner of the library, trying to keep their conversation hushed.

"Even if they do, someone else will just re-upload it. It's on the trending page and everything," Mikey pointed out. He tapped the table, thinking about everything that had happened recently. It seemed like the world had changed—Fenton was Phantom. It was upside-down and backwards. But at the same time, nothing had changed. The world kept spinning; they didn't know who Phantom was. Hell, most of the world probably still didn't really believe in ghosts. Even with this proof, people would need legitimate organizations to come out and publically say it. They would need more video footage. They would even need to see one with their own eyes—at least, some of them would.

"Do you think the GIW might come forward with a statement?" Abigail wondered. "Or some other branch of the government?" Mikey thought about it. Would enough people in the U.S. see the video and care enough to do something about it? Would they ask questions? The public wasn't exactly known for being made up of highly intelligent, highly inquisitive individuals. In fact, they rarely cared about something if it didn't directly affect them. Some might call him cynical, but Mikey firmly believed that if the opposite were true, he would live in a much better country.

"They might have to," he said. "They could ignore it—that might delegitimize the video more than anything else, but if people hear about what's been happening here…" He shrugged. They might get angry about it; they might not. Would they care?

"But to ghosts? Something inhuman?" Abigail scoffed. "They might agree with the government—do whatever you need to do to get rid of the problem, but keep quiet about it because we don't want to know." Mikey couldn't say he disagreed with her, but he did believe change could happen if enough people cared. He just wasn't sure enough people cared, was the thing.

"And didn't we declare something about the ghosts or whatever?" Nathan asked. He scrunched up his nose, trying to think. "A while back? When the ghosts first started appearing? Like some kind of emergency? And it meant the GIW could do things the government wasn't normally allowed to do…"

"I do remember that, actually." Mikey nodded. "I forget what it was called, though. It was like some kind of martial law." The memory sparked something foreboding in him, like when someone makes an important decision, but they don't know if it's the right one yet. He remembered hearing the announcement, acknowledging it, and moving on. He thought there was no way it would ever really matter; the GIW was only trying to contain the ghosts, after all. And he'd wanted them gone—at the time, they'd only seemed to cause property damage and injuries. Even Phantom was really only a rumor at that point. There were no pictures yet, no "Phan" Club.

"And that proves it," Abigail said. "With Amity Park under some kind of martial law or whatever, the government can justify any use of force against Phantom or anyone working with him. And aside from a few incidents here and there, ghosts are an Amity Park problem. No one's going to give a shit but us if something happens to Phantom." Her voice rose the more impassioned she grew. The other kids in the library—some trying to study, do homework, or read—gave her irritated looks. She turned sheepish, and though it was hard to tell with her dark skin, Mikey was pretty sure she was blushing.

"I just wish we could actually help him," Nathan whispered miserably. "I guess not like fight with him or whatever—but more than this." Mikey agreed. He felt the same urge to help burn low in his gut like fuel in a car. They couldn't be seen with Fenton—or at least not more than usual. They couldn't overtly help him with his schoolwork (though Mikey thought they could help him achieve B's, if they tried really hard). They definitely couldn't help him when he was fighting ghosts. They couldn't help him as Phantom…

And yet, something poked at the back of Mikey's mind. Mary Yang's video, the fact that it hadn't been taken down yet, Phantom. She had, what, three million subscribers? They couldn't help Danny as Fenton. It would be too suspicious; they'd all agreed. And Phantom would be worse.

At least, in person it would be. But say they were concerned citizens, regular teenagers looking after their idol… Technically, they would be doing that anyway—they'd just be in said idol's loop. Would Danny go for it, though? Would Sam and Tucker? Danny had final say, but Mikey saw how the three looked at each other. They were tight—tighter than a trio of high schoolers had any right to be. If Sam and Tucker didn't like it, it would be a hard sell.

But did they have to know? It was clear Danny wasn't used to having extra help—and it was clear he didn't trust them to help him directly. That was fair, Mikey had already decided. This was Mikey's area, though.

"You've had an idea," Abigail said. She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands.

"Well, I think I maybe know how we can help without completely—uh, making a mess of things," Mikey said. He pulled out his phone and began tapping at it. Twitter's probably the best way… Or maybe Instagram?

"Won't Danny get mad?" Nathan wondered, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity and hunger. They reminded Mikey of cat's eyes.

"Not if it works," Mikey said. "Which it will." He'd never felt more confident in his life. This was how they could make a difference, help Danny the way he'd helped them. Mikey recalled once when Phantom had saved him from falling debris—made him intangible and lifted him from the rubble like it was nothing. Like he didn't deserve anything for saving lives. And to think that had been his classmate, Danny Fenton, the whole time. It still seemed so odd, so different from the image he had in his mind. But then he remembered those steely blue eyes…

"You've given it the proper drama it deserves," Abigail said. "What is this grand idea of yours?" Mikey grinned.

"So we need…"

"What are you going to do about them, then?" Sam whispered. Danny had told her—and Tucker—about what had happened that night. He could feel the bruises aching their protest whenever he sat back in his chair. Thankfully, though, everything was minor—no stiches, bandages, or strong painkillers required. He'd taken some ibuprofen to take the edge off, especially with his ribs. Walking would've been so much worse without it.

"Wait for Dora to send someone, I guess," Danny replied. Lancer was walking around, looking at everyone's rough drafts, and Danny was glad he'd actually had the time to do it over the weekend. It would be easy points in the grade book. "What else can I do?"

He was worried about it, but he knew he'd given her sound advice; the GIW hadn't really noticed them with how focused they'd been on Danny. And he knew the scanners wouldn't be able to reach them if they moved further into the woods. Still, Danny couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him like wind eroding a rock. What if hunters did somehow sense them? Dora—and her people—had clearly needed time to recharge.

And that time would only be longer, considering that they weren't even in the Ghost Zone. They had no ectoplasm-based food or drink, no ambient energy to absorb. Would they even be okay in the human world, as injured as they were? Amity Park was saturated with ectoplasmic energy from its proximity to the Ghost Zone, but the group was so far away. Did they have the supplies they needed to treat everyone? Danny remembered the child ghosts he'd seen, and the anxiety within him seemed to double. The GIW getting their hands on born—and not made—ghosts somehow seemed worse. He knew that the front-runners in ghost theory (his parents, a few scientists from Amity, and, of course, the GIW) didn't believe ghosts could reproduce, which was one of their justifications for ghosts not really being "alive." Living things had to have some way to make more of themselves.

What would they do if they found proof that they were wrong? Danny wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he tried to stop himself from thinking about it. But the image of one of those ghost children strapped to a table, screaming as someone began to cut into them rose in him like bile. He tried to swallow it down, banish it from his brain.

"It's so weird, man," Tucker said, voice low. "I mean, what are the odds that now, of all times, everyone's out for your identity and something strange is happening in the Ghost Zone?" Their conversation paused as Lancer approached their desks. The teacher seemed surprised that Danny had done the homework—he raised one eyebrow, a little disbelieving—but marked it on his sheet like he'd done with all the others.

"Congratulations, Mr. Fenton, on your first one-hundred percent this year," he said. He kept his voice quiet, clearly trying not to make a huge scene. "Will this trend be continuing?" Danny chuckled nervously, glancing at his friends.

"I'll try, Mr. Lancer," he promised. And that was always true—he did try. He tried hard to get good grades and keep up with his chores and even stay at school the whole school day. But it was hard to do any of those things with the ghosts attacking all the time.

"I'm going to hold you to that," Lancer said, and then he moved down the aisle to mark off others' work.

The more Danny thought about it, the more he suspected Tucker was right. But he just couldn't figure out how—or even why. How could a ghost in the Zone have reached the human world to expose Phantom as half-human? And why would they create a massive man-hunt for his identity instead of just telling everyone who he was? Surely, if their objective was to keep Danny occupied (which, Danny admitted to himself, was kind of working), it would've been better to have told everyone his identity.

"I think you're right," Danny muttered, mind still whirring. His thoughts seemed to spin in circles, moving constantly but going nowhere, trapped going round and round in his skull. "It's way too much of a coincidence." He tapped the end of his pencil on the desk, too wired to sit completely still. His exhaustion from his exertion that night warred with the energy generated from this new, frightening idea. But, if the two events were connected, how? Who? The revelation—if it indeed was one—still left him stranded, unable to do anything to his unseen, anonymous tormentor.

"We really need to talk to Dora," Sam urged. "Figure out what's happening in the Zone." She fell silent as Lancer began to speak, knowing he wouldn't let them have any side conversation when they were supposed to be discussing 1984.

But Danny couldn't focus on the lesson. The idea of the two events being connected—him exposed as half-human and what was happening in the Ghost Zone—poked and prodded at him. He couldn't relax. He had to be missing something, and it nagged at him through the whole period. When Lancer asked him a question, he fumbled. When they were given worksheets, he could only look blankly at his. When they were told they were going to be given time to read in class, the words were jumbled in his mind.

All he could to was worry, an uncomfortable hot feeling brewing in his stomach. It made him nauseous, lurching to behind his sternum. The helplessness, too, was getting to him; he felt paralyzed, bound by invisible chains. Something in him urged him to go find Dora now to figure out what was happening. Never mind that hunters would be on him in a second flat or that he might lead them directly to a group of innocent ghosts. He itched with the desire, the need, to figure out what was happening so he could protect everyone. How could he solve the problem if he didn't know what the problem was in the first place?

And he couldn't help but think that, had everyone not been so focused on Phantom, hecould'vegone to Dora to help; he could've missed more school. It would've been, Oh, it's just Danny being a slacker again. Now, it was, Oh, Danny's being suspicious again. But the hunt for his identity was preventing him from going at this proactively. Not to mention that once the ghost shield was up, he would have to sneak out entirely human—and entirely without his powers.

He just wished he understood why. If this ghost was trying to distract him, why not reveal who he was? But, he supposed, if the ghost was connected to the white knight and the soldiers fighting with Walker, it was a ghost Danny had never encountered before. Still, though—how had the ghost accessed news stations and gotten into the human world without Danny detecting them? How had they known he was half-human without them somehow figuring out his human identity? The logic didn't seem to fit, but Danny could feel in his gut that these events were related. Somehow.

The bell rang then, and Danny stared down at his blank page, his unopened book. He sighed.

"A bizarre video featuring proof of ghosts—yes, ghosts—showed up recently on YouTube by one Mary Yang, who is known for her vlogs and 'story-time' type videos. Experts are unclear as of yet whether this video is real or not. If it is fake—which most believe it to be—it is exceptionally well made. The video begins with Ms. Yang on a bus, which crashes perhaps two minutes in. She is then kidnapped by one of these so-called ghosts and appears to be flown to a rooftop, where another, different flying ghost eventually saves her. We'll show you a clip, but be warned that this may be disturbing to some viewers."

As the video plays, the woman voices it over, attempting to explain what's happening.

"Thus far, it's been very difficult for anyone to explain exactly how someone could fake this footage, given its quality. Currently, we haven't detected the use of CGI, greens screens, or anything else that might have been used to fake what appears to happen. The whole segment seems to be almost entirely unedited, and though some of the camera quality is poor, most of the footage gives viewers a clear look at these 'ghosts.'

"Some believe this is finally the evidence that proves ghosts are real. Others argue that these are merely people who have somehow gained strange abilities. Still more say it's a hoax. I, for one, can't currently discern whether it's a hoax or not. If it is, it was done with techniques and technology far beyond what everyone currently has access to.

"Regardless, this disturbing video has prompted many to take a closer look at Amity Park, Illinois, where the footage was allegedly filmed. The city has claimed to be haunted by ghosts for years—it even declared some kind of emergency approximately three years ago. Despite this, the city appears to be growing, in part due to a booming tourist industry.

"However, it's been reported that other videos of ghosts in Amity Park have surfaced on the Internet, only to disappear days—or even hours—later. Many accuse the government of a cover-up. Supposedly, there's a secret branch of the government—the Ghostly Investigation Ward, or GIW—responsible for handling ghosts, though no official has ever confirmed this.

"Reputable journalists and reporters have already been sent to investigate these claims—and this video. I know here at CNN we'll definitely be following this intriguing story, even if it becomes apparent that it was fluke all along."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Who You Gonna Call?

Danny could feel their eyes on him all the time—watching him, following him. They lingered on him, white suits almost glistening, as they stood guard in the halls or outside. After school the agent seemed to take extra-long when she ran her ghost-detector along his body. He could feel sweat on his upper lip and forehead, and he resisted the urge to wipe it. It seemed to take hours for her to finish, even though he knew it was only seconds.

She didn't give him a smile when she was finished—even though she usually gave one to the other kids. She didn't even seem to blink, her gaze never leaving his. Instead of telling him to have a nice day, she squinted at him, her eyes narrow beams of suspicion. At last, she waved him through, probably realizing that she couldn't hold up the line any more than she already had. He tried to hold in his shudder as he went through the front doors of the school, dodging other kids who were milling about.

He waited for Sam and Tucker just off the sidewalk, so he wasn't in the way of other, impatient teenagers eager to get home. He watched Dash, Kwan, Paulina, and Star move as one toward their cars, talking about their algebra homework and the test that was apparently in two days. Danny couldn't help the swell of envy within him, even as they looked at him with thinly veiled disgust in their eyes. But it wasn't their popularity he envied; it was their normalcy. He had to worry about Dora and her people, hoping they hadn't been discovered. He had to worry about the GIW. He had to worry about his friends, who he'd dragged into this mess. He had to worry about whoever was making trouble in the Zone. One of their biggest worries was their math test. Who wouldn't be envious of something like that?

In the end, though, he knew he wouldn't wish his position on anyone else. He kept watching the group as Dash, Kwan, and Paulina got into one car, Star in the other. Dash had apparently crashed whatever expensive vehicle his parents had bought him, so he was stuck with Kwan driving him around. Danny's attention was drawn from them as his own friends approached.

"So," Tucker began, "I'm thinking your place." Without him having to explain, Danny understood that he meant this as the place where they would plan how best to approach what had happened last night. Though Dora had said she would send someone, Danny knew they needed a better plan than this. And perhaps he himself should go and see her… He had to know what was happening.

"But we know they have surveillance on his place," Sam countered quietly as the three began to move through the parking lot to her car.

"They'll also probably follow him to one of our houses if we take him there," Tucker pointed out. "And I don't know about you, but I'm not about that life. That'll put us on their radar."

"And coming to my house won't?" Danny asked. "They probably already know where you live, too." When they reached Sam's car, she unlocked it, and they got in. It smelt faintly of sour ectoplasm, cloying blood, and tangy bleach. Danny tried not to think about the scents or where they'd come from.

"It's the principle of the thing," Tucker argued. "We shouldn't make it easier on them if we don't have to. They should have to work for it." Sam rolled her eyes, starting the car.

"Yeah, I'm sure looking you up in some database qualifies as 'work,'" she said. "And that's assuming they haven't looked you up already. Danny is suspect number one, and we're seen with him all the time. They probably think we're in league with Phantom." She glanced around, and, using her back-up camera, she pulled out of her parking spot.

"Well, we are in league with Phantom," Tucker mused, "so it's probably impressive they managed to get so close to the truth when no one else even suspects."

"You can still be a dumbass even if you aren't as much of a dumbass as everyone else," Sam remarked.

"Let's just go to my place," Danny muttered, not inclined to continue this line of the conversation. It would lead him to dark thoughts, bad thoughts. Questions he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers to. (If it's so easy to figure out, how come no one has? How easy is it now that they know Phantom's half-human? Three people figured it out already, and the agents suspect…) "At least they won't storm the place or something—they want my parents' tech too badly."

Sensing his mood, the other two dropped the topic, though Sam asked a moment later, "How are your bruises healing?" But Danny didn't want to talk about his injuries either. In some places, his skin was so tender he felt like even the air brushing against it was too much. Still, he was used to the pain.

"They're fine," he murmured, trying not to drag the other two down with him into his bleak mood. He was probably just tired, he reasoned. Physically and mentally. Once this was all over, he'd bounce back. He'd be truly fine, then. Or at least as fine as he ever was.

When the three arrived at Danny's house, his parents were loading equipment into the GAV. It wasn't their typical ghost-hunting fare, either; there were heavy-duty wires, coils, delicate-looking machines with gauges, various tools. Many of them, Danny noted, looked to be a part of a greater system. Stepping onto the drive, his dad lumbered past, hefting a blocky apparatus. Antennae protruded from the top of it.

"Hey, Dann-o!" he called, and, in spite of his large hands and usual lack of body-spatial awareness, he lowered the machine carefully into the GAV, securing it down with chord.

"Hi, Dad," Danny said, fingering the strap of his backpack awkwardly. Seeing his father had brought the issue of their questioning Phantom to the front of his mind. Not to mention the fact that he had used their brilliant minds and imagination to keep the GIW at bay. Like bribing wild dogs, he thought. It sent a thrill of guilt through him—and a shiver of fear. If they ever found out, they'd wonder… But he liked to think that, if they knew, they'd want him to do everything to protect himself. If they knew…

They think you're a criminal, Danny. You've disappointed them already because they think you're a slacker. What will they do when they know you've broken the law?

He could imagine their faces twisting up, their mouths great slashes of fury, their eyebrows drawn low over burning eyes. Their voices shouting at him, telling him he was a criminal, that he needed to be locked up. Providing the equipment the police needed to do so. He forced the picture from his mind. Stop thinking about the worst scenario, he told himself firmly.

"How was school?" his dad asked, stretching. His back popped, and his grin turned sheepish. "I guess I'm not as young as I used to be," he said. "Moving all this heavy equipment really takes it out of ya."

"It was fine," Danny replied, pushing the image of a forever disappointed, forever angry father from his mind. He moved closer, peering into the back of the GAV. It looked like a more organized version of one of his parents' tables in the lab. The machinery also seemed familiar. He looked up at his dad. "Isn't this stuff to set up a ghost shield?"

Danny knew he'd gotten it right by the way his father beamed at him—proudly, like how Danny thought all kids dreamed their parents would look at them. "Yes, it is!" he said enthusiastically, rubbing his gloved hands together. They made a strange noise. "The GIW hasn't developed their shields as far along as we have, so we thought we'd lend them some of our equipment. Anything to help protect you kids! We're going over to the school as soon as we get everything loaded. We have it all planned out, son—it's going to be great! We've never made a shield to cover such a large area before, so of course the main issue is—oh, hi, Sam, Tucker!"

Danny was just glad his friends had decided to approach to rescue him from his father "blathering on about ghosts" (as he liked to call it). He'd almost forgotten about the GIW's plan to erect a ghost shield over Casper High—under the guise of protecting it. Danny suspected, however, that it had more to do with trapping Phantom than anything else. Perhaps they even had a plan to draw him out in ghost form at the school and wait until he became too tired to hold the form, changing back to his human form in front of their hungry eyes.

"Hi, Mr. F," Tucker greeted, giving a little wave.

"Hello," Sam said.

Then, Danny's mom appeared in the doorway, holding a bundle of wires (these were small wires, more for fine work than the thick cables Danny had seen in the GAV).

"Hi, kids," she said, smiling. "We have some mac and cheese in the pantry if you need something to eat; I'm sure you three can fend for yourself." She moved to put her own load into the back of their robust family vehicle.

"Thanks, Mrs. F, we sure can," Tucker said. Seeing an open for escape, he added, "And, in fact, I'm starving, so…"

"By all means," Danny's mom said, gesturing for him to go in. The teenager made his way into the house, closely followed by Sam and Danny. Without needing to say anything, the three bee-lined up the stairs to Danny's bedroom.

Once safe from prying eyes and ears, the door shut, Danny began to pace, whirling from one end of his room to the next. He dropped his bag at the foot of his bed. He felt caged, trapped. Like manacles were being clamped onto his wrists, and he had enough time to resist if he could just know who was putting them on—but he didn't. He was in the dark, being assaulted from everywhere. So he couldn't escape, a fox caught in a snare, waiting for the hunter to come along and put him out of his misery.

Sam and Tucker, sitting on his bed, glanced at each other. Each had discarded their own bags on the floor.

"You know when you're at an amusement park, and you've just had ice-cream, cotton candy, and a soda? And even though you know it's a bad idea, you go on the rides anyway? And then you puke?" Tucker asked. Danny stopped his pacing to look at him incredulously. "That's how you're making me feel. Just sit down, dude." Danny scowled.

"How can I sit down?" he demanded, stalking back across the room. "Everything's falling apart! Everyone's watching me, my own parents think I'm a criminal, the government's after me, something big is happening in the Zone, and we still don't have any idea about who the hell did this!" He ran a hand through his hair, making the ends of it stand up. Sam raised an eyebrow, and he tried not to blush.

"Nothing's fallen apart yet," she denied, crossing her arms. "And you're going to have another panic attack if you don't sit. So sit."

He sat.

From the bed, he could see the same white van that had been there since Friday out his window. He wanted to go outside and let the GIW know that he knew they were watching him. He wanted to scream at them, tell them he thought they were terrible agents and even worse human beings.

Instead, he took a deep breath.

"It just eats at me," he confessed quietly, "that there's nothing I can really do to stop any of this." Tucker patted his arm reassuringly.

"Probably not flipping out will help," he said. Sam glowered at him from Danny's other side. "What I mean is—it'll probably be fine. A lot of things have seemed hopeless before, and we made it out alright." Danny briefly shut his eyes.

"Okay, okay, you're right. Thanks, guys." He sighed. "But we still need to figure out what to do about Dora…"

The spoke for hours, positing theory after theory, idea after idea. They rejected some and kept others in mind. They stopped only for a snack break before continuing to think and scheme.

In the end, their plan was this: they would wait three days for Dora to send a messenger. If no one had arrived by Wednesday night, one, two, or all three of them would try to check up on the refugees and get some answers. They feared leaving would draw too much attention to the ghosts' location—especially because they suspected that all three of them were being watched, not just Danny. They didn't want to place so many ghosts at risk unnecessarily. And they felt that three days was a decent timeframe to expect someone's arrival. It wasn't too far, but who knew how organized they currently were?

They debated the ghost shield situation extensively, too.

"We could sabotage it," Danny said. "But they'll only build it again with more agents there to guard it." He felt better now that they'd figured out what to do with Dora. It felt like instead of driving completely blind he'd been given a GPS—and maybe he still couldn't see out the windows, but it was better than nothing.

"Plus, we'd have to figure out how to get past the agents in the first place. And they might watch us a little closer, this time. They may have put two-and-two together that we caused a distraction so you could steal the detector." Tucker picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

"I think you're giving them too much credit," Sam said. "The GIW suspect that Danny is Phantom. They don't know it. And while they're probably watching us, they're also probably underestimating us. They're morons at the best of times. Powerful, government-run morons who barely know anything about the people they're hunting." The last sentence tumbled bitterly from her lips as she stared at her best friend. Danny could almost see the fire of righteous rage burning bright behind her eyes.

"I'm just saying the same trick might not work twice," Tucker said, holding up his hands. "I'm not sure there's anything we can really do to permanently stop them from building it."

This was true; so long as the school had given them permission, anything they did would only delay its building. And if they were caught sabotaging it, the GIW definitely wouldn't just let them go—their rights be damned.

"It's not a huge problem anyway, I guess," Danny said. "It doesn't really change anything. I just have to make sure I don't change into Phantom when I'm at school—otherwise they might trap me."

And they'd decided to wait, to not do anything yet. Danny felt better, but the taste of helplessness stayed on his tongue, stinging like bile.

Tuesday felt much the same, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop—and drop on top of Danny, no less, grounding him into the dirt. He felt twitchy, paranoid, looking around every corner to see if the GIW were waiting there to arrest him. But he thought he hid it well, keeping his emotions from his face. He saw the evidence of his parents' hard work: roped off parts of the school cluttered with their inventions, his last name stamped across most of them.

And the shoe finally did drop as Danny was walking home from school. Sam and Tucker were in detention, so it was only Danny. The cold breeze felt nice against his face, the fall weather complimenting his cold core nicely. He could feel it practically buzzing in his chest, a constancy unlike his heartbeat in that it had no rhythm, only a persistent hum audible only to his ears.

He supposed that, at any other time, the leaves changing color and drifting onto the sidewalk would've cheered him up. He had cozy memories of him and Jazz playing in them when they'd been younger. Some of the houses he passed were decorated with fall garlands, gourds and pumpkins artfully arranged on porches and in windows. Many had already prepared for Christmas (and Hanukkah, he noted with one house). He itched to take off his jacket and really feel the chill wind along his skin.

But he also knew that the white GIW van following him would definitely see and think it strange. So he refrained, trying to be content with the coolness through the fabric. He tried to ignore the van. Let them think I don't see them, even though I'd have to be blind not to realize they're following me. Through the tainted windows, the first and only time he'd allowed himself to look at the vehicle obviously tailing him, he'd caught a glimpse of Agent R's steely eyes. He looked away quickly, as if he hadn't noticed the crazy man. The agent seemed like a rabid dog on a leash—a leash that might backfire any moment, should his parents catch wind of what he was up to.

He felt the sensation before he saw it. Two blocks from home, and he wished he'd walked just a tad bit faster. His core rattled in his chest, and he coughed into his sleeve to keep the watching agents from seeing his suddenly too-cold breath in the air.

A ghost—and a familiar one, too. Not particularly powerful, but surprisingly competent on occasion. Sam and Tucker weren't around to go fight him, stuck in detention as they were. And despite the ghost's status as Danny's enemy, dissection, torture, permanent injury, and being wiped from existence weren't things he advocated. All of which were possibilities when it came to the GIW, his parents, and Valerie (at least when the ghost did something that pissed her off).

Had he been at home, it may've been possible to sneak out, go ghost with the GIW being none the wiser. But here? In the open? They hadn't detected the ghost yet, but they would soon. And at that point, Danny might be too late to save his enemy from a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone. Not to mention the hunters might be too late to prevent the ghost wrecking havoc on everything and everyone.

I need a plan, he thought desperately, trying not to seem desperate as he glanced around for something that might help him. He couldn't have Fenton disappear and then Phantom reappear—that would too obviously confirm the GIW's suspicions. He had to throw them off somehow.

He continued walking as casually as possible. Perhaps the same trick would work twice, if he was careful about it. In the office, the agents hadn't been paying close enough attention to their scanners, and Danny's trick of turning intangible for brief amounts of time had worked. The same thing would work now, wouldn't it?

Danny stretched, as if tired, and leaned up against a nearby house. If someone were there, this would be very awkward. But he saw no lights or cars in the driveway, so he prayed his luck would hold. This would drain him and only work to divert them for fifteen minutes at most, but it would be worth it.

He hoped.

He closed his eyes, hoping to concentrate and hide the green flash. Then, he willed himself to separate—intangible, he chanted. Separate and intangible. The clone formed on the other side of the wall, and Danny felt the drain on his reserves instantly. Not big enough to really deter him, but too long and it might. The clone turned tangible the moment it was fully through.

The whole scene took but a moment. The clone—the currently human clone, undetectable to the GIW's ghost radar—would sneak out the back of the house. He'd run suitably far away and change into Phantom, drawing the agents away and leaving Danny to deal with the ghost.

Or, that was the plan, anyway. Danny pushed away from the house, resisting the urge to whistle. There was casual, and then there was overly casual. Danny liked to believe he was experienced enough to know the difference, but the truth was probably that he wasn't that great at whistling.

In any case, he hadn't walked far when he noticed the white van driving past him, just a tad too fast for a residential area. He pretended he hadn't seen, keeping his face forward. But he saw Agent R watch him suspiciously through the window before the van was in front of him, off to chase a Phantom.

A Phantom that will dissolve probably sooner rather than later, Fenton, so get in gear. Glancing around, Danny didn't see anyone on the street or looking at him through any windows, so he ducked into some nearby bushes. From his backpack, he took out his thermos. But what do I do with the actual bag? He looked around once more—no one.

Quickly he changed into Phantom and went invisible and intangible, flying through the bushes. He marked the house he was in front of—1109 Dogwood Lane—and stuck his bag high in a tree that still had most of its leaves. Hopefully no one would look up—and hopefully no one would be able to see the bag through the leaves. The tree was rather high, at least for a yard tree in the suburbs—probably thirty or forty feet. Hopefully that was enough. Danny felt that maybe he was hoping for too much, but luck had always been on his side before.

Now to deal with the ghost.

He clipped the thermos to his belt—no need for one of his hands to be occupied in case he needed it to throw a punch or ectoblast. He kept his invisibility up as he flew through the sky over the neighborhoods; this wouldn't deter any hunter, but it would keep the press or bystanders from danger for at least a bit.

He kept watch for any said hunters—the GAV, white vans, red board, anything suspicious—but he saw only normal things: kids playing, parents unpacking groceries from their cars, teenage couples walking hand-in-hand. Nothing of note. He sped up, feeling the freezing wind on his invisible cheeks. He passed through the residential areas into the warehouse district. Some people were loading boxes or furniture into semi-trucks, and Danny slowed down, sensing that his enemy was close.

Fortunately, the ghost had avoided the people; Danny sensed him in one of the unoccupied buildings. He landed just outside, hoping to get a feel for the situation before he just went in. Through the windows, the warehouse appeared empty. There were no lights on. Boxes and crates lined the walls and were stacked in rows, creating aisles of cardboard cubes.

At least it's not the Box Ghost, Danny thought, flickering into intangibility to slip through the wall. That would've been a nightmare—an irritating, exhausting nightmare. He kept his invisibility, too, just in case. He didn't know when the hunters would show up; if he kept this quick, they could be finished before they got involved.

The inside didn't seem to reveal any more than the outside did, but Danny knew the ghost was here. Dust had accumulated on the boxes, and he heard skittering and squeaking—rats, probably. With his enhanced eyesight, he saw that a couple of the boxes had been chewed through. The far end of the warehouse revealed something Danny hadn't noticed from the window, however: a faint green glowing. Danny glided closer, hovering maybe a foot above the floor.

It was ectoplasm. The ghost was hurt. The drops hadn't congealed, but that didn't mean anything time-wise—ectoplasm didn't have quite the same texture as blood. Danny followed the trail, unsure if he felt like he was in a horror or cop movie. Maybe both.

What had hurt the ghost? Was it something that had driven him into the human world to seek refuge? Danny didn't know, but he intended to find out. The drops seemed to get thicker as he trailed them—the ghost had been slowing. Then, boot prints. The ghost had stopped flying, too tired to maintain something that was second nature to him.

It seemed like forever to Danny, but it was probably only a minute or so of wandering through the cardboard maze before he saw the flicker of a weak ghost's aura light.. Flickering was bad; the ghost was dangerous close to destabilizing and having his core give out. Certain the ghost was in no position to fight him, and not sensing any other ghosts nearby, Danny dropped his invisibility.

"Technus?" he called out, landing on the floor. If the hunters did show, and he had to fight, he wanted to conserve his energy. And sure enough, he'd sensed correctly: it was the crazy tech-ghost himself, huddling weakly against one of the boxes. His white hair was disheveled, his green skin dull instead of emitting light. Ectoplasm dribble from his mouth, and his body looked oddly deflated, something that didn't happen to weak humans.

He didn't seem to notice Danny right away, as weak as he was. His eyes stared straight ahead, glazed with pain. Danny came up beside him, wondering if he should simply put him in the thermos now and deal with the rest later; if nothing else, the container would keep his condition stable—no worse or better than currently. And he wouldn't have to deal with the hunters, who could've been surrounding the warehouse that very moment.

As Danny reached for his thermos, Technus seemed to register the movement, his eyes widening. He coughed, trying to sit up straighter.

"Ghost child?" he said. "What are you doing h-here?" Danny tilted his head and unhooked the thermos completely.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Who did this to you?" Danny asked. Maybe he could ply the ghost before he put him in the ghost container. Technus looked at the thermos in his hand and brought his arms up defensively, shaking. Danny reacted to the movement before registering that it wasn't threatening, bringing the thermos up. This only seemed to make it worse, Technus struggling to his knees.

"You can't throw me back in the Ghost Zone! You can't!" A glob of ectoplasm flew from his mouth, landing next to him. "Please, Ghost Child, if you have any—any mercy, you won't send me back! She'll destroy me for what I did, p-please. They might have destroyed me anyway…" He coughed again, but this time Danny could tell his core almost seemed to shudder as he did—as if instead of expelling something from his lungs (which the ghost didn't have), he was expelling it from there.

"Okay, okay," Danny said, lowering his container. "I won't throw you back into the Zone. But you can't stay here; Amity is crawling with hunters." He gave Technus a contemplative look. "Who did this to you?" he asked again, more forcefully.

Technus ignored the question. He looked like he might cry from relief. He reached forward and grasped Danny's arm with his hands. "Thank you, thank you. You have no idea… I don't care where I go, just not there. Not there." He shook his head, gazing into Danny's face. He seemed to crumple, as if remembering something. He moaned. "I'm so sorry, Ghost Child. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to… Please, don't send me there—she's every where, every where there… Please, I'm sorry for what I did… I'm so sorry…"

Danny put his hands on Technus's shoulders, pushing the ghost a little away from him; the entire experience was disconcerting. Danny felt like the ground underneath his feet was swaying, and something unsettled and anxious began to grow in his gut. To see such a boisterous, arrogant enemy brought so low… It made him ill, especially because Technus wasn't a particularly competent villain. He'd never really come close to killing anyone, unlike other ghosts Danny could think of. His plans were always so outlandish, sometimes Danny had trouble knowing how serious Technus even was—or even how much he was trying. Because, realistically, Danny suspected he could've done a lot more damage than what he had done.

Plus, he knew this was somehow connected with what had happened to Dora. It couldn't be a coincidence that two ghosts were fleeing the Zone. And this "she"—could it be the Empress? The knights who'd been with Walker had looked like the ones who'd attacked, the ones who had almost publically executed Mary Yang and had injured many more.

But what was Technus sorry for? Some of it didn't seem to fit—not to mention, the ghost was clearly not lucid. There would be time later. "Technus," Danny said, "I need to put you in my thermos. I won't put you back in the Zone, but you have to move."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Technus continued to mumble. "It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. Only fun. Something to keep you on your toes… But please don't send me back… Please, oh, please…"

Danny didn't have time to figure this out right now. Technus would be going into the thermos whether he wanted to or not. Outside, he heard the rumble of a car engine, and he feared it wasn't an innocent semi. No windows were in his light of sight, so he couldn't check to see anything. He might be able to go intangible and go through the ground, traveling that way until he was far enough away he could come up.

"Alright," Danny muttered, straightening. He held the thermos up, but Technus didn't seem to realize what was happening. He continued to mumble, asking Danny for forgiveness, saying how sorry he was, how he couldn't go back. Danny pressed the button, and Technus was pulled into the thermos without so much as a yell—only his mouth, shaped like an 'o' betrayed his surprise. Danny ruthlessly suppressed the reaching pity he felt in his gut. The thermos wouldn't hurt him; it would probably be safer, in fact.

Danny tensed, preparing to sink into the ground, when he heard the door to the warehouse open. No time to hesitate, he thought, and became intangible, falling through the warehouse's floor. He heard the pounding of footsteps, the rattling of metal—gear, most likely. A familiar voice shouting, "This way!" And he was almost completely gone when the noise came close—too close.

"Wait, Phantom! Wait! We're not here to hurt you!" It was the same voice; it was his mother's voice.

Whenever his mother confronted Danny, the hybrid found himself at war: two sides within him fighting each other for dominance. Both were fueled by emotion and instinct and logic. And whichever side won was dependent upon the battlefield itself, the environment where the fight was taking place. Sometimes, his human instincts dominated: Listen to her; she's your mother. In the house, as Fenton, this was safe. This made sense. Other times, his ghost side took over: She's here as a ghost hunter, and I'm a ghost. Still others, his sides had breaks in the fighting, agreeing on something. But I love her, and I don't want to disappoint her.

Here, Danny's human half, the teenager who often ignored his mother as much as he listened to her, landed the first vital blow, blasting through enemy lines. His other instincts had no time to retaliate, and Danny froze. He heard panting.

"Could you come out?" This was his father. "We want to talk with you, kid." Kid was a good sign. Better than ghost scum, less-than-human post consciousness, or any other demeaning insult that was occasionally thrown at him.

His other half re-grouped, refusing to stay down for long. It's a trap! They called, desperate for a tactical retreat. They said they were going to try and arrest you for the police.

Then the logic hit: They also said they were going to try and question me. His parents hadn't lied. Danny drifted up from the floor, eyes trained on his parents. They were both sweaty-looking, probably from their sprint. They clung to their guns, his dad wielding a bazooka. His mother kept a smaller ghost handgun trained at the floor. A good sign. Danny turned tangible again once he was above the floor, keeping his hands raised in the classic "I surrender" pose. The glow of his aura was the primary light source in the dim room. His parents' goggles gleamed like bug eyes from the tops of their heads, and their metallic guns shone, almost a warning: danger sign.

He saw his mom's hand twitch, but the gun never pointed anywhere near him. Another good sign.

"You listened," his mom said, looking surprised. Danny tried not to feel offended.

"It does happen every so often," he responded, looking between his parents. He could almost imagine this as another one of their late-night interrogations, demanding to know why he was home past curfew or why he'd gotten detention. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

"We—that is, the police and Jack and I—were hoping you would agree to be questioned at the station." She sounded oddly hesitant—and Danny supposed the situation was foreign to her. She never would've guessed a couple of weeks ago that the ghost she so desperately wanted to capture—the one she searched for on late nights, the one she designed specific weapons for—was actually a human boy. Her world view had been flipped. It was like being told the sky was blue, believing it was blue, looking up and seeing blue; then, one day finding out the sky was red the whole time.

And her attitude never would've changed, had he not been a human boy. If she'd been the one who'd found Technus, lying weak in this warehouse… She would've had no qualms capturing him, torturing him, destroying him in the name of science.

"Why should I?" Danny challenged. Maybe it would clear his name with the police and his parents—and maybe that would help get the public on his side. Maybe it would be a good thing. But the unfairness of it all, the uncertainty, ate at him like acid, leaving aching holes inside him. If the unthinkable had happened, and Danny had died in the portal accident, there would've been no "questioning." Being human in their eyes meant he had certain, inherent rights, but to Danny it seemed an unfair privilege, one that had been denied to him before. And even with all the good that could come from the questioning, he couldn't deny the sour resentment building inside like a tidal wave.

"We only want to find out what happened," his dad broke in, one hand held out placating. A gesture of peace. The bazooka was trained on the ground. "We get now that you're situation is different from other ghosts—and from other teens. And we're trying to help you get on the right path. Clearing your name could be a good start." Get on the right path, Danny scoffed. That was what he'd been trying to do since day one.

"And what if I did do those things?" Danny asked, lifting his chin. It felt strangely liberating to confront his parents like this, after three years of running away and hiding how he felt. The iron constraints binding his tongue could be loosened without fear of reprisal or discovery. He didn't have to fear them figuring it out, not right now. "Will you lock me up? Hand me over to the GIW to be kept as their lab rat?"

He felt guilty for the vindictive flash of pleasure that rose in him as their faces paled in the gloom. A pause. "We will do everything in our power to keep you from the GIW," his mom finally said. The words were firm, the tone less so—but Danny thought she would keep her word. His dad nodded. She added, "If you did do those things, however, there will be repercussions. Your powers don't exempt you from lawful punishment—or from your rights." Her voice suggested that it was unthinkable to deny a living person rights, but Danny knew it happened all the time to full humans. And a month ago, in ghost form, he definitely hadn't had any rights.

"I guess it's a good think I didn't really rob those stores or kidnap the mayor, then," he said, offering them a wry smile. "When should I arrive at the station?" He almost couldn't believe he was doing this. It almost seemed like a dream. The Danny of a couple years ago would've been so happy, being able to explain himself, explain what had happened. Finally have people on his side (people besides Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, anyway). But this Danny was a little more tired, a little more worn. The world seemed to be a little more distorted than it had been, a couple years ago. It seemed a little more unfair. He'd given up on the dream, yet the dream had come anyway.

It warmed him, even as he resented it. Resented it for coming too late, but warmed because it had come at all. The mix of emotions warred with each other as much as his instincts sometimes did.

"This Sunday, about noon," his mom said. "Does that… work for you?"

"It does," Danny replied.

"Great, kid. We'll see you then!" His dad smiled at him, and though it didn't quite stretch as wide as it usually did, Danny could tell it was sincere. "Don't go looking for trouble, okay?"

Danny sighed. "I never go looking for it. It just seems to find me." And he sunk through the floor, feeling both lighter and heavier than he had before.

Hello, Ms. Yang. My name is Mikey Davis. I realize you don't know me, and you have little reason to respond to this message, but please hear me out. I live in Amity Park, and I have relevant information on Phantom I think everyone needs to know. I was wondering if we could do some kind of interview. I realize that perhaps this is too forward, but I can't imagine the news station agreeing to do this. I'm not exactly what one would call a "standard" source of information, you see. Fortunately, you're not bound by any kind of rules, making yours the perfect platform to get this information out there.

Call me Mary. I'm interested, but I need to know more before I can agree to anything. What kind of information on Phantom do you have?

I suppose it's more evidence really—proof that absolves Phantom of the "crimes" he's committed. Specifically kidnapping the mayor and the jewelry-store robberies. I guess it also implies a sort of government conspiracy, too, because this proof was kept from the public. I can understand if you don't want to rock the boat with that, but, again, I fear no one else would hear me out if I tried to get the word out there.

As you may already know, I lost 200,000 subscribers when I posted the video about what happened. I'm not afraid of rocking the boat, Mikey. Besides, Phantom saved my life. The least I can do it help him out. Why exactly are you considered not "standard"?

I'm 16.

Then how did you even get this information?

Lots of digging on the Internet. But the point is that it might clear Phantom's name. Or at least get the public on his side.

I think meeting in person might be good. Not that I'm doubting you, but I'd like to see this proof myself before we begin filming a video. How much do your parents know about this?

Nothing, but if it makes you more comfortable, I can tell them everything. They might force me to turn the proof over to the police or the GIW, though, where it might never be released. This interview might not be possible, then.

I understand. From what little I know, the GIW don't seem willing to alter their viewpoint on Phantom, regardless of the other things he's done. And regardless of the proof they may have of his innocence. Proof, if what you're saying is true, that they've hidden from the public.

I'm glad we're on the same page, Mary. What days are you available to meet up?

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: The Questions are like Whack-a-Mole

Danny gathered supplies hurriedly, searching through his drawers to find what he would need: ecto-dejecto, a special kind of bandage he and Jazz had specifically designed for ghosts, and other items. He needed to be prepared for when he released Technus; the ghost hadn't looked well, and even though he was an enemy, Danny didn't want to see him fade from existence.

The lab was off-limits because Danny didn't know when his parents would be back, so the interrogation was going to take place in his room. He cleared dirty and semi-clean clothes from his desk chair, shoving the ones with blood and ectoplasm stains into his closet. He'd probably have to burn them later; basically nothing could get rid of ectoplasm from clothes. It was why his parents always wore their hazmat suits.

He found alcohol-wipe wrappers and a bloody, currently unusable suturing needle. The wrappers he threw away, and the needle he tucked into his kit to be sterilized and used at a later date. He dubbed the room sufficient for Technus (and how odd it was, that he'd cleaned up his room so he could interrogate the ghost).

He'd contacted Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, detailing his strange encounter in the warehouse. He'd left out the part about his parents, at least for now. He would tell them when they arrived, possibly after speaking with Technus. He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering for the millionth time why the ghost had kept apologizing to him. Had he done something? Was Technus, of all people, behind his exposed status as half-human? But then why not use his name? And Danny wondered who'd injured him so badly—this new ghost? Why?

He heard the front door open and left his room to see who it was, pleased when he realized it was Jazz and not his parents.

"Jazz, up here," he called, going down the stairs. "We're talking to him in my room." She raised an eyebrow.

"Your room?" she asked. She hung her keys on one of the wall hooks and removed her bag, setting it on the table with a surprisingly heavy thump. Danny suspected books, and not bricks, were the most likely candidates for the noise.

"Well, we can't exactly use the lab, can we? Do you want to use your room?" He stepped off the last stair and crossed his arms. He'd thought this through. Really, he had.

"Of course not," Jazz said. "But why not go to Sam or Tucker's? Aren't Sam's parents still out of town?"

"Yeah, they're back tomorrow night. But don't you think the GIW, Valerie, even my parents might come running if they sense a ghost signature on their radars? This is the safest place to question him," Danny explained. Jazz gave him a funny look as she took off her jacket and shoes.

"Won't they just come here instead?" she asked.

"No," Danny said, trying to be patient. He supposed he'd never explained this to her. "Because of the Portal, the house always emits a ghostly signature. There's no way to distinguish a ghost inside the house because of how strong it is. If a scanner's close enough, and if it's been tweaked to ignore the Portal, it technically can, but…" He shrugged. "Mom and Dad don't usually bring those with them when they go out." Jazz smiled at him, stepping closer to ruffle his hair.

"Ah, they grow up so fast," she said. "I remember the days when you were still falling through the floor, and now you're thinking through all your plans." Danny ducked under her hand sourly, swatting at her. She laughed.

"You do not!" he said, indignant. "You didn't even know about my powers back then." She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you saying you haven't grown up since then?" she said, slinging her bag back onto her shoulder; she was probably going to put it in her room, where she could peruse the books at her leisure.

"That's not what I said, Jazz," he muttered. "And Sam and Tucker should be here soon, so hurry up and do whatever you need to do." She rolled her eyes, moving toward the stairs.

"No need to be rude, little bro. I'll be ready," Jazz assured him, heading up to the next floor. Danny went down into the lab, past the bulky, metal door. He needed one final thing: restraints. And the gentle kind, not the cruel monstrosities his parents sometimes liked to build.

It was sometimes strange, being in the lab by himself. He flicked on the lights, banishing the dim, eerie green that had filled the room previously. It wasn't that the ghostly part of the room scared him; in fact, his ghost core seemed to hum louder in proximity to all of the ectoplasm. Rather, it was his parents' instruments, weapons of destruction and torture, which really bothered him. Some were stained green with ectoplasm, which never seemed to truly wash off. Not to mention, he'd died there—right inside the Portal.

Usually, when he was with someone, he was able to push the thoughts from his mind. But by himself, he couldn't tear his eyes from the scalpels and guns, the closed portal doors. Restraints, he told himself firmly, find some restraints. Some phase-proof rope would do, in all honesty. Or some modified handcuffs.

Looking around, he spotted both. He ignored the spiked collar next to them (the spikes going inward, of course), and took both the rope and the handcuffs. Though Technus hadn't looked like he would be able to fly away, Danny wasn't taking any chances.

Going back up the stairs (and shutting the thick, ominous door behind him), Danny heard the front door open. His parents or his friends? He hid the handcuffs and rope behind his back, inching upward.

"Danny?" Tucker's voice called. "We're here!" Danny would've wiped his brow in relief, but his hands were full.

"Hey, guys," Danny greeted as he made it to the first floor. Tucker jumped in surprise, clutching his heart, though Sam only cocked her purple lips.

"Don't do that, dude!" Tucker admonished. "You're as quiet as a ghost." He paused, looking to see their reactions. When neither deigned to respond, he pouted. "Too forced?"

"'Forced' doesn't even come close to how painful that was," Sam said, voice deadpan. "It didn't just hurt my ears; it hurt my very being. Or what's left of it, anyway." She looked to what was in Danny's hands. "I'm assuming those are for Technus?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah, just in case. It didn't look like he'd be able to fly off, but better safe than sorry," he said.

"Good idea," Sam agreed. "Where are we doing this? The lab?"

"My room," Danny corrected. He was glad neither protested. As much as he loved Jazz, she always seemed to doubt his decisions more than his friends did. While they didn't follow him without question, they trusted him to make the right decisions. Mostly Jazz did the same, but Danny felt she suffered just a bit from older sister syndrome. And he got it—she was used to being the one in charge. But it was still irritating, sometimes.

She had gotten a lot better, however. He still remembered the early days, when her "help" had grated on him like a dull knife on rusted metal. Now, it was better, but sometimes when she acted like he hadn't thought something important through, he went back to that old, defensive attitude without meaning it.

The three went upstairs to Danny's room. Technus—trapped in the thermos—had been placed on Danny's desk. Setting the handcuffs and rope next to the medical supplies, Danny unlocked the cuffs, inspecting them to make sure they were working properly.

"Where would be the best place to treat him, Sam?" he asked. As the unofficial medic of the four, she would know where she wanted him. She looked critically at the bed, then the ground.

"Assuming you don't want him to get ectoplasm all over your sheets, we can put some blankets on the floor for him," she said, touching the dirty laundry he'd piled in the corner of his room with the toe of her boot. "It's good you, uh, cleaned up." Tucker smirked at her distaste, but seeing as how he (surprisingly) kept the cleanest room of the three of them, Danny thought he should've been the one cringing in disgust.

"I knew we needed space," the half-ghost said, going into the hall. From the linen closet, he got several clean rags and two thick blankets. Coming back into his room, he spread the two blankets on the floor, putting the rags beside them for Sam to use. As he kneeled to straighten the corners, he sighed. "I can't believe we're about to help Technus."

"It's kind of insane," Tucker said, plopping into the chair at Danny's desk. "I mean it was, what, a month ago that he tried to hack into the government to start a nuclear war?" He leaned back, fiddling with his phone.

"My favorite part was that the government blamed it on Russia," Sam snorted. "Even though it very clearly wasn't. Even they can't make computers float." She crossed over to the medical supplies and began to arrange them how she liked.

"You never know," Tucker said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "They say a ton of governments have technology they've never gone public with." Danny took the restraints and sat next to the blankets.

"They say?" Danny asked. "Who says? Crazy online conspiracy theorists?"

"I mean, think of the GIW," Sam told him, tapping the ecto-dejecto. The glass clinked against her fingernail. "Some people think they're a conspiracy. It's weird, what people will disbelieve in order to maintain their perfect bubble." Danny shrugged, conceding the point.

Just as he was about to call her, Jazz appeared in his doorway. Her hair was up, and Danny noticed the shape of an ecto-gun in her waistband. Good. "Hey, Sam. Hey, Tucker," she said, straightening her shirt; she was wearing a different one from earlier. "Are we ready to talk to Technus?"

Saying the words seemed to make them more real, and Danny couldn't help but feel a swell of anticipation rising in him like a tidal wave. At last he might figure out what was happening. So little time had passed—only days—but it felt an eternity since that anonymous caller had announced to Amity Park that he was half-human. It felt like an eon since the knight clad in white armor had attacked. It felt like forever since Danny had gone to help Dora and her people escape the Ghost Zone. Was Technus finally going to give Danny the answers—at least some of them—he needed to solve this mess?

He remembered, just then, that he still hadn't told his friends about the interview he was doing with the police and his parents. But he'd tell them afterward; Technus was more important.

"I think we are. Would you release him, Tucker?" Danny requested. He braced himself as Tucker took the thermos off the desk. His friend looked around to make sure everyone really was ready before pressing the button to release Technus. It was strange to watch—backwards, really. They'd always spent so much time, gotten into so much trouble, to put the ghost into the thermos, not release him from it.

Danny saw the other three's eyes widen, and he had to admit it: the ghost did look terrible. Or, rather, he looked much as Danny had found him in the warehouse—weak, leaking ectoplasm, and seemingly a second away from fading. The ghost let out a low moan. Tucker whistled.

"You weren't kidding when you said he looked bad," he said as Danny kneeled to tie the ghost's feet together. He decided not to use the handcuffs, seeing the wounds that might be aggravated on the ghost's torso. Sam came and knelt beside Danny, beginning to treat him.

"What do you think happened to him?" Jazz asked, creeping forward to get a better look.

"Well, he clearly got in a fight," Danny replied. "It's just a question of who he got in a fight with." He helped Sam with the ghost's clothes, revealing the odd shape beneath—ghosts had no real bones, and thus their body wasn't as rigid at a human's. He heard the ghost muttering under his breath, but it wasn't clear enough for him to make out. He didn't seem lucid.

"Someone powerful," Sam observed. "Technus is no pushover; mostly he's just bad at planning." Danny moved to gently hold down Technus's arms as the ghost moved them, almost looking like he was trying to sit up.

"And it looks like, whoever they were, they wanted Technus gone," Danny added, releasing the ghost as he stilled. "I don't think this was a territorial dispute or simple aggression. They meant to hurt him."

"Do you think it's the same ghost that attacked Dora? The one working with Walker?" Tucker asked. While he was comfortable with the sight of blood, he didn't exactly enjoy Sam's array of needles and healing equipment, so instead of looking at the ghost, he was looking down at his lap, tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

"It's possible they're connected," Danny said. "But I just wish he was lucid enough to talk."

"He should be able to in an hour or so," Sam told him. "I'm going to give him some ecto-dejecto, and hopefully he'll go into stasis after that so he can heal on his own. Also, they're definitely connected. There's no way something as crazy as this happens so soon after what happened to Dora and you and they're not related." True to her word, after she injected the ecto-dejecto, Technus's incoherent mumbling ceased, and he simply lay on the floor. The only signs that he was still existing were the faint flickering of his aura and the inconsistent vibration of his core when Danny put his hand on his chest.

Technically speaking, ghosts didn't sleep. However, they could go into something called stasis, a state where they were able to focus their energy on healing and rest rather than flying or fighting. On average, a ghost went into stasis about once a week. If they skipped it too often, the chance of them falling into it accidentally—while they were in the middle of something—was very high. Most wounded ghosts also went into stasis once they were safe from whatever had hurt them.

Sam cleaned up her dirty tools, and Danny stood and stretched. His back popped.

"So should we wait an hour and get him up so we can talk to him?" he asked. "You think he'll be understandable by then?" Sam bobbed her head.

"Yeah. Normally I'd say let him rest but…" She grimaced. "This is kind of an emergency."

"So how should we kill an hour?" Tucker yawned. "Because I'm up for a snack and a power nap."

"I second the motion," Sam agreed. She put all her tools back into the drawer they specifically kept the medical supplies in (under some innocuous papers, just in case).

"I have some studying I need to do," Jazz said. "So you three go on ahead. I'll come back here in an hour." And she vanished into her room, presumable to read or write or do something else academic in nature.

"I'll stay here with Technus," Danny volunteered. "Just in case." He sat on his bed, watching the ghost on his floor steadily gain his aura back.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. "Because I don't think he's going to wake up." Danny smiled at her, trying to force all his unfelt cheer into it. He probably looked like a maniac.

"I'm sure," he answered.

"Do you want anything, dude?" Tucker asked. "I can make you a sandwich—you probably need some more calories. Maybe a soda, too, or some juice…" Without waiting for an affirmation (and Danny wasn't even hungry), his friend walked out, ready to make the half-ghost dinner. Sam smirked.

"We're like your babysitters," she said, reaching out to pinch his cheek. "Feeding you. Watching you." Danny felt his face grow warm, and he ducked. The comparison was not one he appreciated.

"You're definitely not," he said. "For one thing, we're the same age."

"Perhaps in physical years," Sam conceded, "but emotionally? I don't think so." Danny frowned.

"Are you saying Tucker's more emotionally mature than me?" he said incredudously.

"Okay, maybe I'm the babysitter for both of you, then." She smirked at him before exiting the room.

When Technus "woke" up, it was clear he was confused: he glanced around wildly liked a caged animal, called out, and tried to phase through the floor.

"Let me go!" There was a crazed desperation in his voice as he thrashed. "I won't go back! I won't serve you!" Danny tried to calm him down, holding his arms so he wouldn't hurt himself. It worried him that he did so easily; the ghost was weak, like an old human man.

"Technus, it's alright. It's me, it's Phantom," Danny said, trying to soothe him. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz gave the two space, trying not to stress the ghost further. "You're safe. You're not in the Ghost Zone—just relax. It's okay." The fog in Technus's eyes cleared, and he looked around with more awareness, taking in Danny's (still somewhat messy) room, the other three people, and the ghost boy himself. Danny was sure he didn't look great; he knew he had bags beneath his eyes, rumpled clothes, and unkempt hair.

"Am I in your bedroom, ghost child?" Technus asked, struggling to sit up.

"Just relax," Danny repeated, pushing him back down. "And yes, you are." As strange as it had been to see the ghost brought low in the warehouse, this was almost stranger. His weakened, injured enemy was on the floor of his bedroom, loosely bound, and Danny wasn't planning on even keeping him there.

"Don't send me to the Ghost Zone," Technus began, almost pleading. He was normally so prideful; it was like seeing a king become a beggar. "I can't go back; it's not safe for me there… She'll destroy me…" Danny watched him intently, listening to every word.

"Who will destroy you? The 'Empress'?" Danny guessed. If it was the same ghost, he didn't understand how she posed so much of a threat; Danny had fairly easily disposed of her minions, her white knight and his group of raiders. But then he remembered Dora, and how her kingdom had been overcome. Was it sheer numbers? Or something else? Technus groaned, as if the name caused him pain, which Danny took as confirmation.

"But who is this 'Empress'?" Jazz asked, stepping forward. She was frowning. "She sounds powerful. How come we've never run into her before?" Technus reached up to pull at his hair, like he couldn't bear the questions. He stayed silent, staring at nothing.

"Technus?" Danny prompted. The ghost looked at him.

"She came out of nowhere," he started haltingly. "Maybe two of your Earth weeks ago—time is different in the Zone… She called herself the Empress." The ghost trembled. "She took over a few lairs in the Outer Borders first, before we knew what was happening." The more he spoke, the more dread trickled down Danny's spine to land in a growing puddle in his stomach. It was icy and warm at the same time, a clash of sensations that ultimately resulted in nausea.

"How?" Danny demanded. "How could she have done it so quickly? And without anyone realizing? Clockwork had to have seen what was happening." Technus opened his mouth, closed it. He looked… pained. Guilty, almost. Danny remembered what he'd said in the warehouse—I'm sorry…

"Is there something else you're not telling us?" Sam asked, voice hard. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Because if we're going to help you, you need to help us, first." She tap-tap-tapped her boot on the floor.

"Yeah, dude, we're not exactly on the best terms," Tucker added. Technus flinched at the reminder, glancing at the rope that bound his ankles. He grimaced, as if steeling himself.

"She has a right-hand man. He's called Aevum." Technus paused, as if considering his words. Danny could almost feel himself quivering with impatience. "And, like Clockwork, he can see through time." Sam's eyes widened, and Tucker gasped. Danny felt the puddle in his gut triple in size, a pond now.

"What?" he breathed. Technus hurried to continue.

"His abilities are less precise than Clockwork's: he can't stop time, nor delve into the time-streams like he can. But he catches glimpses of the future, and he has enough power to block Clockwork from seeing his—and his Empress's—path. Clockwork couldn't give anyone warning." Technus seemed to hesitate again.

"Can he do anything else? What can the Empress do?" Tucker prodded.

"Does she have an army?" Sam added.

"What's her goal?" Jazz pressed. "Does she—"

"Wait, guys." Danny held up his hands. "Give him a chance to answer." He regarded Technus coolly. "Please, do answer."

"I don't know what else Aevum can do," Technus said. "But the Empress is strong, stronger than most… And oddly familiar. I feel like I know her, but I don't remember her…" He trailed off. Danny noted the information, but he didn't know how relevant the ghost's déjà vu really was. The thought of a foe as powerful as his future self or Pariah Dark made him want to vomit. Goosebumps prickled along his arms, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. They didn't know the entire situation, yet. Maybe it wasn't as bad as Technus was making it out to seem.

He knew that was wishful thinking, though. He couldn't believe this was happening at a time like this—when he was being hunted on all sides. At the same time, though, he was suspicious of it. He was fairly confident in the theory that they were somehow connected…

"Yes, but what can she do?" Tucker asked again. "Like, her powers? Can she control lightning? Make ice? Breathe fire? C'mon, give us something to work with."

"Her powers of telekinesis are stronger than most," Technus said. "Strong enough to rip a building from the ground, and she excels at combat. Beyond that, I don't know. It all happened so quickly. So quickly." His hands reached up to grasp his hair, and Danny carefully removed them. Technus didn't even seem to realize he'd done it; he simply looked, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other.

"You're alright," Danny told him. "She's not here; you're safe. Just try to relax, okay? Can you tell us why she wanted to hurt you?" Technus's eyes stopped moving, but he began cringing. "Whatever it is, we need to know," Danny soothed. As much as it felt peculiar to treat Technus with gentleness, the ghost looked as if he needed it—and Danny wasn't about to use fear to interrogate a ghost so fragile.

"You're right, ghost child," Technus said. He looked away from Danny. "You deserve to know. But I don't—you won't want me here, if you find out." Ah. So whatever he'd been sorry about—whatever involvement he'd had in this whole twisted affair—was related. Danny both anticipated and dreaded knowing what the ghost was about to pass on. He wondered, if it turned out Technus was more involved than he'd predicted, if he would be able to keep his cool. This had made everything a living hell for him, after all.

A terrible, horrible hell.

"We're not going to send you back to the Zone," Danny vowed, "and we're not going to let you be torn apart by hunters. So tell us." And it was true. No matter what the ghost said next, Danny knew he would keep his word. He tried desperately to keep a baseline of decency that so many others in the ghost-hunting profession were lacking, and he wasn't about to go back on it now when it got hard.

Technus seemed to examine him long and hard before beginning: "I think at first they were kinder to me because I had something they desired. That is, I could do something they needed for their plan to succeed. Aevum, you see, had foreseen that their scheme to take over the Zone would never work if a certain individual wasn't removed from the situation—the individual being you, Phantom." Here, he paused, and if he were human, Danny thought he might've sighed. "The white knight was sent, in part, to test your strength, and to scare the humans. The Empress didn't want to waste anyone more valuable or stronger on you if she didn't have to, and mostly she wanted to understand how you operated…" He trailed off, as if he didn't know what to say next. Not that Danny thought he had run out of things to say; he just didn't know what order to say them in. At least, he thought, it explained how the white knight had been so easy compared with what he'd seen in the Zone.

"What did they need you for, Technus?" Danny prodded. He had a million other questions: her army, her ultimate goal, why she had appeared now, but he felt this one was key in answering his most pressing question—the anonymous caller.

"I—" he faltered, clearing his throat. "I was the one who was going to hack the news station and deliver the message about your status as a halfa and the reward to anyone who discovered your identity." He paused, gauging Danny's reaction. But Danny couldn't react. He felt frozen, as if all his molecules had turned to stone at once. He couldn't even breathe. He'd suspected when he'd found Technus muttering to himself, saying he was sorry, he'd had something to do with it. Suspecting and knowing were two very different things.

"Fucking motherfucker fuck," Sam swore under her breath. She looked murderous, but Danny knew she wouldn't do anything. Jazz seemed pale, and Tucker had only pressed his lips together tightly, like he wasn't pleased but also wasn't surprised. When no one else seemed to be ready to say anything, Technus continued.

"Aevum knew, had you not been occupied, you would've found out much sooner and stopped them before they could really begin. You have to understand I didn't know what they'd planned. I thought it would be fun, siccing the other humans on you. Aevum told me to give them your identity completely, but it didn't feel right. I wanted to beat you, ghost child, but not like this. And I knew what your government might do if they knew who Phantom really was… You have to understand, I didn't mean for this to happen. You have to understand." He was almost begging, Danny realized, and the thought sent cracks through his stony façade. And as much as Danny wanted to hate him, he couldn't.

"I…" Danny closed his eyes. "Continue, please." He couldn't give anymore reassurance to the person who'd turned his life so upside-down, who may've ruined his chances at stopping this Empress. Was he too late to stop her now? Had Aevum succeeded in taking out the threat to his mistress? And why had Clockwork not intervened, for surely he knew what was happening by now?

"Aevum said to me that the future was uncertain, that he could no longer see it clearly whether they would win or lose," Technus resumed shakily. "His power over time is very limited, as I said. He demanded that I hack the station again and tell everyone your human name—he said it was the only way for them, for us, to win for sure. But I began to see that the Empress planned on taking over the Zone, that she had already begun to conquer territories she had no business in. I refused. They hurt me, but I managed to escape. I fled here, to the person they wanted so badly to take down."

At least Danny knew they weren't done yet. If Aevum had still wanted him gone, he still had to have a chance at beating him and his Empress. He slumped, rubbing his face. He'd had so many of his questions answered, but no burdens had been lifted from him. If anything, he felt heavier than before.

"If the Empress is allied with Walker," Tucker started, sounding both thoughtful and fearful, "what's stopping him from telling her Danny's identity and having it out there anyway?" The notion nearly gave Danny a heart attack. To come so far, to hide so well, and then have it all taken from him by something out of his control? It was so unfair Danny almost wanted to cry.

"The Empress can't spare anyone from the fighting to do that," Technus denied. "And she hasn't taken the part of the Zone next to your portal yet—there's no stable way for her to arrive, even though she managed to get the knight through." At least Danny didn't have to worry about that, though the yet was ominous.

"How big is this army of hers?" Sam demanded. She still looked pissed, and her eyebrows twitched downward, eager to meet in her ire. "Smaller than Pariah's?" Technus shook his head.

"Larger," he corrected. "And far more powerful than his skeletons. She has things I've never seen before, ghosts so ancient and strong they're barely ghosts anymore."

"Where did she get them?" Danny asked, bewildered. He knew most of the Zone, and he couldn't think of any ghosts that could be considered "ancient and strong" except for maybe Pandora and Clockwork, who definitely weren't in league with the Empress. Only, there was a place Danny hadn't really explored…

"The Banished Lands," Technus confirmed. Tucker shook his head, as if in denial, and Sam frowned.

"I'm sorry, but what are the Banished Lands?" Jazz asked. Though more involved in ghost hunting, she had never had the time or energy to map the Zone with them. She'd studied the geography briefly to understand its general layout in case she became stuck there, but Danny knew her specifics weren't great.

"Ghosts don't really have laws like we do," Danny explained. "But sometimes, when a ghost does something really bad, groups like the Observants or ghosts like Clockwork, with the backing of most of the Zone, will kick them out. It's where Pariah's sarcophagus was—and where he'd kept his 'sleeping' skeleton ghost army." Jazz nodded, soaking in this tidbit about ghost culture.

"And it's considered one of the most dangerous places in the Zone," Sam added. "The ghosts there are… insane. And not in the good way I usually mean."

"So what's her ultimate goal?" Tucker asked, turning back to Technus. "I mean, besides taking over the Zone. I guess I'm trying to ask if she has a motive." Technus seemed uncertain by the question.

"I'm not sure she needs a reason to dominate and control the Zone—power? Greed? Revenge for banishing her?" He shrugged. "I don't know. But I do know she reviles humans, and I know she plans to take the earth after she's done with the Zone." He shuddered. His aura, which had been burning low but steady, began to flicker again. "How she's going to do it… I don't know that, either." It was a veritable spring of information, but for every answer they got, there seemed to be more and more questions. And what was worse was that Technus didn't know the answer to them.

"How long?" Danny managed to ask. "How long until she gets here?" Technus smiled grimly.

"I would guess that you have a month at most, ghost child."

19 Hours Ago

571k Views

EVIDENCE OF PHANTOM'S INNOCENCE

By Fisharefriendsnotfood

Mary doesn't give her standard greeting upon the video opening. Instead, she smiles wanly at the camera. "Firstly, I'd like to thank all of my fans who've stuck with me after I uploaded my last video. You guys are so awesome, and I can't appreciate you all enough. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, please feel free to watch the last video. Basically, what happened was—and I know how crazy this sounds—I was attacked by ghosts. And saved by a ghost. I know when I originally moved to Amity Park, I swore it was a hoax, but I've seen it. I have proof: I caught the entire attack on camera. The footage is unedited—you can see that for yourself. You all know me, and I hope you know I wouldn't lie to you.

"But that's not what I'm here to talk about. For those of you who know anything about Amity Park—either you live here, or you've visited, or you have family here—you've probably heard of Phantom. He's a bit controversial in that some believe he's a menace and a criminal, while others think he's a hero. Those who think he's a menace point to the fact that he's a ghost and the crimes he's done. Those who think he's a hero point to everyone he's saved and Amity's incredibly low crime rate compared to cities of similar size and economic status.

"Personally, he saved my life. You can see that in the video. I can't think of him as anything but a hero. And recently, more controversy has been thrown at him; he's been revealed, by an anonymous source, to be half-human. Currently, many different groups, including a government agency called the GIW, are attempting to capture him and discover his identity. More on this later." She takes a deep breath.

"It's come to my attention that information on Phantom's crimes, and his innocence in these situations, has been hidden from the public. I think, after he helped me in what was probably the scariest experience of my life, this is the least I can do to help him. And he's a teenager, guys. There's no way he's older than eighteen. I've always believed I should use this platform to help people, and right now I think there's a good chance that Phantom needs some help.

"To talk about the situation and Phantom's probably innocence, I will be interviewing a guest in the next portion of this video. However, I've kept his identity hidden—not because I want to conceal anything from you—but for his protection. You'll understand better after you hear about the volatile situation in Amity. I suppose that's enough introduction; here's the interview." The screen cuts to black, and a split-second later Mary is back. The background is different—this isn't the room she was recording in before. She's sitting in a comfy-looking chair, and across from her sits a figure that's been obscured through blurring and darkening.

"Thank you so much for coming today to talk about this," Mary says.

"Thank you for agreeing to it," the figure says. His voice is garbled, unrecognizable. Subtitles come onto the screen to help with clarity. "It's crazy to be here, filming something with you, knowing how popular you are on YouTube."

"Thank you. I can agree that this is pretty crazy. I mean, ghosts?" Mary laughs. "It's something I never would've even considered."

"Amity Park can do that to you," the figure agrees. "I almost didn't believe it myself, when it first started happening."

"About that. I was wondering, for our viewers, if you would be able to give them a summary of the hauntings that have occurred in Amity. Like, when did they start? How were they stopped? What was everyone's reaction?"

"I can do that. I guess it started two, maybe three years ago. But even before then, we had people coming in talking about how Amity was a hot spot for ectoplasmic activity. Well, I say 'people.' Mostly it was just the Fentons. They were sort of infamous back then, talking about how ghosts were real. Nobody believed them. But then the ghosts started showing up—a few sightings at first, unexplained injuries, some weird stuff that could be explained away.

"I guess the first major attack actually happened at Casper High. I don't know her name—some ghosts are super regular, now, and we know what they're called—but I have no idea what she called herself. She looked like a lunch lady, though, minus the glowing. And she was able to control meat. I know it sounds really strange, but it was terrifying. I mean, if that stuff hits you hard enough, it could knock you out. Or suffocate you. That's when Phantom first showed up. We didn't know what he was called, either, but he protected the students, defeating the ghost lady.

"And the attacks have just gotten crazier since. More frequent, more powerful ghosts. For a while, Phantom was called Inviso-Bill, but eventually we caught on that that wasn't his name. A lot of ghost hunters sprung up after that. And nobody thought the Fentons were crazy anymore. In fact, their ghost equipment is very popular. They've given some to law enforcement, though the police never react as quickly as Phantom."

"So, about Phantom. He's been accused of a lot of things—robbing a jewelry store, kidnapping the mayor, property damage. You've found proof that these things weren't him—and I've seen it, too, and I think it's pretty damn convincing. I will be playing this proof, but I thought first you could delve into the crimes."

"Well, we've caught all of them on camera. And, anywhere else, this would be definitive proof that Phantom was a liar. But this is Amity Park, and things can get… very strange, to say the least. I'd like to address that last 'crime' with some basic logic and facts. It's true that Phantom, during his fights, causes a lot of property damage.

"But I would argue that in the process of driving these ghosts off—whether this be by the police force, hunters, or agents—property gets destroyed. It just so happens that Phantom, who usually is first to the scene, drives most of the ghosts off. So people think it's him causing it. But when we look at the few cases where he hasn't been first on the scene, just as much property damage was done, if not more. And, as much as it disturbs people because Phantom's a minor, he's a lot more durable than a full human. When he's thrown into walls or hurled to the ground, he may destroy these things, but that's far better than it happening to a full human. In that case, it's not the concrete that would break but the person. People have actually conducted studies—and by people I mean Amity Park University—and shown that, without Phantom, the fatalities from ghosts would be through the roof."

Mary nods. "And I'll be sure to link the study in the description below, so if you're curious about it, please go read it. It's rather fascinating. And I don't think anybody who really looks at the situation can honestly think Phantom is to blame for the property damage."

"Not to mention that it somehow links him—or at least ghosts—to the low crime rate in Amity. No one's exactly sure what's caused it," the figure says, "but the study has a few interesting theories, and a few of them do involve Phantom."

"And now, I'm hoping we can get to the big stuff," Mary says. "I was thinking we'd start with the jewelry store robbery. Why don't you give us some background, I'll play the footage, and you explain why it might prove Phantom's innocence."

"The robbery took place months after the ghosts first really started attacking," the figure starts. "The town didn't know Phantom well, then, but it was still shocking—at least to me—when it was all over the news that he'd been seen robbing a jewelry store. They showed some black-and-white photos of the event. Some things, though, didn't sit right with me, even then. He was seen with other ghosts, and Phantom is rarely seen with other ghosts unless he's fighting them. And, if they had the footage, why not just play it? So I did some digging, and I found the robbery on video."

"Which I will be playing now," Mary interjects. A clip is shown of what the figure described: Phantom taking fistfuls of jewelry from the store. When the camera finally catches a glimpse of his face, it freezes.

"At first, it seems cut-and-dry. It's clearly Phantom, he's clearly robbing the store. But there are some logical problems there. Mainly, why protect the city and help people only to turn on them now? There's no clear benefit. And then, you see his eyes."

"And I think it's important to point out that the video is in color, not black-and-white like the pictures," Mary adds.

"Exactly. And in the video, Phantom's eyes are red—not green, like they normally are. This, for those of you who don't know, is a clear sign of possession. Thus, we can deduce that Phantom wasn't acting of his own volition when he was robbing that store."

"And so, he's innocent," Mary concludes, and it seems like the figure nods, even with their form hidden.

"Right. And when we play the clip of the mayor being kidnapped, we see something similar play out." The video plays, zooming in on the mayor's face. "But it's not Phantom's eyes that are different here—it's the mayor's. His eye color isn't normally green. It's my personal belief that the mayor was possessed—or overshadowed—by a ghost in order to make Phantom look bad and turn the city against him. And when questioned about what happened, the mayor can't remember. That's another sign of possession."

"In conclusion, the main defense for why Phantom is a criminal is not substantial given the evidence. And it also brings up the question as to why the footage was never released to the public."

"I have a theory for that, too," the figure declares grimly. "I don't have as much evidence for it, but who do we all know has the power to cover-up things they don't want known?"

"The government," Mary answers, though she knows it's technically a rhetorical question. It's best to be clear when the internet's involved.

"Precisely. And we have our own special bit of government in Amity—the GIW. It stands for Ghostly Investigation Ward, and is very much a lesser-known agency when it comes to the rest of the country. I think it's very possible that they didn't release these videos with the intent to make Phantom look bad."

"For our viewers, would you mind briefly explaining why?"

"Well, the GIW is a group of fanatics. They've hunted Phantom—and all other ghosts, but him especially—relentlessly. They don't care about facts; they don't care about casualties because of crossfire. They want to capture him and experiment on him. They claim, now, that they want to imprison him for his crimes, but if they've had proof of his innocence all along, what's their real motive?"

"Nothing good, and it's all the more disturbing when you remember that though Phantom is half-ghost, he's also half-human. And a teenage half-human at that. It's not right for the government to be so intent on unethically experimenting on and torturing a child," Mary says. "And, I've been wondering, if these videos were never released to the public, how were you able to get ahold of them?"

"Not entirely through official channels," the figure admits. "But I think it was worth the risk to know the truth. And to tell people the truth. Phantom's innocent, and he doesn't deserve to be locked up more than any other highschooler. He's a hero who's done more good for this city—saved more lives—than any other hunter or agent. He deserves the respect of everyone who lives here, and he deserves to live his life peacefully, without fear that he'll be locked up and tortured for something he had no control over."

"That was well said," Mary says. "And I couldn't agree more. People of Amity Park, I know you'll see this. I'm asking you to take this for what it is and realize how much Phantom's helped you—helped us. He's been painted as a villain by people who knew he was innocent, and been treated terribly by both the government and Amity's citizens. I'm asking you, with what you now know, to please, please, take Phantom's side. I don't think he would hesitate to take yours." With that final, dramatic line, the video cuts to black and ends.

Comments have been turned off for the video.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Plans and Reactions

Danny felt a little strange. Not unlike a kid who'd taken candy from the jar when they weren't supposed to—only the candy was Technus and the jar was the warehouse… So maybe his metaphor wasn't as accurate as he'd thought. But he hadn't been able to help that odd, guilty feeling when he'd seen his parents after they'd gotten home. Like he'd done something wrong in hiding the hurt ghost from them, though he knew it was the right thing to do.

Technus had been so worn out Danny had decided to stop asking questions—his aura had been flickering again, a bad sign, though his core was still vibrating steadily. They knew enough for now, anyway. In fact, Danny felt like he'd already learned too much. His head throbbed with the knowledge that in four weeks—just twenty-eight days—an all-powerful ghost would land on his doorstep, ready to take control of the world.

Sam and Tucker had gone home, their faces drawn but determined. Sam had still seemed angry on his behalf, but Danny couldn't muster anything except numbness when he thought about what he'd gone through because of Technus. Valerie shooting him, the agents hounding him, the feeling of being watched. He shuddered, knowing the damn van was still outside his window. He saw Agent R's stony face in his mind's eye. But Technus had seemed so pathetic. Like a poor, abused cat. Sure, maybe he had scratched Danny, but he couldn't exactly be angry with him, could he? Not when he was injured.

And now, he was in stasis underneath Danny's bed. Unfortunately, going back into the thermos hadn't been an option. In the thermos, everything was at a standstill; while Technus wouldn't have gotten worse, he also wouldn't have gotten better. So Danny had made a nest of pillows for him and draped long, dark blankets over the side of his bed so his aura wouldn't show through. It wasn't a permanent solution, by any means—and Danny didn't exactly feel safe with one of his enemies in stasis directly below him—but it was the best he'd been able to come up with.

Jazz had asked him repeatedly if he was sure it was the best idea, and Danny, already stretched past his breaking point, snapped at her that if she had something better, she was welcome to say it. Jazz had simply stared at him with an odd, sad expression before patting his shoulder and leaving the room. She'd come back with more blankets, and had told him to sleep well.

But Danny couldn't sleep, not with everything going on—and not with a ghost under his bed. He needed to do something—something that would prepare for the battle he knew was coming. He stood up, the blankets rustling, and opened his door quietly. His clock read 2:07 AM, but he went downstairs regardless, skipping the creaky steps to avoid waking his family. He was surprised to see a light on in the kitchen. For a second, cold fear sprang into his chest, but he realized no one who would've wanted to hurt him or his family would've turned on a light.

Padding softly into the kitchen, he saw his mother sitting there, nursing a cup of tea. The steam rose from the mug, wispy and pale. His mom seemed haggard and worn; bags hung heavy from her eyes, and her hair was mussed from sleeping. She was dressed in her pajamas, not her jumpsuit, and it had been so long since he'd seen her out of it, she almost looked like a stranger.

"Hey, Mom," he called, voice near quiet. The stranger jumped and turned to look at him. As she saw him, she seemed to morph into his mother again, complete with her look of delicate concern. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Sweetie. It's two in the morning. You need to go back to sleep; you have school tomorrow," his mom said. Ignoring her, Danny slipped into the seat next to her at the kitchen table. "Danny…"

"I couldn't sleep," he said, leaning down to smell the tea. Vanilla and spice met his nose. He knew it would be bitter, though; his mom didn't put any sweetener in her tea. "And it looks like you couldn't either." She sighed, taking a sip from her mug. He itched to go down to the lab and scout out things that might help them fight the Empress. He wanted to fly into the Zone to see things for himself, but he knew the risk was too high; if he were caught, the Empress would capture and probably kill him—and then where would Amity Park be?

Besides, two o'clock in the morning, with his parents home, was not the time to be messing around in the lab or anything. And his mom was awake. Everything he wanted to do to prepare, right then and there, was impossible. He had to be patient, but it just felt like he was wasting time.

A month…

"Bad dreams?" his mom asked, and he was startled from his thoughts. He shook his head.

"No. I just—with everything going on…" He didn't know what to say—what he could say. He didn't know if or how he was going to tell everyone a powerful ghost bent on world-domination was going to be there in a month. It would probably mean more coming from Phantom, anyway. But he couldn't help the urge to tell her, to warn her that something bad was on its way. She was his mom, after all. He wanted to protect her. Or help her protect herself.

"I get it," she said. Danny wanted to laugh. As cliché and juvenile as it sounds, you definitely don't. "The government's messing around at your school—one of your peers is maybe a criminal. And we probably don't help…" She drank from her mug again. "We're just trying to do what's best for you and everyone in Amity Park. I hope you know that, Sweetie."

But what you think is best isn't always best, Danny thought bitterly. I'm not a criminal. Why can't everyone just trust all the good I've done? It's been two years, and you're still shooting at me… He walked into the kitchen and pulled down the hot chocolate powder from the cupboard. He liked things a little sweeter than his mom did.

They didn't shoot at you last night, a part of him argued.

They would've if I'd been a full ghost, the other part shot back.

"I do know that," he finally said. He turned their electric kettle on and waited for the hot water to boil. "Did dad's snoring finally get to you, nineteen years later?" he asked. "Is that why you're up?"

She smiled wryly at him. "Actually, it's everything that's been going on." The words echoed his own. "I don't think we told you, but we confronted Phantom last night. He agreed to be questioned. I was surprised he stayed long enough to let us talk to him." Danny remembered the eerie warehouse, his instincts battling within him—stay or go? I almost didn't stay long enough, he wanted to say. But he didn't. He never did. Even in the beginning, when he'd tried to tell them… They'd started talking about ghosts, and how evil they were, and eventually he'd stopped trying.

"That's great news," he said, attempting to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. He poured the boiling water over the coco powder in his cup and stirred. When he took a sip, he felt the heat clash with his internal chill. His core vibrated harder to cool the liquid down before it hit his stomach, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

"Are you cold, Danny?" his mom asked suddenly. "You're shaking." I'm not. It's my ghost core. He wanted to say it so, so badly. He wanted it worse than he wanted anything at that moment—more than he wanted to be ready for the Empress when she came, more than he wanted the GIW off his back. The need to share himself—his whole self—with his mom was suddenly overwhelming.

He swallowed it down with the hot chocolate. He liked things sweet, and he knew it would all turn to ashes if she knew—bitter, bitter ashes. Criminal, he thought. She thinks you're a criminal. Or maybe she'd feel guilty for all that she'd done, and that would be just as bad. How could someone forgive themselves for hurting their child? Never mind that he'd already forgiven her.

Forgiven, but not forgotten, a voice whispered in his mind.

"I'm fine," he said, draining his mug. "I think I'll go back to bed, now. I have a test. Good night." The words were mechanical, and he placed his mug in the sink as if in a daze. He almost didn't hear her say good night back.

He wanted so desperately to tell her. But he never did.

Before Danny went downstairs, he lifted the corner of a blanket that was hanging from his bed. He was relieved to find Technus, still in stasis, on the floor. His coloring was a stronger, more vibrant green, and his aura was strong enough Danny worried his parents might see through the blankets if they came into his room. The half-ghost briefly touched Technus's body, and his core's vibration was strong. Danny closed the blanket and hoped Technus had enough sense to stay there until Danny came back from school. He piled dirty clothes next to his bed, trying to hide the ghost's aura, and then spread the clothes around his room so it looked less intentional.

There, he thought, and left his room, closing the door behind him.

He wasn't sure if his mom had ever gone back to sleep after he'd seen her up, because she had dark purple crescents under her eyes and practically a mountain of waffles beside her. Instead of tea, she had a cup of black coffee in her hand, unsweetened.

"Good morning," Danny said, snagging a waffle.

"Good morning," his mom replied. "Did you manage to sleep?" He nodded, buttering his waffle. It wasn't even much of a lie. He'd slept a couple of restless hours, his dreams filled with grasping hands trying to pull him down into darkness. He took a bite of the waffle.

"This is good," he complimented. He heard his dad come stomping down the steps.

"Are those waffles I smell?" he called loudly, stepping into the kitchen. Without waiting for any response, he began stacking at least five waffles onto a plate. "Thanks, Honey," he said, pausing briefly to lean over and kiss his wife on the cheek. Danny pretended to gag.

"Do you need a ride, Dann-o?" his dad asked, pouring syrup onto his waffles. "I can take you to school today. Or let you drive there. You gotta use that permit or you'll never get your license!" Just the thought made Danny recoil. Dash might use his dad's bad driving as an excuse to pick on him, and Danny didn't feel like panicking about a potential car accident so early in the morning.

"I'm fine, thanks. I think Sam's picking me up soon." He frowned, looking around. "Hey, has anyone seen my backpack?" Where had he left it? He remembered walking home with it, so he hadn't left it at school…

A knock came at the door, and he blanched, a terrible, fluttery feeling clawing its way up his throat. Like he'd swallowed a murder of crows. It's not a big deal, he thought. I'll just pick it up on the way to school. No one's seen it—and if they have, what are they even going to do about it?

Danny thought he might throw up.

"Would you get that, Danny? It's probably Sam," his mom said. Probably. Maybe. He felt sweat on his forehead as he reached for the knob. Opened the door—and standing there, so calmly and collectedly—calculating—was Agent R. Danny swallowed, trying to keep the crows from coming up out of his mouth. He remembered the agent's anger. How he'd threatened to torture Danny, not even certain that he was Phantom.

And he still doesn't know. He can prove nothing.

"Hello, Mr. Fenton. How are you? I think I've found something of yours." Agent R grinned, but it was like a skull's grin—empty. He held up a bag. Danny's bag. Danny could only stare, mouth dry. He couldn't make the words come. Images flashed in his mind, images of being strapped to a table, screaming as a scalpel dug into his soft skin—

"Oh, hello!" His mom came up behind him, smiling cordially. She wiped her floury hands on her apron. "What brings you here so early? I thought we were planning to meet at the school around ten to continue putting up the shield." Enemy, enemy, the ghost part of him chanted. Surrounded on all sides—could his mom be counted on as an ally? Against the GIW?

Of course she can; stop being ridiculous, he told himself.

"That is the current plan, Mrs. Fenton," Agent R replied. "Our agents found this yesterday evening, and we thought it best to return it. It is Danny's, isn't it?" His mom's eyes found his backpack, and they lit up in confusion.

"Yes, that's Danny's. Where did you find it?" She was glancing between her son and Agent R, seemingly realizing the tension between the two.

"That's the strangest part," Agent R said. He tapped the bag with one finger. Danny resisted the urge to snatch it away from him. "You see, we spotted Phantom yesterday—and then we tailed him. When we came back to search the area that he appeared from—to gather any evidence—we found this up a tree nearby. It was rather peculiar."

His mom's eyebrows furrowed. "It's odd, but odd things happen here all the time. Do you know how it got there?" she asked, turning to her son. Danny, prompted to speak, couldn't find any words. The crows had pecked out his voice box, leaving him only his body. He shook his head wordlessly. What had been in the bag, anyway? He couldn't seem to remember.

"Odd, perhaps, but is it a coincidence? Do you know where your son was yesterday after school?" Your agents saw me walking home. Why can't you just trust that? Danny thought desperately. Agent R smirked, as if realizing how frustrating this was for Danny.

"What, exactly, are you suggesting?" his mom demanded, and Danny realized he couldn't let them trade notes. Individually, they didn't have enough—but together? Are you on my side or his, Mom? he wondered again.

"Didn't you need to work on that connector, Mom?" This was the question he asked. "You said it would take a couple of hours, and it'll be ten soon. Getting that shield up by Friday is really important." His mom frowned, the corners of her lips pulled down by her bafflement and suspicion. He could see the same emotions reflected in the slight squinting of her eyes, the way her nose scrunched. It was a look he'd received too many times to count.

"I suppose we should start working on it…" she muttered. Facing Agent R, she said, "Please, don't make baseless accusations against my son when all you have is some odd circumstantial evidence." Agent R was staring at Danny. He'd been reminded; if the GIW wanted to continue to use Fenton brain and tech, they'd have to lay off.

"That's not what I meant at all, Mrs. Fenton," the agent assured. "It wasn't my intent to accuse anyone of anything." He handed the backpack to Danny, who took it with a barely whispered "thanks." "Maybe just keep better track of your things from now on, right Danny?" The half-ghost nodded.

"See you later," the agent said. It was bizarrely casual coming from him, with his gray, gray eyes, like the color of decaying flesh. Bizarrely casual, and an ominous promise—see you later. Danny shut the door as he walked away.

"How did your backpack get up that tree?" his mom questioned. With the immediate danger gone, Danny found that his voice was back. How odd it was that sometimes he could make banter and sometimes he froze—he supposed it was all in how helpless he felt. Phantom could fight back without fear. Fenton couldn't—not if he didn't want to be locked up and experimented on. His secret was his safety.

"I don't know," Danny said. "I guess I must've set it down somewhere and some ghost stole it." He shrugged. "I'm glad that agent guy brought it back, though. That was nice." His mom nodded, expression distant.

"Nice, yes… I suppose." She patted Danny's back. "Well, don't lose it again." Danny slung the backpack over his shoulder and did his best to smile at her.

"I won't. I do need to go put some things in it, though," he said, heading back up the stairs. He wouldn't be able use the bag, now—who knew what the GIW had done to it? He was so stupid, forgetting his bag in a tree. A beginner, freshman-Danny mistake. He was supposed to be better, now. Smarter.

Even with the Empress and Technus on his mind, leaving his backpack behind when he knew the GIW were watching him had been so dumb of him. He resisted the urge to slam his door when he entered his room. Instead he tossed the bag on the ground and ran a hand through his hair. Had there been anything incriminating inside it? He'd taken his thermos with him, the medical supplies were with Sam, and his Ghost Zone maps were stuck inside his bedroom wall. He'd had ghost weapons and equipment in his bag, however. It may not have been incriminating—he was the son of two ghost-hunters, after all—but allowing the GIW access to his parents' tech without them there to supervise was not a good thing.

He looked inside, rifling through his papers, books, lipstick lasers, and wrist-rays. Nothing seemed to be missing, though it was clear to Danny that the GIW had looked inside it. They hadn't put everything back where it had been.

He needed a new bag. If they had a recording device or tracker on this one, it might spell doom for Danny. He rubbed it mournfully. "You served me well," he told it, before dumping all of its contents onto his floor. He'd have to do this quickly if he wanted to make it to school on time (and with the limited ghost attacks, them being preoccupied by the Empress in the Zone, it was a possibility). He separated out all of his ghost equipment, afraid that it, too, might've been bugged.

Then, he scoured his closet for anything that might substitute his bag. He pulled out an old backpack, but it was stained with what looked like a mixture of blood and ectoplasm—in other words, unsuitable. His others were torn or smelled like moldy food. Jazz might have a leftover bag—her things seemed to last longer than his did.

The problem almost seemed surreal. He'd learned last night that a ghost probably as powerful as Pariah—if not more so—was coming to take over the world. It was supervillain-ish, but ghosts were nothing if not dramatic and supervillain-ish—even cartoony. The damage they caused, however, and the people they hurt were very real. Searching for a backpack seemed silly in comparison—like worrying about a paper cut when you were terminally ill. It just wasn't worth it.

But if he were caught now… Could his friends and family stand together against her? He bridged the gap between ghost and human—could the two species work together if he wasn't there? Perhaps it was arrogant of him to presume they couldn't. Perhaps it was arrogant to assume the world needed him at all. But right now, no human even knew what was happening sans him, Sam, Jazz, and Tucker.

He knocked on Jazz's door, and opened it when he heard her "come in." She looked surprised to see him, and her expression morphed to one of anxiety almost instantly.

"Has something happened?" she asked. "Is something wrong?" Danny immediately shook his head.

"Nothing like what you're thinking. I need a new backpack, is all. Do you have something I can use?" She raised an eyebrow but got out of bed. She was still in her pajamas, and her hair was in disarray, needing to be brushed.

"Yeah, maybe. Let me check. Why do you need a new bag?" She opened her closet, moving aside her dresses and jackets. Danny came up to look with her, but he had no idea what kind of system she used to organize her closet.

"I'll explain after school. I need to get going." Sam really would be there any minute, now. Jazz made an ah-ha sound when she spotted a black backpack in the back of her closet, buried under a couple of thick tomes that hadn't fit on her shelves.

"Alright, I'll hold you to that, little brother." She handed the new bag to him, and Danny took it gratefully.

"Thanks," he said. He heard his mom call up the stairs, telling him his ride was there. He raced to his room to put his papers and books and pencils into this new bag. He hoped, with everything that had happened, the rest of the day would pass by uneventfully.

"We need to warn people, dude," Tucker told Danny over lunch. The half-ghost had told them about the interview he had with his parents, and his friends' reactions had been wary but supportive. Sam had pointed out that it might've been a trap, which Danny had discarded immediately. They'd told him the same thing as Fenton—and why would lie to their son? Tucker had said it might be good to get some kind of government agency off his back, even if it was the local law enforcement. They might help block the GIW, though he'd sounded doubtful.

Danny had also told them about that morning, and the backpack disaster. They had reassured him it wasn't his fault—he'd had a lot on his mind. But Danny couldn't help but disagree. He was meant to be past these sorts of mistakes.

Now, they were discussing the Empress. Even talking about, Danny felt a mixture of dread, fear, and anxiety bubble up from his chest, spilling into his limbs until he felt paralyzed.

"Yeah, but not as Fenton. And I can't exactly be super active as Phantom right now," Danny said. "I'll try and warn the police and my parents at the interview, and then maybe they can spread the word. But it wouldn't be good to cause mass panic anyway." They had elected to eat inside today, their conversation obscured from prying ears by the din of the cafeteria. Tucker and Danny sat across from Sam, and a couple of the quieter kids sat at the other end of the table. Around them, kids shouted and threw oranges and apples at the ground. The trio spoke in hushed tones, content to let the other kids think they were just being weird.

"It might cause more panic if everyone's unprepared," Tucker shot back. Then, more thoughtfully, he added, "I guess uncoordinated efforts would be bad, though." Even as he tried to speak about it clinically and logically, Danny could tell that both of his friends were strained. Tucker had taken to eating more than usual, almost without realizing it. And Sam alternated between tap-tap-tapping her steel-toed boots against the linoleum and chewing her lip. Danny was afraid it might start bleeding.

"We can start to coordinate an effort," Sam said. Her knee bounced up and down, in time to her trepidation. "I'm not sure people will even believe him. We should be the ones who make preparations."

"We will," Danny said. He felt too worked up to eat, though both his friends had told him they didn't need him passing out in class. But the emotions in his stomach threatened to send back anything he got down—it wouldn't have been the first time fear had made him ill. "I'll get some more weapons for you guys. Thermoses. We might even be able to get that ghost-proof Kevlar stuff my parents made for the police. Or make it ourselves—they have the blueprints."

"We should make a list," Sam said, making a face. "Ugh. I sound like your sister." But she got out her phone to start typing down the ideas they had. Paper could too easily be lost and found by someone who would ask questions.

"Back up," Tucker said, making a "time-out" gesture with his hands. "Maybe Danny's parents wouldn't believe him—they think he's a criminal or whatever—but why not the townspeople? They think he's a hero. Why would they believe he's lying?"

"Because it sounds crazy, Tucker." Danny rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on. Combined with his nausea, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to concentrate in class—not that he really felt it mattered. It was almost like all of his other problems—even the GIW—had faded to gray when compared to the colorful Empress. "A ghost empress coming to conquer the Earth?"

"No more crazy than what's actually happened here," Tucker said. "Pariah Dark, anyone? The Empress is only one of many who have tried to do outlandish things." Tucker reached into his Dorito bag only to find it empty. Sighing, he dug into his lunchbox to reveal another Dorito bag, which he wasted no time in opening.

"Well," Danny said, tired of arguing. What did it matter if he was believed or not believed? What could they do anyway? What could he do? He rubbed harder at his temple. He could feel his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat—thump-thump, thump-thump. "I'm going to warn them no matter what. We'll see what happens from there, I guess." Really, they didn't know how his parents or the police or the citizens of Amity Park were going to react; and until they did, they couldn't do much in the way of planning right then.

"You can shut down your parents' portal," Sam said abruptly. She turned to look at them, her purple eyes narrowed. Her knee bounced faster. "When it gets closer to when she's supposed to get here. Just… unplug it, or whatever. She won't be able to use it, then."

The noise of the cafeteria wasn't helping Danny's head. "Okay, yes, but there are a ton of stable portals that pop up around Amity all the time. And she may already have something to create portals—I have no idea if her white knight and his crew came through a natural or artificially made portal. There's just no way to know until she's finished taking over the Zone."

But the more he spoke, the more he thought about it. To have a portal stable enough to let all the ghosts come through… It would have to last a long time, something that even stable, natural portals weren't known for. If she were planning on coming to Amity directly, she'd have to use some kind of artifact. And as he tried to imagine some kind of artifact that would do all that… Dora had had one, but…

"At least an army of ghosts probably isn't going to come pouring out of your basement," Sam said. Danny frowned. If only he could think…

"You're right," he muttered. "If we shut it down, she'll have to use some kind of artifact. And to make sure it's large and keep it open for so long, she'll need to use places where the barriers between here and the Zone are weakest. That's going to be out in the forest somewhere." Where Dora had created her own portal for similar reasons, though her motive for making one was much better than the Empress's. Danny remembered the fight, the fleeing ghost citizens. They had looked so scared… Tonight's the deadline, he recalled. If Dora didn't get into contact with him today, they would have to figure out some way to get to her.

"So we know where they're going to be coming from," Tucker said. "Roughly. If only we could keep them in, somehow." But the roughly part is the problem, Danny thought. Knowing exactly where they would make the portal would let them make some kind of ghost shield around the area, stopping them from escaping and wreaking havoc. But not knowing meant they couldn't do that.

"We could keep them out, somehow," Danny said. "Out of the city." A giant ghost shield, like the one… Well, no need to think about that. He had enough problems without thinking of the alternative future in which he, not some Empress, had basically destroyed the world.

"I thought your parents couldn't make one large enough to cover the whole city," Sam said. "They barely managed to make one to cover the whole school." It was true, unfortunately. Larger shields tended to destabilize. And if they did manage to hold, they weren't as strong as smaller ones. But there had to be a way—there was a way, he knew. He'd seen it, as much as he'd tried to block it from his memory. They just had to find it.

"We have a month," he said. "A month to figure it out."

They had done what they could, brainstorming ideas hours after school to think of a way to stabilize larger shields, but eventually they'd gotten frustrated and tired. Danny had rummaged in the lab to find them more weapons and back-up thermoses, which they'd taken gladly before going home. Sam had made him promise to tell them right away if Dora got in contact with him, and he'd tiredly said he would.

Because his parents would be home any minute from working on the ghost shield at school, Danny had been pushed from the lab. Without access to his parents' blueprints, it was hard for him to continue working on the shield or other equipment he had wanted to modify for his less durable friends and sister. And the pounding of his head—which had been dull at lunch—had reached a terrible crescendo. As much as he wanted to take pain pills for it, a couple of ibuprofen no longer seemed to work on him—and he didn't want to take half a bottle for something as small as a headache.

So, glass of water in hand, he went up to his room, thinking he might try and take a nap. But upon opening his door, he saw a certain someone lounging on his bed. Technus had his head propped up by his hands, looking as if he owned the place. Danny scowled.

"I thought we agreed you'd either stay under the bed or in my closet," he said. He'd checked on Technus after school to make sure the ghost hadn't done anything stupid—and he hadn't, to Danny's relief. Taking advantage of the ghost's lucidity, he'd done his best to lay some ground rules.

"I agreed to nothing," Technus declared. Danny resisted the urge to growl; he did not need an attitude right now. And it was harder to be nice to the ghost when he was insisting on being an ass. Not to mention, he was much healthier now. "You, ghost child, told me I had to stay out of sight, and I simply did not feel the need to comply."

"If you don't comply, you're going in the thermos," Danny said bluntly. He couldn't have the ghost escaping (something he was much more capable of doing now than he had been last night) or being seen by his parents. Both would put Technus in danger of the mortal kind. Or as close to a ghost could get to mortal being a ghost. "You know I don't have time to deal with you."

The ghost seemed to sober at that—he knew the Empress was no joke. "I can't hide in your closet or under your bed all day," he protested. "It's a drag."

"It'll be even more of a drag if you're caught and dissected, won't it?" Danny said. He set his water down on his nightstand. His head was threatening to explode, and he honest to god just needed Technus off his fucking bed. The ghost seemed taken aback by the venom in his words, though Danny didn't know what reaction he'd been expecting.

"I suppose…" The ghost trailed off. "Are you feeling alright, ghost child?" Danny felt irritated by the question, especially because it was Technus asking. And there was something inside him rising—something like hysteria tickling the back of his throat, making him want to laugh. Alright? I haven't been alright since you ruined my life. Danny picked up the thermos off his desk, and the ghost finally seemed to get the message. He flew off the bed to reside under it, rustling the blankets as he went by.

"You could always fetch me a magazine or a book or something," Technus muttered, sounding annoyed. He doesn't get to be annoyed, Danny thought, not when he sent the GIW and Valerie and my parents after me more than they already were. He marched over to his desk, grabbed the thickest book he could find—an encyclopedia of space-related things—and chucked it under his bed. The startled oof was very satisfying.

Danny sat on his bed, which was colder than normal because of Technus, and completely ignored his homework in favor of rubbing his burning eyes. He heard the GAV in the driveway and the door open and close. His parents were home, but he had no desire to see them.

He was about to lay down completely and try to maybe take a nap when his ghost sense went off. He shot up, grasping the thermos that he'd set on his nightstand in one hand. Who is it now? And then, before he could react, something flew—intangible—through his window. Jumping off the bed, he pointed the thermos at the thing.

"Who are you?" he demanded—he didn't recognize the signature. But instead of answering, the ghost, turning tangible once more, began to squawk, hopping around on one leg. "Oh," Danny said, lowering the thermos. It was a ghost bird—some kind of dead hawk. Unlike some of the other ghostly animals Danny knew, it didn't appear to have the ability to speak.

From under the bed, Technus poked his head out. "What is it, ghost child?" he asked. A harness was strapped to the bird; the front had a rather familiar insignia on it, and the back supported a container with a rolled-up scroll inside. Something like relief spread inside Danny.

"It's from Dora," he murmured, half responding to Technus and half thinking aloud. Kneeling, he carefully began to undo the straps holding the scroll down. The bird was large—the size of a small dog—and had wicked-sharp claws and a beak to match. But it didn't seem interested in him as it started to preen its wing feathers (not that it likely needed to, being a ghost and all).

"The ghost princess or whatever?" Technus snorted. "What's she sending you a message for?" The tone was derisive, and Danny glared back at him. He stood, the scroll in one hand.

"Why do you think, Technus?" Since the bird didn't seem interested in doing anything but grooming itself on the floor, Danny went to sit on his bed to read the message. The scroll was made of thick, parchment-like material. It glowed faintly. "Why did you come to me when you were in trouble?" Technus didn't seem to have an answer for that, and, grumbling, he went back under the bed.

Danny unfurled the scroll to reveal small, neat handwriting, clearly written using a quill or dip pen. He almost felt like he needed a magnifying glass to read it, like some old-age scholar deciphering Benjamin Franklin's letters. His pounding head made it difficult for him to focus, but he pushed through, rubbing his temple as he read.

To my dearest friend, it began.

I have omitted names to ensure our mutual safety, should this message fall into malevolent hands. I pray to the gods above that you are well, and you should know that my people and myself are well, also. We have found a suitable place to rest in the location you described and have taken pains to obscure ourselves from human eyes. We have not yet been discovered, although hunters have taken note of the increased ectoplasmic activity in the area and reacted accordingly.

Danny frowned. He had hoped they'd been far enough away to avoid detection completely, but he guessed he'd underestimated the ghost hunters' equipment. The relief that had come when he'd realized whom the message was from only grew now that he knew Dora and her citizens were relatively safe.

After arranging our camp into a semblance of order, I pondered on the best way to contact you. At last, I decided to send our fastest bird to you, in the hopes that she would be small enough (not necessarily as in physical size, but the strength of her ectoplasmic aura) to escape detection. I apologize for the delay, though I know you will forgive me for it.

I also know that your questions regarding the incident that took place a few days prior must be numerous and pressing. I have, in this missive, endeavored to anticipate and answer them, although I am not all knowing and thus may have missed satisfying some of your curiosity.

Firstly, regarding the foes you helped me and my people to escape: they were knights of the villain known as the Empress, as well as Walker's minions, whom with I am certain you are more familiar. This Empress fell upon the Zone suddenly from the Banished Lands, quickly conquering the Outer Borders before anyone with any strength could retaliate. From there, she has made her way inward—and at each location, she offers the ghosts residing there a choice, the same that she offered me: to serve her willingly in all things or to be taken by force and made servants against their will. As you may have already surmised, Walker chose the former. I have also heard tell that my Aragon submitted, although I have not seen it with mine own eyes. I, however, could never make my people slaves.

Thus, we resisted. We were not the only ones to do so—Pandora held her keep long enough to escape, though I know not where, and to my knowledge the yetis continue their fight against her. The Empress's siege against my castle was like naught I have ever seen: her army was formidable; and she had great beasts on her side. They were massive, far larger than even myself as a dragon, and malformed as if diseased. She had three she used against us, and they were twisted and slavering, sometimes with as many as a hundred limbs, having also fangs longer than yourself.

I can only presume that she somehow gained these creatures' loyalties in the Banished Lands, for there is no other place where things such as these might be found. In what manner she did this, however, I could not begin to guess. And I cannot say how many she has in total, for I have deduced that she did not use them all when we clashed.

Mid-way through the siege, she withdrew these horrific monsters, along with herself and her most senior advisor, Aevum. I have no inkling why, save that she required them elsewhere in the Zone. My sympathy for those who had to go against them is great; for we barely managed to persevere against them in the short time they were set against us.

This turn was to our benefit, however. With only her foot soldiers and Walker left behind to finish us, I was able to use my energy, which previously had been occupied keeping the beasts I described above out of my kingdom, toward more efficient means of escape. By this I refer to my scepter, with which I was able to store up enough of my energy to open a stable portal into the mortal realm.

For all that, my strength was waning, and I fear that if you had not arrived, my knights and soldiers would not have found the determination to prevent my enemy's army from capturing and decimating my people. What you have done for me has earned you my most profound gratitude, which you will have until one or both of us ceases to exist.

It is unfortunate that I can tell you nothing further of the Empress's schemes beyond controlling the Zone. On the battlefield, I fought her but once and sustained injury because of it. I will try to describe her for you. She is unsightly: abnormally tall and skeletally thin; her skin is the color of a human bruise, a pale, sickly purple; she garbs herself in what looks to be human bones, which rattle terribly when she moves; and she fights with no weapon but her powers, though these are ample to satiate her desire for permanent destruction.

I can think of nothing else of import to relate to you, dear friend. We are making the most of our poor situation. Although I would ask you one last favor: the bird—Volant, we have christened her—will be in need of ectoplasm. Should you desire to reply, simply attach your message to Volant in the same manner you found this.

Sincerely,

Your Stanch Ally

Danny gazed down at the parchment `numbly. Somehow knowing all these details about the Empress was almost worse than being in the dark about her. Now he could picture his enemy, and the terrible army she seemed to have at her disposal. The letters on the page blurred until they appeared to be written in another language.

He let it fall to one side and buried his head in his hands. One day, he just wanted there to be no bad news, nothing bad happening—no Technus, no Dora, no GIW, no Valerie, no ghost-hunting parents. He felt like he was drowning in a pit of mud, suffocating so slowly, and he could barely move. He might try to grasp something to pull himself out, but he'd be too late by the time his fingers reached their destination. His breaths turned shuddery, and suddenly he knew it was real—he was drowning, was suffocating, only no one could see and he was about to die.

Pull yourself together, he ordered himself. He'd been in dire situations before. This was no different than Pariah Dark or his future self. He could do this. His breathing calmed, and he released his head from his hands.

"You don't have to do anything tonight," he told himself. And although he had promised Sam to contact them as soon as anything happened, he couldn't summon the energy. Instead, he curled up on his bed. Just tonight, he thought. He could prepare more tomorrow, talk with Sam and Tucker tomorrow, do everything tomorrow. Tonight, he would try and sleep—God knew he was going to need it.

But first, Volant. He got up and fetched some Ecto-Dejecto from one of his drawers. Danny used it for wounds, but it was essentially just ectoplasm, and should be good enough for the bird. Volant drank from the syringe gratefully. Then, Danny went back to his bed and laid down.

"Any news, ghost child?" Technus asked from under his bed, and Danny almost groaned. He curled up tighter.

"No," he said. "No news." And there wasn't really anything in the scroll that Danny hadn't already known, nothing he could work on right this minute. So it was best to keep calm while he could still manage it.

Still ignoring his homework, Danny decided the best thing to do was to try and relax before going to bed. The Empress could wait. It had been a while since he had relaxed, and although he felt a little guilty for doing so now, Danny got on his phone, intent on surfing the Internet for something mindless to watch. He doubted he would find any of it funny—especially with the impending end of the world—but he could try.

He should've known better than to think he might escape the reality of his situation by going on to the Internet. In fact, as he hesitantly clicked on Mary Yang's latest video and saw that someone, one of three possible someones, had betrayed him, he felt he should've known better about a lot of things. Chiefly trusting three people he'd hardly known to keep the secret that might get him killed or worse.

True, they hadn't name-dropped him in the video, but he couldn't help his rising horror as he continued to watch it. Mikey, Abigail, or Nathan—or all three—had taken it upon themselves to bypass his judgment and go behind his back to tell the world things he had said to them in confidence.

How dare they? He thought. They know this isn't a game, this isn't something to be messed with. And yet they had gone and messed with it anyway, the delicate balance Danny had to achieve every single day to avoid the GIW and his parents.

It wasn't even necessarily what they had done; it was that they'd gone behind his back to do it. They hadn't consulted him or asked if it was alright to tell everyone his story—an action only Danny felt he had the right to do. What if they had accidentally let something slip? What if what they had done had unforeseen consequences that made life harder for Danny than it already was?

The GIW were after him. His parents—who knew if his parents still thought he was a criminal. Valerie likely wouldn't change because of this. And the Empress was still coming.

Danny let his phone fall to floor, closing his eyes. Tomorrow. Like everything else, he'd deal with this tomorrow.

And I'll deal with whoever did this tomorrow, too. It was a goal he felt he could keep, especially given how out-of-reach the others seemed to be. Tomorrow, I'm going to yell at you until your ears fall off, whichever one of you did this to me.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: Confrontations

Warning: Slightly disturbing content. If you didn't like the last nightmare, I'd skip the first italicized section of this chapter.

I was kneeling on a wooden stage. It was rickety, creaking under my weight, as if it might collapse any moment. It seemed hastily constructed, with nails sticking out of the planks in odd places. It had been built outside, and clouds blanketed the sky. I looked to be in some kind of courtyard or square, as stone walls surrounded me on all sides, the only exit a portcullis on the far end. The ground was cobbled and pebbly.

People were streaming through the portcullis—people I knew. Sam, Tucker, Jazz, my parents, Valerie, Mikey, Abigail, Mr. Lancer. All were dressed in medieval peasant clothes, tunics and leggings and high boots. They didn't speak, didn't even seem to breathe, and their motions were oddly fluid, as if they had no bones or muscles and were simply animated skins filled with blood.

I tried to open my mouth, ask what was going on, but I couldn't muster the energy to move. Their blank, expressionless faces stared up at me, as if anticipating something—although they gave no other signs that that might've been what they were doing. Eventually, the flow of people stopped; everyone had arrived, apparently.

I tried again to do something, to say something, but my lips wouldn't part from one another. It was like I didn't have a mouth at all, just a seamless, smooth patch of skin where it should've been. If I was breathing—if my heart was beating, my core vibrating—I couldn't tell. There was just… nothing. I couldn't tell how long I kneeled there, how long we simply stared at each other.

Abruptly, they all turned to face the portcullis. Through it came a tall figure cloaked in black, striding confidently into the courtyard. Somehow, without seeing their face, I knew it was the Empress. The crowd parted before her. They watched her as they had watched me: silently, without expression. Their only movement was to turn their heads to follow her as she walked through them.

She didn't look back at them, however; instead, her cowl was turned to me. I gazed back, still paralyzed, as she ascended the stage. She said nothing, but I could see the glint of her teeth under her hood. They were sharp, and she was smiling. A long, bony hand emerged from one of her sleeves. She grasped the back of my neck with it, forcing my head to bow, lower and lower and lower.

I wasn't kneeling, anymore. I was laying facedown, my head trapped in a guillotine. I couldn't see the crowd—all I could see was a bucket beneath my head. The quiet roared in my ears, and still I was helpless. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.

There was an odd, breathy chuckle, and the blade was coming down—I could feel it—and my lips finally broke apart—I was ready to scream, but it was too late, and the blade sliced through my neck like it wasn't even there. My head tumbled into the basket.

But my awareness didn't end. Is this what being half-dead really means? I wondered as the Empress lifted my severed head by its hair. She showed the crowd, but their eyes remained blank. My mouth hung open, my jaw slack. I wanted to yell and cry, ask them what they were doing just standing there, but I had no vocal chords.

Dead or alive, I still couldn't move.

"—ghost child. Wake up… get… Phantom, you need… Danny!" The voice cut through Danny's nightmare like the guillotine had cut through his neck. His chest heaving, he opened his eyes to see Technus hovering over him, concern twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

The half-ghost leaped out of bed, away from him, changing into Phantom so quickly he didn't even feel the rings pass over him; he was simply human one instant and ghost the next. He slipped into a fighting stance and brought his fists up, beginning to summon an ectoblast in one without even realizing what he was doing. Technus held out his hands in a gesture of peace, and Danny's foggy, panicked mind started to clear.

"Don't shoot," the ghost said. "You're letting me stay here, remember?" Danny blinked for a moment, allowing the energy in his hand to dissipate. That was right. Technus was staying here. Why is everything so blurry? he thought. He brought his hands to his eyes to rub them, and he found them wet. Oh, I was crying…

"You woke me up?" Danny asked gruffly. His voice was hoarse from sleep. He changed back into his human form (not just because Phantom was unnecessary, but because one of his parents might come in if they heard the noise) and realized how sweaty he was.

"I did," Technus said, sounding miffed. The look of concern on his face was no longer there. Danny thought he might've imagined it. "You were making irritating noises in your sleep. It was ruining my concentration." Danny saw the encyclopedia he'd chucked at the ghost on his nightstand, open to a page on the planet Jupiter. He also saw that it was only one o'clock.

"Well, thanks, I guess," Danny muttered. Knowing that his enemy had seen him so vulnerable made something twist inside him, like someone was wringing his organs. Had he said anything in his sleep that had given away what he was dreaming about? He hoped not. Technus didn't need to get to know Danny any more than he already had. When they went back to fighting with each other, the half-ghost didn't want him using the fact that he had nightmares against him.

"You're welcome, ghost child." Technus sniffed haughtily. He added, more tentatively, "What did you dream?" Danny scowled at him. He should've known the half-ghost wasn't going to answer that. It felt wrong to—telling his enemy what he was afraid of.

"None of your business," he said. "I'm going to take a shower." His pajamas clung to his sticky skin. He moved to get a clean T-shirt and pair of gym shorts from his dresser. Danny didn't want to get buddy-buddy with the ghost. Just the thought of telling him what his nightmare had been about, the way he might tell Sam or Tucker… He shuddered.

"You seem troubled," Technus commented quietly. Danny avoided looking at him, almost slamming his drawer closed. He stopped at the last second, as he was afraid he might wake someone. No shit, Sherlock.

"I'm not sure what you were expecting," Danny said, turning to face the ghost with his clothes in his hands. "I've done basically nothing but fight ghosts for the past two years, and now there's some crazy Empress coming to take over the world, and I'm having to deal with the GIW and ghost hunters because of you. Don't sound so fucking surprised." Technus flinched minutely at his tone, looking taken aback.

"I never meant—" The ghost faltered. "You always seemed so lively during our battles. I thought you enjoyed them." Danny stared at him incredulously. He couldn't believe his ears. Was Technus really so blind? Anger flared in him, burning through the ghost's words as if they were kindling.

"Enjoyed them?" he hissed. "Yes, I enjoyed stopping you from killing hundreds of people and causing millions of dollars in property damage." Was the ghost stupid? For someone who'd hatched so many elaborate schemes (some that had almost worked), he was acting dumb.

"It's not as if I was trying to kill anyone," Technus scoffed, as if Danny was the one being ridiculous. "It's only ever been a game between us, ghost child. I escape the Zone, wreak some havoc, and you put me back." Danny felt like he might start twitching uncontrollably any moment. The fire in his chest blazed to an inferno.

"A game? A game?" he said. "And 'not trying to kill anyone'? Your stunt last month could've caused a nuclear holocaust, killing billions. And a few weeks before you almost severed the spine of a ten-year-old, cut off some man's head, and broke a woman's neck, not that you seem to care. You've caused hundreds if not thousands of injuries. Sometimes, it's all I can do to stop you from becoming a murderer." Technus almost looked sheepish.

"It's not as if they'll really die," he said defensively. "They'll become ghosts, get an afterlife in the Zone." Danny felt his nostrils flare. God, he wanted to throw the ghost out of his house for that. But leaving him as food for the GIW wasn't the right answer.

"You and I both know less than one percent of people become ghosts when they die," he snarled, barely remembering to keep his voice down. "And is becoming a ghost really a good trade for everything else they have to go through? Dying, as I'm sure you recall, is painful. And they have to give up seeing their family and everything they've ever known. Don't try to justify what you've done, Technus."

The ghost's face had blanched when Danny had mentioned his death. Contrary to his parents' hypothesis, ghosts—if they were created from a dead person—did remember their previous lives. It was, however, taboo to mention it in any way. The trauma of dying was worse than anything else, in most ghosts' opinions. Not that Danny cared at this point.

"Now," the half-ghost said stiffly, "I'm going to take a shower."

It was with the water running through his hair and down his back that Danny recalled what he'd learned yesterday. His dark mood turned darker as he frowned into the showerhead. Why didn't they listen to me? he thought bitterly. He felt violated in a way he hadn't with everyone else's speculation. Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail knew who he was, knew he wouldn't approve, and they'd done it anyway.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. They were entirely skewed in their thinking. And Technus was too, apparently. Honestly, just a game? Had everyone gone insane? He growled involuntarily as he dried himself off and got into clean clothes. At least he wouldn't have to hide his pajamas—sweat wasn't incriminating, unlike blood or ectoplasm.

In Danny's room, Technus had gone back under the bed, and he stayed silent as Danny climbed under his covers. The encyclopedia was gone from his nightstand. The half-ghost didn't fall asleep, though. He wanted to, but he was afraid he might have another nightmare more gruesome than the last. Instead, he stared up at his ceiling, wishing he could go flying to clear his head. But he'd been deprived of even that. He closed his eyes, trying not to pity himself.

"Ghost child?" Technus called softly. "Are you still awake?" Danny opened his eyes and glowered. Why couldn't the ghost leave well enough alone? He just wanted some damn peace and quiet for once.

"What do you want?" he said. There was a pause.

"I—you may be right," Technus admitted. "About—about everything… It has been so long since I died, I've nearly forgotten how difficult living can be. How fragile… We've ruined your life, haven't we?" Suddenly, there was a lump in Danny's throat. You're not going to cry, he told himself.

"Shut up and let me sleep," he grumbled. "God knows I need it." Technus acted as if he hadn't heard him.

"Before you came, we didn't come out of the Zone so often—the barrier between our dimensions was thicker here. And we didn't take things so far, I remember. I liked to scare teenagers. But when you arrived… We took it to extremes, challenging you." Danny stayed silent for a moment.

"So you're saying if I'd never become half-ghost, you and the others wouldn't have nearly killed so many people?" he asked, only partially sarcastic.

"No," Technus said. "We would've gotten there some day. You just… pushed us to do it sooner. I liked seeing how far I could make you go, and I took it farther myself because of that. I had… fun, I suppose. I didn't… I wasn't trying to hurt you, Phantom." He paused before adding, "Danny." The half-ghost's human name on the lips of someone who usually only referred to him by his ghostly one made him shiver. His two lives seemed to be merging, the line between them growing blurred as they moved closer and closer together. It was like mixing oil and water. Or blood and ectoplasm. They resisted at every turn, twisting and dodging to avoid their opposite. But eventually they would meld, welded together by hideous, white-hot circumstance.

Danny didn't reply, and Technus didn't say anything else.

Midwestern Tribune

GOVERNMENT COVERS UP EXISTENSE OF GHOSTS

by Starr Rickman

With the confirmation of ghosts shaking the nation, the question now becomes—why didn't we know about them sooner? These beings first appeared in Amity Park, a medium-sized city in Illinois, two years ago, but nothing of the revolutionary discovery reached any mainstream media or the public. But it wasn't an accident: it was a deliberate attempt on the part of the government to hide this incredible discovery.

Locally, they are known as the GIW and mocked as the "Guys in White," although these letters actually stand for the Ghostly Investigation Ward. However, unlike other branches of the government, they have no listed headquarters or buildings and no locatable websites. The only official indication that they exist is in an obscure government agency list released to the public approximately five years ago—and then, they were only listed as the GIW.

Why five years ago, when the ghosts actually started appearing two years ago? As it turns out, studying the possibility of ghosts isn't as unpopular as some might think: although unfunded and looked down upon, dozens of scientists have attempted to prove—or disprove—their existence for decades. It was two scientists in particular, however, who started to make some headway in the subject. They attracted the attention of the government by doing so.

These two scientists—also self-proclaimed "ghost hunters"—are none other than Dr.'s Jack and Maddie Fenton. Both began studying the possibility of ghosts in college, where eventually Jack Fenton achieved a doctorate in engineering and Maddie Fenton a doctorate in chemistry. Although they were both considered brilliant, they were also obsessed with proving the existence of ghosts.

They didn't let negative attention deter them. And eventually, as their research progressed, they began to gain more and more evidence that ectoplasmic beings did exist—and that they lived in a dimension parallel to our own. The government, catching wind of this, covertly began the GIW.

Had anyone discovered the GIW in those early days, it's likely that the government would've been laughed at, the current administration's reputation ruined. That said, officials continued to keep the existence of ghosts quiet even after obtaining irrefutable evidence.

After interviewing dozens of people from Amity Park, the lengths this government agency was willing to go to become clear. A senior at Casper High, Paulina Sanchez, explains: "It was like someone had gone through my Instagram account and just deleted anything ghost-related. They didn't notify me or anything—the posts were just gone. I once tried to create a fan account for Danny Phantom, and it vanished literally within, like, an hour. It was insane."

Another resident of Amity also complained of censure. Derik Heathcliff, a thirty-one year old electrician, would sometimes ask his friends or family to check the Amity News website to prove that ghosts were real. However, he says that when they looked it up, "they said the website didn't exist. I'd be on my computer, looking at it, watching updates on the latest ghost attack, and they'd tell me it didn't exist! They thought it was some elaborate prank."

A survey* was taken in Amity to see how far the GIW really had gone, and the results are startling. Approximately 83% of Amity Park's citizens report that ghost-related posts or uploads on their social media accounts have been taken down. A separate 67% said that, when trying to reach Amity news outlets when outside the city, websites or social media accounts didn't exist.

This is a clear violation of our right to free speech and freedom of the press. The government has made it clear they can't be trusted in providing accurate and urgent information to its citizens. The fact that ghosts exist is an overwhelming one, and something the public outside of Amity Park should've been made aware of much sooner.

Had it not been for the YouTuber Mary Yang and her large following, it is possible that this censure would've gone on for far longer than it had. We have her candid vlog—and follow-up video—to thank for opening our eyes.

Unfortunately, when asked to comment in this article, the GIW declined. They have, at this time, released no statement about their involvement in hiding this vital information from the public at large. But it does pose questions about the government's credibility as a whole—and what else they may be keeping from us.

*The University of Amity Park conducted this survey. It has an error margin of plus-or-minus 3%.

Related Topics:

For more general information on ghosts, click here . For more on Phantom, click here . For more on Mary Yang, click here .

Amity Times

BREAKING NEWS: GHOST BOY INNOCENT, PROTESTS AT GIW OFFICE BUILDING

by Maurice Foley

In her latest video, YouTuber Mary Yang has once again broken all expectations by providing evidence supporting Phantom's innocence for the crimes he's allegedly committed. In an interview with someone who wishes to remain anonymous, she plays footage of the crimes that was either manipulated or not released.

Kalene Fisher, an expert in doctored photography, has no doubt that the footage is authentic. "Everything points to it being real," she said, "and that really changes everything." The citizens of Amity Park couldn't agree more. Polls show that Phantom's approval rating has jumped from 47% to a staggering 83%, the highest it's ever been.

In this interview, it was also posed that the reason these videos never made it to the public was not simply error; rather, it was a deliberate attempt on the part of the GIW to frame Phantom as a criminal so that they could hunt him freely. When asked, GIW spokesman Victor Smith did comment on the matter: "Well, we didn't release it because it's not really anything substantial. We have solid proof that he committed those crimes, and we lack any evidence of Phantom's innocence."

Despite Smith's denial, the videos clearly call into question whether Phantom was acting of his volition at either scene. His eyes are distinctly red as he is robbing the store, a fact that can be seen in the footage but was kept from the public. Change in eye color is a clear sign of possession, implying that Phantom was not in control of himself when this occurred. It has also been hypothesized that Phantom's status as a human may make him more vulnerable to things such as possession, something we aren't sure can be done to other ghosts.

The video of Phantom "kidnapping" the mayor also shows evidence of possession: although, this time, it's the mayor's eyes that have changed color. It's been posited that a malevolent ghost was attempting to frame Phantom during this event. However, there is no evidence in the video supporting or refuting this, though it casts reasonable doubt on Phantom committing this crime.

The citizens of Amity Park are outraged that a government organization covered up information in an effort to justify their hunting of a teenage boy. Although the video only came out last night, protesters have already gathered around the GIW office building this morning. One protester threw a brick at one of the windows, shattering it.

Police are currently there trying to contain the scene. They've closed off the road in front of the building—17 th Avenue—for safety. They have recommended avoiding the area if possible.

Whether hunters and the GIW will cease their efforts to capture Phantom and discover his identity remains to be seen. With all of these revelations, though—that Phantom is half-human and that he's likely innocent—it's clear that the people of Amity Park are going to be treating their hero far differently than they have in past.

Mikey's glasses kept slipping down his face. It was all the sweat, he was sure. He pushed them up again and wiped his hands on his pants. He felt worse than he had originally confronting Danny about his secret, somehow more intimidated, though he felt he knew the boy better now.

"Don't worry," Abigail told him. "Even if he's angry, he's not going to hurt you or anything. And you had good reasons for what you did." Mikey tried to smile at her, but he was afraid it came out as a pained grimace. As much as he knew Abigail was right, he wasn't nervous because he was afraid Danny would hurt him. He was nervous because he was afraid he'd disappoint him.

The other boy had made it clear he hadn't wanted them to do anything without his explicit consent. And Mikey had violated that. He'd done it for good reasons, solid reasons. But would Danny see it that way? Or would he simply see it as a violation of trust? Mikey rarely deceived people, directly or indirectly, and this felt like deception of the worst kind.

But the redhead had known Danny wouldn't approve; he would have been too cautious, especially because the interview was going up on the Internet where everyone could see. He'd be afraid someone might make a connection to him. Mikey hadn't been careless, though. He'd gone over what he could reveal with Abigail and Nathan to make sure he wouldn't say anything that could in any way implicate Danny Fenton.

And sometimes a situation called for boldness, not meekness (though calling Phantom meek felt wrong). Sometimes a person had to take a risk. If they never took a chance, their life might be worse off because of it. Like a job or a hobby or—or an interview.

"I don't know if he'll agree with me," Mikey replied. Nathan patted him on the back.

"How could he not?" the other boy said. "You helped him. More people are on his side now than ever before." Mikey and Abigail shared a look. Nathan could be slightly naïve at the best of times, and Mikey didn't think this qualified as the "best of times."

"I hope he'll see it like that," Mikey muttered. But he didn't think so. The three of them had avoided the lunchroom because of the nature of their discussion, instead electing to sequester themselves in the abandoned English hallway, slumping down against the lockers. Mikey could hear people giggling loudly through the bathroom door next to them and tried not to think the worst.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. It was Danny. Where are you? He barely held in his wince. That didn't sound happy. In fact, Mikey felt like he'd rarely seen Danny text in complete sentences (not that he had a lot of texts to go on). Another bad sign.

"What is it?" Abigail asked, glancing up from her phone. Mikey couldn't hold in his wince this time, and this reaction prompted Nathan to engage in their conversation.

"It was Danny—they're coming," Mikey said. "It didn't sound good."

"You're probably just reading into it," Nathan told him. "Nothing bad happened: you didn't accidentally reveal his secret or anything. And you got the public on his side and, like, the GIW off his ass!" Mikey pushed up his glasses again.

"It's not me we have to convince," he said. "It's Danny." The people who had been giggling in the bathroom finally emerged, and an oddly sweet smell came with them. They'd been vaping. Mikey gave them a dirty look before turning back to Nathan. "And I'm not sure he'll see it our way."

"Damn right I don't," a voice said somewhere above them, and Mikey almost jumped out of his skin. Just to their right, Danny and his friends had rounded the corner. The redhead scrambled to his feet, while Nathan and Abigail rose at a slightly slower pace.

Mikey noticed immediately how terrible Danny looked—though Sam and Tucker's appearances were rough, too. The half-ghost had bloodshot eyes and half-moon bruises ringed their undersides. His hair was mussed (and not in the semi-attractive way he sometimes wore it), his clothes were rumpled, and he had an odd jitteriness to him. If Mikey hadn't known what was going on, he probably would've thought he was on some kind of drug.

"Ah, hello, Danny," Mikey said, straightening his button-up awkwardly. It didn't need straightening, but it gave him something to do with his hands. "I take it you saw the interview?" Nervousness made his voice go higher than it usually was, and Mikey willed himself not to flush in embarrassment.

"Don't play games with me, Mikey," Danny said. He surveyed the three of them. It was a hard look, and it wasn't Fenton's eyes that did it; the expression was all Phantom's. "Was it you in the video? Whose idea was it, exactly, to share the discoveries I'd asked you to keep to yourselves with the whole fucking world?" Mikey glanced at Tucker and Sam behind Danny, but both remained silent. Tucker stared at him, like he couldn't believe what Mikey had done, and Sam had her arms crossed, her lips curled into an angry sneer.

"It was me," Mikey admitted. He took a step forward. "Look, I'm sorry if it upset you, but you needed to get the public on your side. I thought—I was just trying to help." Danny's whole body seemed to quiver, as if he itched to do something but was stopping himself.

"I wasn't aware that you in any way know what Danny needs," Sam interjected. She'd clenched her fists. "As I remember, you haven't even spoken to him since we talked about his secret, and how he was trusting you, and how you were supposed to stay quiet."

"Don't be mad at Mikey because he had the guts to do something that you guys didn't," Nathan said fiercely. "You never even really tried to tell everyone what happened with the robberies and the mayor. You just ignored it and hoped it would go away." It wasn't exactly how Mikey would've put it, but the core argument was there.

"Never even—" Danny closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if trying to calm himself. Mikey sent Nathan a grateful look, but he wished his friend hadn't accused the half-ghost of not advocating for himself. It couldn't have been easy with the whole town against him. But Mikey had fixed that.

"Why don't we go somewhere else?" Tucker suggested. Although the hallways were basically still deserted, they would be bustling with kids soon. "Somewhere a little more private." Danny opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," the half-ghost agreed. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go. You three—" He pointed to them. "Follow." Mikey would've been offended at the tone, but he figured Danny had a right to be angry, even if he wasn't correct.

The half-ghost led them in silence to the unused science hall bathroom, unused because most things in it were old and broken. No one liked to go in, and honestly Mikey had thought it had been locked to stop people from using it. He didn't think he was going to make it for most of first period, and he resigned himself to a lecture for being so late to class.

Once inside, the six of them tried to make themselves comfortable. The floor seemed clean enough (even though it was a bathroom), and Mikey was glad he could set his backpack down. It was difficult, looking at how determined Danny was, to remember that it was Mikey who was right. I have good reasons, Mikey told himself again. I only have to make him listen.

"I'd like to make it clear, first," Danny began with absolute calm. His gaze didn't land on any of them, instead focused on some spot on the floor. "That I tried very hard to clear my name. I tried explaining what happened. Every time I did, you want to know what happened? I got shot at. Jeered at. No one believed me. Don't accuse me of not trying."

Mikey cringed for his friend, and Nathan had the decency to look ashamed at his comment. Abigail's face remained impassive, but Mikey saw her tapping her nail against the floor tiles. "They took a new poll," she announced, seemingly randomly. "It's just in. Did you know? Phantom's approval rating is 83%." Mikey had seen the statistic, and despite the backlash he was getting for what he'd done, he couldn't help the pride that welled in him because of that. He'd caused that. Him. Mikey.

"That's great," Sam said. She had decided not to sit with the rest of them, instead leaning against the sinks. "But that doesn't change the fact that you went behind our backs to do this."

"Because we knew you wouldn't let us take the risk," Mikey said, "even though the risk was worth it."

"It wasn't for you to decide whether the risk was worth it!" Danny cried. "It's my secret and my life—you don't get to play with it without my consent!" He did seem genuinely upset and much less collected than he had when Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail had broken the news that they'd figured out said secret. Was the pressure finally getting to him? Was he straining under the weight of the press and the hunters and the GIW? Had Mikey just made it worse?

No, he thought. I haven't. He had to believe that he'd helped—and so far, the evidence supported him.

"The public's on your side," Mikey explained. "The GIW—they aren't as much of a threat now, right? There have already been protests by their office. No way are they going to risk more."

"What you did still wasn't right," Tucker said. It hurt Mikey to know he thought that. The redhead had been hoping Tucker would be the voice of reason in the group, understanding the logic behind Mikey's decision. "It should've been Danny's choice."

"Danny wouldn't have had a choice at all if the GIW or one of the hunters got to him," Abigail said. "What Mikey did guarantees that his safety—no one would dare turn the public against them by hurting Phantom. And when Danny's safe, our city is safe. He's the best protection against ghosts we have." The half-ghost's face crumpled like a tin can at her words, though Mikey couldn't imagine why. They all knew Phantom was their best defense.

"Danny's right here," Danny said, "and even if that's true, it doesn't excuse what you did. You should've come to me with this before."

"You wouldn't have let us do it," Nathan protested.

"You don't know that!" Sam snapped. "You have no idea how we would've reacted to your suggestion. And you decided to abuse our trust when you thought we wouldn't have agreed."

"You have been cautious in the past," Mikey pointed out, trying to be diplomatic. He didn't understand why the three were so worked up about it. They were acting as if Mikey had sold Danny's secrets to the GIW. Yes, he hadn't told Danny about the interview, but it wasn't like he'd told the world his secret identity. He'd proven the hero's innocence. Why couldn't the half-ghost realize that he'd helped him and let the slight breach of trust go?

"And why do you think that is, huh?" Danny challenged. "Sam, Tucker, and I hang out together all the time—tell me, which of us could've gone and told everyone what actually happened without incriminating ourselves?" That was a fair point, actually. Nathan seemed to wilt like a sad flower out the corner of Mikey's eye, clearly dejected that his idol wasn't reacting the way he thought he should be reacting.

"I don't understand why you're so angry about this," Nathan said.

"What's not to understand?" Sam demanded. "Use that big brain of yours. You thought he would be okay with it?" Nathan shrugged.

"I didn't think you all would be this furious, no," he said. "We helped you, whether you admit it or not. We got the GIW and the hunters off your back."

Danny slumped, almost melting into the floor a little. "I know," he muttered. "I know you helped. But I'm so tired of people revealing things about me they have no right to reveal." The tone was defeated and wrong. Phantom was meant to sound defiant and determined, not like he was about to give up. It was so opposite of what was expected, like finding a polar bear in the Sahara. Disturbing. Mikey found himself wishing the half-ghost would go back to sounding angry.

But he supposed in light of all that had happened—someone exposing him as a half-ghost on TV, the Red Huntress exposing that he had a secret identity, and now Mikey exposing his innocence… It had to be a lot. And Danny was likely touchy about it. They should've seen that, should've anticipated how it might've been seen as some kind of betrayal instead of a helping hand. Mikey had, in going behind his back, done something his enemies had done.

"Just admit you shouldn't have done it," Sam pressed. "For all the good it did, it's made us feel like shit. So maybe say you're sorry, and we can be fucking done with it." Mikey always felt taken aback when he heard the renewed anger in her tone, but he realized that she was probably showing her stress differently than Danny was.

The half-ghost seemed to internalize it, letting it eat away inside him. Sam, though—she expelled it the form of fury. And she wasn't simply angry on Danny's behalf, Mikey thought; she was protective of him, too. Tucker wasn't much different in that area, but Mikey noticed he hadn't exactly been cracking jokes and being his normal, cheerful self. In fact, he seemed quieter than normal.

Was it because they saw Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail as the enemy now? Traitors? Was it stress from the situation? Something else? Mikey didn't know, and he knew prying wouldn't help. So he'd just have to diffuse the situation as best he could.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry we betrayed your trust. We should've talked with you about it first." Sam seemed to get vindictive satisfaction from the apology, but it was Danny Mikey was watching. The half-ghost simply stared at him, as if gaging his sincerity.

"Alright, fine," Nathan grumbled. "I'm sorry, too."

"Me three," Abigail said, "though I still say there were more benefits than drawbacks." Sam glowered at her.

Abruptly, Danny stood. He swung his bag onto his shoulder (it was a new one, Mikey noted, black instead of purple) and frowned at them. The expression made the lines in his face stand out, deepening the crevices between his brows and the canyons leading from the corner of his mouth to his nose. It was as if he were carved from stone.

"What's done is done," he said. "And I guess there's nothing I can really do about it now anyway. So I'll forgive you. But I won't forget, Mikey." His blue eyes were unfathomable and infinite. Mikey saw ancient plains of ice in them. He saw glaciers, as tall as skyscrapers, stretching into the sky. Danny repeated the words like a promise: "I won't forget."

"Does it fit okay?" Danny asked, checking the vest. It appeared snug, but while he didn't want it lose, he also didn't want to suffocate his friend.

"Like a glove," Tucker answered. He walked across the room, came back. He stretched, leaning down to touch his toes and then going side to side. He jumped. Danny thought he looked like someone following instructions from a fitness video. He'd walked in on his dad doing that once in the living room, and he'd done his best to erase the image of his dad wearing neon sweatbands, too short-shorts, and a tank top.

Tucker scrunched his nose up. "I take it back," he said. "It fits less like a glove and more like a stone cast around my chest. I can't breathe." Danny frowned, examining the black vest. It did appear that Tucker couldn't expand his chest all the way.

"A stone cast?" Sam asked from where she was sitting on the floor, cleaning one of her favorite ecto-guns. "That's not a thing."

"Yeah, probably because it feels like this," Tucker said, trying to stretch the straps so he could escape. "No one would want one." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Here," Danny said. "Let me help."

They were in the attic—also known as the storage-room-slash-sparring-room-slash-target-range. There were boxes stacked high in one corner, mimicking a miniature city, filled with useless equipment and random junk. Red mats, like the ones in the wrestling room at school, covered the ground. Targets were set up against the far wall, and everything had been reinforced so that a stray ectoblast wouldn't end up going into one of the bedrooms below. One floor up was the emergency blimp (or whatever the heck his parents called it), something they hadn't worked on in months.

It was Saturday, and his parents were at the school working on the ghost shield, which they estimated would be done very soon. Danny felt better today than he had in a while; nothing bad had happened since he'd seen Mikey's video, and he felt less helpless when he was working on something to stop the Empress. Maybe it was an illusion—maybe he was simply running in place, going nowhere—but at least he was running and not standing still.

The interview scheduled for tomorrow, though, was another matter entirely, one Danny was trying to keep from his mind. Just the thought of everything that could go wrong…

Jazz was in the lab, sorting through all their parents' equipment to see what might be useful and what wasn't. Technus was on lookout duty downstairs, watching for Danny's parents. Danny hadn't been enthusiastic about the prospect, but the ghost had seemed eager.

He'd been acting odd, however, since the conversation they'd had. Less impulsive and more thoughtful, almost. He wasn't as irritating, at least.

"There!" Danny exclaimed as the vest finally came off. Tucker began patting his torso, which, Danny noticed, had filled out quite a lot from all their ghost-hunting. Usually, he wore loose clothing (as Danny did) to hide his unexplainable figure, but he'd elected an undershirt for their purposes today.

"Ah, you never realize what you truly have until it's gone," Tucker said, rubbing his diaphragm. "I'll never take breathing for granted again."

They'd been stocking up on armor, weapons, and anything else they might need for the attack happening in a month. What exactly the attack entailed, Danny wasn't sure. Whenever he thought about it too hard—thinking about Dora and Technus's explanations—he felt cold and shivery all over.

So he tried not to think about it too hard and instead focused on what he was doing to stop her.

"We might have to make it bigger ourselves," Danny said, examining the piece of clothing. There had been a few ghost-proof Kevlar vests his parents had been making for the police in the lab, which Danny had taken. "I think this is the largest one."

"We've gotten so much practice fixing clothes it probably won't be an issue," Sam said, starting to fit the pieces of her gun back together. She didn't even have to look at the plans anymore, and the parts clicked into place easily. "My parents are happy I know how to sew, even if it's for all the wrong reasons. They call it a 'necessary skill' for a girl to have."

Danny remembered when he'd first given them the ecto-guns and brought them up here to practice their aim (and his own, though his parents had already shown him how to use their weapons). They'd fumbled and hadn't known what to do. He almost felt sad with how efficient they were, now.

Tucker snickered. "I know my parents would freak out if they knew I could sew," he said. "They think I'm only good at tech and cooking." Sam snorted, which was as close as she would come to agreeing that Tucker had skills in cooking. Danny did enjoy Tucker's food, though.

"At least they think you have skills," Danny muttered. He set the vest down. Tucker would probably take it home and modify it himself. The half-ghost stood over the four piles of things they'd need, divided up for each of them: Fenton phones, thermoses, ecto-guns, the vests, helmets, and specter-deflectors. "Do you need bags for this?" he asked. "I think we have a couple duffle bags up here somewhere."

"I feel like I'm getting equipment in the military or something," Tucker said. "Like, this is first day of basic training, here's all the stuff you need." Danny started to root around in the boxes for the bags.

"I don't think that's how the army works," Sam said. "But what do I know?" She tucked the ecto-gun into a holster she wore under her shirt. The weapon was small and not very noticeable if a person wasn't really looking.

"For a pacifist, you do have a lot of guns," Tucker commented.

"Anti-war, Tucker, anti-war. It's not the same," Sam said, standing. Danny, having finally retrieved the bags, held one out to each of them. They took them and began to pack the extra equipment inside.

"Now," Danny said, walking around the room to release some of his pent-up energy, "it's just a matter of figuring the shield out." Tucker and Sam watched him, concern and exasperation warring on their faces.

"I don't think it can be done, dude." Tucker zipped up his bag and set it by the door so it wouldn't be a trip hazard. "You've been thinking about this for two days straight—and your parents have been thinking about it for two years straight. If they haven't come up with anything…" He shrugged, as if to say well, there you go.

"But it can be done," Danny insisted, running a hand through his hair. He knew he'd feel better if he could set something up to better protect his city—just the idea of the Empress being able to waltz in… He tried not to think about it. "I know it can. We just have to figure out how to do it."

"Why are you so convinced we can?" Sam asked. Danny looked away; every time he thought of his future self incident, he felt shame tear through him. It was like picking at a half-healed scab—when it was mentioned, the scab was scratched off and the wound bled again. Sam hadn't meant to, however. Danny had never gone into detail about the future he'd seen beyond the basics.

"I've seen it," he replied. "In the alternate timeline. To protect Amity Park from…" Me. He couldn't finish it. Just the notion of turning his power against innocent people—people he wanted to help and save… It churned his stomach in a way other horrors rarely did. Because other horrors weren't his fault—other horrors he didn't understand—but his horrors? His horrors could've so easily happened, thousands dead because he'd decided he couldn't cope with the pain of living.

When he finally met his friends' eyes, he wasn't sure what he'd see—disgust? Pity? But he should've known better, because neither emotion was present there, just a timid understanding. While they might never truly know what took place then, what he'd gone through in that timeline, they knew better than anyone else. They knew from how he'd completely avoided certain subjects, nearly running from the room when the CAT or Nasty Burger's secret sauce was mentioned. They knew from the panic attacks, the fight-or-flight reactions he sometimes had at nothing.

They knew, and so there was nothing judgmental in their eyes. Nothing hurtful—they'd never intentionally hurt him, not ever, Danny knew.

"Do you remember anything specific about how the shield was designed?" Sam asked, getting right to the point. Danny appreciated that, too; they never treated him like glass, either, as if he was fragile. Danny tapped his chin, thinking.

"Not really. It looked standard—just bigger." Danny honestly couldn't recall anything that had outwardly seemed different about the shield. It had been a big green dome—definitely average-looking.

"Maybe it's a small change then," Tucker suggested. "Nothing super big." Danny retrieved the ghost shield blueprints from where he'd rolled them up on one of the boxes. Kneeling on the mats, he spread them out and beckoned his friends over. They sat on either side of him.

"The structural integrity just isn't there to support it," Danny said, pointing to the diagram. "See? But changing other factors to increase stability throws off all their other calculations, and the thing usually collapses anyway. Even if it doesn't, there's no way it's strong enough to ward off a fully-fledged ghost attack." Sam hmmed and Tucker read over the numbers quickly. Neither of them had as much experience with the Fentons' tech as Danny did, however.

"I just don't see how we can find something your parents missed, even though it's clear they did miss something. We can't all have engineering doctorates," Tucker said. "I mean, we can try, but…" He clearly thought it was a lost cause, and Sam didn't seem to have any better ideas.

As they continued to silently examine the diagram, Technus came floating through the door, the only part of the room that wasn't ghost-proof. The ghost did this in an oddly mellow way, instead of boisterously—the way he might've even a week earlier.

"Hello, ghost child and companions," he greeted, flying over to peer over their shoulders at what they were doing. Danny, who didn't like the feeling of having his back to his enemy (even though, technically, he'd been doing that for many nights in a row, now), turned to watch him.

"Would it kill you to learn their names?" Danny asked, then paused for effect. "Actually, I know it wouldn't—because you're already dead." Sam rolled her eyes as Tucker guffawed at the bad joke.

"I don't appreciate the poor humor," Technus informed him stiffly. "I came to tell you that your parents have arrived and are unloading their things into the house. I told the red-headed one first."

Good plan, Danny thought grudgingly, though he would never say the praise aloud. They're not exactly going to come all the way up to the attic first thing. But they might've gone to the lab.

"Thanks," Sam said, a bit warily. She still hadn't entirely forgiven the ghost for what he'd done, not that anyone else had either. She was just more vocal in her continued upset.

"You're welcome," Technus replied. "Also." He leaned down over the papers. "You have the anchorage points off. There should only be four, not six, and they go here, here, here, and here." He touched the diagram lightly as he spoke. Danny squinted at the blueprints. No way…

"They've always put six," Danny said. "And why decrease the number of anchorage points when the shield is getting bigger?" Irritation crossed Technus's face.

"I know ectoplasmic technology," he said, annoyance clear in his tone. "And you should decrease the points, not increase them, when a shield becomes larger. It's one of ectoplasm's… properties, I guess. Don't doubt me, ghost child. I am a verified genius!"

"A verified something, that's for sure," Tucker muttered. Danny traced the places Technus had pointed to, checking the math in his head. There's no way… He silently got out his phone and began to run the numbers. Absolutely no way…

But the numbers all worked.

"Technus," Danny said slowly, "you're a verified genius."

Losing the GIW agents had been easier than Danny had anticipated. Over the past week, he'd grown used to the sensation of eyes watching him, appraising his every move silently for signs of weakness: a flinch, a limp, a whimper. The half-ghost had given them nothing thus far, and with the current political climate, taking Phantom with witnesses around would mean riots.

It was such a change in attitude it almost gave Danny whiplash. How could everyone be so fickle? It was like the current in a river suddenly changing direction—entirely unprecedented. And Danny was the fish caught in the middle, spinning helpless in circles, wondering which way to swim; did he fight this new current or let it take him in a wholly new direction?

Three protesters had gotten hurt in the altercations, and somehow Danny couldn't help feeling responsible. They were angry over him, after all. And even if some part of him—some hole that had appeared there two years ago—was soothed to know they cared, the price… The price was too high.

But it had been done, and he couldn't undo it anymore than Mikey could.

To sneak out of the house, he'd simply "gone out" the back. Strictly speaking, there was no door at the back of his house—only a front door, a side door, and one to the garage. But intangibility knew no bounds, and the GIW were incompetent enough that no one was watching behind his house. He was just glad the police station was only a mile and a half away; any farther, and walking might've been a problem.

He wore dark, baggy clothing, his hood pulled up and a hat to help conceal his identity. It would, after all, be terribly suspicious if Fenton were to be seen outside the station just before Phantom went in. He fingered the Fenton phone in his pocket; Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were on stand-by, just in case. No sense in repeating what had happened at the mall, with Danny hiding, hurt, in some random location.

There weren't many people on the streets. Whether this was due to the cold (which honestly wasn't even that bad for Illinois—it was only November), the protests, or something else, Danny wasn't sure. He avoided looking at them in any case, afraid of being recognized.

The walk to the station was not a long one. Danny deftly steered clear of the front entrance, instead wandering to one of the alleys nearby. He peered around, searching for any cameras; he saw none, fortunately. He ducked behind one of the trash bins, so he wasn't visible from the front of the alley. Only then did he allow himself to transform in Phantom.

The anxiety that had been buzzing in his bones all day, making him jumpy and shaky, was tucked deep away. He was Phantom, now—cocky, strong, determined. The distinction between him and Fenton had to remain distinct. He straightened his spine and tried for a smirk. He couldn't see it, but it felt like clay on his face and probably looked no better. Maybe just strong and determined, today.

He strode out of the alley confidently, as if he had every right to be there in broad daylight outside the police station on a Sunday afternoon. The parking lot was basically deserted, and he could see the GAV looming over all of the other cars a few rows down.

Danny opened the doors to the police station and walked in, adding a little saunter to his steps. I'm Phantom, and the only time anyone's ever seen me is when I'm fighting another ghost. The front lobby had a desk and a waiting area, complete with outdated magazines and drooping plants. There were a few people sitting in the chairs, and they gaped when they saw him. Danny resisted the urge to make some stupid quip—now is not the time—and approached the desk.

The man there was not paying attention, focused on his computer screen. His fingers tap-tap-tapped at the keys on the keyboard. Danny cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. One of the people in the waiting room gasped behind him. The secretary still didn't look up.

"Excuse me, sir," Danny finally said, his voice as echo-y as it always was. When the man looked up, his eyes widened, and he fumbled with his glasses like he might be seeing things. Danny smiled at him, trying to inject sincerity into it. "Yes, it's me. I have an appointment, I think?"

"I—we—they weren't sure you'd actually show up," the man stammered, his pale face beginning to turn a bright shade of red. The half-ghost noticed his nametag read Brian. "It's a huge honor to meet you." He stared at Danny intently, as if he were making sure Danny was actually real. The moment continued, and continued, and continued…

"My appointment?" Danny prompted. The man snapped out of it, blushing harder. His skin was the ripe shade of a grapefruit's insides.

"Ah, yes. That's going to be Lieutenant Maria Valdez's office—down that hallway there, second doorway on the left. There's a big sign," Brian explained in a very formal, practiced voice. It was the tone he probably always used to give directions.

An office, Danny mused. Not an interrogation room. That's a good sign, I guess. And a lieutenant. Is that better or worse than a regular officer? He decided to take it all as good signs but prepare in case they were bad signs. He didn't think he could deal with another Agent R.

"Okay, thanks," Danny said. His bones seemed to be shivering again as he walked out of the main lobby. Everyone's eyes followed him; he could feel them on his back. Second door on the left. The door had the words Lieutenant Maria Valdez next to it. The half-ghost heard voices within—two women, one he was intimately familiar with and one he was not. My mother and this Valdez person, he thought. He knocked politely before opening the door, and the voices stopped mid-sentence.

"Hello," he greeted, stepping into the office. It was small, nicely decorated, with a modest desk in the center. Three chairs sat in front of the desk; his parents, laden with ghost gear, occupied two of these. The last, off to the left, was empty. An unfamiliar woman with dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair sat behind the desk, which was almost entirely clear of papers. Light seeped in from a small window behind her. She wore a blue uniform.

"Phantom," his mom acknowledged stiffly. Not your mom, he corrected himself. She's Maddie here. Maddie and Jack. You can't let anything slip now—not when you're so close. This would likely be the longest conversation he'd had with Jack and Maddie as a ghost.

None of the three rose to shake his hand or anything, so Danny simply slid into the open seat. The chair was relatively comfy—it had cushions, at least.

"Hello, Mr. Phantom," the stranger in front of him finally said. Danny wondered if his casual entrance had taken her aback, but what had they been expecting—that he'd just come up through the floor? He would've had to search the whole building to find out where he was meant to go, and that was just more time for the GIW to find him on their radar. "I'm Lieutenant Valdez. It's nice to finally meet you officially."

"Officially?" Danny asked. He looked closely at her—her straight nose and rounded face did seem a little familiar, but he'd met almost half the city during the past two years. There was no way he'd remember everyone.

"I saw you about a year ago—you helped with that armed robbery at the Shell gas station on Dogwood Lane," she prompted. Danny remembered. He'd been patrolling, had heard the gunshots, and flown over. He'd rescued some poor teenage clerk—Derrin or something—and a couple customers. It had been a simple matter to disarm and dispatch the would-be robber. The police had arrived moments later—including, he supposed, Valdez.

"I remember," Danny said. He was glad that then, at least, the police had realized he was on their side.

"Maybe we could get on with the questions, Lieutenant?" Maddie asked. Danny noticed she had a very small notebook in her hand, probably one filled with questions for him.

"Yes, we have some very important inventions we need to get back to," Jack added. "All sorts of things, weapons meant to—" He glanced at Danny out of the corner of his eye and blushed, cutting himself off. He couldn't know the half-ghost had already heard his spiel a thousand times, and while it never really hurt any less, he'd grown used to the pain. Jack coughed. "Anyway—things to do."

"You're right," Valdez said. "It's probably for the best if we continue. Mr. Phantom, if you consent to it, I would like to record our conversation." For evidence, maybe?

"It's Phantom. And sure." Nothing he said would point to him having actually committed the crimes. Valdez took a recorder out from the drawer of her desk and turned it on, saying her name and the date into the microphone.

"We'll start with your alleged crimes," Valdez said. "But firstly, to clarify, did you orchestrate the anonymous interview done with Mary Yang?" Although Danny had forgiven Mikey for what he'd done, his insides still clenched at the reminder of how little he controlled his secrets, his life…

"No," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "It was done without me knowing."

"Was the footage accurate to your knowledge?" Maddie asked. "Do you recall the events happening as they did in the videos?" Danny rubbed his face. It would probably be better to explain both events in their entirety than wait to be asked questions.

"Yes, though I can't say I remember much about robbing the store," Danny said. "But I can tell you the truth behind both incidents—if you'll listen to me." That last bit was tacked on as a warning: hear what I'm saying and don't jump to conclusions. Maddie and Jack nodded.

"Of course," Valdez said. "Continue."

So for the second time in as many weeks, Danny told them the tale of Freakshow and Walker and what had been done to him at their hands. His time with Freakshow was mostly a blur, but Sam and Tucker had filled him in afterward. Valdez's face was impassive throughout—she could've been part of a landscape, a rock or a tree. His mo—Maddie alternated from sympathy to suspicion, and Jack's eyes widened at the appropriate points. None of them interrupted until he was done.

"What was the crystal made of?" Maddie asked. Why? Danny thought. Do you want some for yourself? Make some fancy ghost weapons with it?

"I have no idea," Danny answered truthfully, though if he'd known the correct answer he would've lied. "And I don't want to know. It was smashed to bits, and nothing close to it has come up since." He didn't want to tell them how horrible it had been to be so out of control, so powerless. With overshadowing, one could at least fight the invading ghost. But how did someone fight a staff?

"Does your unique biology make you more vulnerable to possession?" Jack asked eagerly. "The staff was only meant to control ghosts, but it sounds like you were affected as badly as a full ghost." Danny grimaced.

"I don't know. I've never really been in a position to test it." Sydney had possessed him, yes, but he had no idea if Sydney could've done that to a full ghost either. Danny tried not to think about the specific weaknesses that came with being half-ghost—things that didn't affect humans or ghosts but affected him. It was quiet for a moment as the other three processed his response and thought up more questions.

"Why did this Walker ghost want revenge so badly?" Valdez asked. Her eyes were so focused they seemed to skewer Danny on the spot. "What did you do to him?" Danny didn't exactly want to explain his full history with the ghost—it was long and personal. So he settled for an abbreviated version.

"Like I said, he's a warden. But the part of the Zone he 'owns,' I guess you could say, is a place all the ghosts avoid. Mostly because he has a bunch of bogus laws he makes up whenever anyone goes there so he can imprison them—with really long sentences too. Like a thousand years. And, well, he tried imprisoning me. I escaped and released some of the other prisoners. He hasn't liked me since," Danny said, slightly proud that he'd managed to put it so concisely.

"I see," Valdez said, sitting back. She tapped one finger on the desk. "Given the circumstances and evidence in your favor, I believe you're innocent of what the GIW accuses you of. But you're still a child." I haven't been a child since I stepped into the portal. But Danny couldn't say that; it would give the game away, for only one family had access to a ghost portal.

"A child you need." Danny ignored the feeling in his gut that he was saying something wrong—he wasn't used to being so confrontational with humans. But he'd finally been given the chance to defend himself to someone of authority. Letting that slip through his fingers would be like climbing to the top of a cliff and, just as he was getting over the ledge, allowing himself to fall. Danny couldn't fall. And he still needed to persuade them to do something about the Empress situation.

Maddie made a disbelieving noise. "I realize you're not a criminal, Phantom, but don't you think it would've been better if you'd let the adults handle it?"

"Let you handle what? Being thrown into walls? Plummeting six stories to the ground?" Danny demanded, leaning forward. She flinched, and the half-ghost tamped down on his guilt. "Last I checked, normal people can't survive stuff like that. If I'd let the 'adults handle it,' the adults would be dead." He couldn't believe he was saying this—and to his parents, no less. "And you have no idea how old I am. I could be a legal adult."

"Experts have placed your age anywhere from fifteen to seventeen," Jack interrupted. "No one thinks you're eighteen or older."

"But do they know?" Danny said. "And that doesn't invalidate my earlier argument." It was surreal, arguing the merits of him hunting ghosts as a ghost to his ghost-hunting parents. He'd dreamed of telling them all this in the beginning, dreamed of winning them over, them letting him be Phantom as he wanted. No more disappointment at missing curfew or falling grades—just pride that he was helping people.

He doubted this would go as his dreams had.

"We have equipment," Maddie said. "Expertise." Danny twitched. Never had his parents sat down and talked to a ghost; never had they gone into the Zone. Expertise? Compared to most, they were experts. But it was like placing a ten-year-old in a room full of toddlers. The ten-year-old was an expert only because the toddlers were clueless.

"You don't know the Zone," Danny pointed out. "And you don't know anything about ghost culture." Which varied, a little bit, depending on which group of ghosts one was talking about; the yetis in the Far Frozen had far different practices compared to, for example, Dora's people. And those differed from ghosts residing on the outskirts of the Zone, or those in Walker's domain.

"Ghosts don't have a culture," Jack contradicted. He didn't say it meanly or cruelly—it was simply a fact to him. "Most of them are very limited in how they think, too limited to really create a culture. They just want to hurt the living."

"No," Danny said. I'm going to be calm and reasonable about this, he thought, even as something in him quivered at his forwardness. These were ghost hunters, people loaded with weapons ready to incapacitate him in a variety of ways. And he still needed them to believe him about the Empress. "You see a disproportionate amount of ghosts trying to hurt people because those are the ones that come out of the Zone. Most of the ghosts simply exist there. It would be like—like taking a sample of human population from a particular place. It's not really representative of the whole." Jazz would be proud of that argument. It was one of the things he'd tried explaining to her in the early days (when she'd asked why all ghosts seemed bent on world domination or killing him), and he hadn't known how to answer her exactly.

Danny could see that his parents—the ghost hunters—wanted to protest. Maddie gripped her armrest, and Jack frowned. But neither said anything further on the subject, clearly not wanting to upset him. Even though I'm not a criminal, I'm not very credible in their eyes, he thought bitterly. What would it take for them to just accept him at face value?

"Phantom, how does knowing these things help fight ghosts?" Valdez asked. "As far as I can tell, the Fentons are still the better option." The irony in her words didn't escape Danny. I am a Fenton, he thought. "And as a minor, you shouldn't be allowed to fight, regardless of your ability."

Danny wanted to run a frustrated hand through his hair or even rub the back of his neck to relieve the awkward tension. But those were Fenton's ticks, so instead he settled for the tap-tap of his toe on the floor. Not fast enough to be considered anxious, but enough that he felt the relief fiddling would bring.

"I fight ghosts better because I know them better. I know their names, their motivations. The same can't be said for most ghost hunters." It was the politest wording he could think of to call out his parents. Not your parents right now, Danny. Don't slip up. "And haven't you read that study UAP published? It speaks for itself." He referred to, of course, the study the University had done. It had been satisfying to read. Not glorifying, but Danny was relieved to know that things would've been worse without him. Maddie and Jack would have to concede the point—they were scientists, after all.

"Fine," Maddie said grudgingly. "You have a point. But as a minor you still shouldn't be allowed."

"Unless you're arresting me, I don't think you can't stop me," Danny said, turning to Valdez. He raised an eyebrow. "You aren't arresting me, are you?" Valdez didn't crack a smile—her eyes didn't even crinkle.

"I'm not," she said. "You've committed no crimes, as far as I can tell, and the fact that the US government continues to lie about your innocence is appalling." Not that this conversation hasn't already, but that comment really puts a damper on things. He didn't need to be reminded that the GIW saw him as less than human. He might have another panic attack, like he had when Victor-whatever had said this to the entire student body.

"How did this even happen to you in the first place?" Jack asked. His expression was pure scientist: eyebrows drawn in, mouth small and ponderous. "We theorized that you'd have to be exposed to overwhelming amounts of ectoplasm upon—well, upon death for this to happen." Danny's foot-tapping stopped. His death. Right.

"Danny, be sure not to go into the lab, okay? I know the portal didn't work, but… We used a lot of electricity to power it. I don't want you kids hanging out down there." His mom's words rang in his ears: the last words she spoke to him pre-accident. Then, she and his dad had gone out—shopping or something, he didn't remember—and he'd ignored her instructions. He'd paid for it, though. It was a lesson he could never forget.

"It happened like you said," Danny told them. Maddie paled at the thought of what that would actually look and feel like. Jack's fascination dropped into something more disturbed. Even Valdez paused, her face darkening.

"But how?" Maddie said. "There are very few circumstances in which the specific conditions could be reached in order to produce a half-ghost."

How did he answer without giving himself away? Maybe the best thing would be to not answer at all—but how to do so without harming the tentative truce between himself and the hunters?

He intentionally hunched in on himself, making himself look smaller, more vulnerable. Or trying to, at least. "They just were, okay? I don't exactly like talking about it." That shut them up, his paren—the hunters' looks of curiosity shutting down into something more respectful. Valdez clasped her hands in front of her on the desk, examining Danny earnestly.

"Were your parents negligent, Phantom?" she asked. Danny blinked, startled at the question. It was an abrupt thing, being asked if his parents had somehow mistreated him, especially since they were only a few feet away.

"No." He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "And they're… I mean, they're still around. You don't need to use the past tense." He cleared his throat awkwardly, resisting the urge to rub his neck again.

"Do they know?" his mom—Maddie, her name is Maddie—questioned. Danny shook his head mutely.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Jack asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled, as if he couldn't comprehend keeping secrets from his family. And Danny supposed he didn't—he hadn't ever really had the need to keep secrets.

"Would you?" He hadn't meant to let so much bitterness creep into his tone, but there it was. "Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. I'm half-ghost now, please don't turn me into the GIW? Is that how it was supposed to go?" And his tone was getting bitterer. Two years of keeping secrets will do that. He tried to rein it in. "By the time I'd figured out what had actually happened to me, it was too late. They're very… anti-ghost, I guess you could say."

"Do you feel as though you're in danger at your home?" Valdez asked. Danny wondered if she meant to call CPS. He thought about how that might go. Hey, this half-ghost teenager is living with ghost-hunting parents. I think he needs to be removed from their home. Sure.

"They wouldn't hurt me if they found out." He had to believe that. Even when he'd come home smarting from one of their new inventions, he'd had to believe that. They love me, they love me. And they were sitting right there, unaware it was their son in front of them.

"Then why haven't you told them?" Jack asked again. "If you don't believe they'll harm you…"

"I'm not afraid of them," Danny insisted. "I'm afraid…" Of their disappointment? No—they didn't seem to like Phantom, but they'd let go of their belief (finally) that he was a criminal. "I'm afraid they'll only accept this part of me because of my human half—they won't see me for me. They'll only see an exception." He could tell by the looks on their faces that they weren't getting it, but this already felt like too much of a confession for him to continue to explain. "Anyway, I—" He was cut off by shouting outside. The half-ghost's ectoplasm went cold, colder than it was already, and he jumped to his feet, almost toppling the chair. He knew that voice.

Agent R.

"I need to get out of here," he said, almost overwhelmed with panic. His core thrummed with his distress. If the GIW were here, Valerie couldn't be far behind. And Danny didn't feel like being chased today. Not to mention, he still hadn't warned them about the Empress. What to do, what to do—

"Wait, Phantom." Valdez stood next, determination hardening her features. "Stay here. I'll take care of this." She walked out of the office before he could protest that the GIW wouldn't accept no from anyone—especially not Agent R. His instincts screamed at him to fly away, leave while they were distracted. He had enough energy to teleport, even—and his house wasn't far away.

"Don't worry, kid," Jack assured him. He reached a hand up to clap him on the back, but Danny flinched away. "We won't let 'em get you."

"The GIW don't care about anyone," Danny said to the ghost hunters. "Do you get it? They'll shoot you, too, for helping me. I have to go."

"You can't!" Maddie exclaimed, she too shooting from her seat. "We still have questions for you, Phantom. You need to tell us your identity." Danny glared at her. Now was not the time for this—and had she really thought that would work?

"I don't need to tell you anything," he said. The yelling was getting worse, and the words Danny could make out didn't sound good. He didn't think his parents could make anything out, but Danny felt the ectoplasm drain from his face as he heard Valdez and Agent R bellow at each other.

"—I have a warrant for Phantom's arrest! You can't lawfully stop me from doing my job!" That was Agent R.

"But I can arrest you for committing perjury. You know full well he's innocent." Valdez.

"We have every right to believe he's committed robbery and attempted kidnapping…"

Valdez's plan wasn't working. Agent R would be there any minute—and Danny needed to be gone when he did.

"Listen to me," he commanded suddenly, facing his parents. "I have to tell you something—it's important. In three and a half weeks, a ghost is going to come. She calls herself the Empress, and she's going to come with a ghost army. Think Pariah Dark, but worse."

"What are you talking about?" Maddie demanded. "How do you know all this?" Danny's sense of urgency grew—there was no time to explain everything. Why did his parents have to be so damnably thorough? He wanted to shake his mom, yell at her. Instead, he breathed deeply through his nose. Calm. I am calm.

"Trust me," he begged, glancing back at the door. "After everything you've learned about me, do you think I'd lie about this? I need you to spread the word—get people prepared. Make more weapons, give them to police and civilians."

"How big is this army?" Jack asked. Pounding steps coming from down the hall—nearly there, then.

"No time! We can talk later—"

Agent R and two other guys in white burst through the door, ectoguns out and blazing. Danny ducked, the first shot slamming into Valdez's nice desk with a bang. His parents were shouting for them to stop, moving to get in front of him, that was nice if unnecessary of them, Valdez was coming up behind the agents, fury etched into her face—

—And then Danny was gone, vanished from the spot. He reappeared in his room, panting slightly. It was perhaps the fifth time he'd teleported ever, but he seemed to be all there. I need to get better at that, he thought, transforming back into a human. Technus poked his head out from the bed and gave his disheveled appearance a suspicious look.

All things considered, it had gone better than it could've.

"Rough day?" the ghost asked sympathetically. Danny, who was tired of trying to figure him out—potential murderer one day, nice guy the next—only scowled.

"Shut up, Technus," he muttered. The ghost wisely chose to do just that, and he disappeared back under the bed.

Amity Times

MAYOR VLAD MASTERS MISSING

by Maurice Foley

In these trying times, the people of Amity Park look to their leaders for reassurance and guidance. What are they to do, then, when they find said leaders missing? Our very own mayor, Vlad Masters, who was elected approximately one year ago, hasn't been seen since the revelation that Phantom is half-ghost.

His secretary, Janet Brown, reports that he scheduled an unexpected and abnormally long vacation from office—nearly four weeks. He did not give any explanation for this vacation. Business partners, family members, and friends also report not knowing the reason for his departure.

He was due back two days ago, but he hasn't been seen since he left. His properties have been searched, and no one has seen any sign of him. At this time his whereabouts are unknown. Police have not found any evidence pointing to foul play, though they are not discounting it at this time.

If you have any information about Mayor Masters or have seen him in the past four weeks, please call this number—XXX-XXX-XXXX—or contact the local authorities.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: Reversions

"…How much ecto-energy would it even take to create a half-ghost? If we can find some kind of a baseline, then we can narrow down the possibilities of who it could be. There can't be that many people who've had the opportunity to be exposed to that much ecto-energy," his mom was saying as she and Jack came in through the front door. Danny felt oddly envious for a moment—no GIW watching them, taking their things, and threatening to torture them. They could go in and out of the house as they pleased without regard for who might see them.

Then, what she had actually said caught up with him. A terrible sliver of fear pierced his gut. It will all be theoretical, anyway, he thought. It doesn't matter—and there's no way they'll think it's me even if they do figure out that getting blasted by a portal can create a half-ghost. Still, the sandwich he was eating was suddenly bland and tasteless, like eating paper. He pushed it away, though he knew he needed to eat something. His teleportation had taken too much energy, as it always did.

I need to get better at that.

"Do you think any of the other ghosts we've run into were half-human, Mads?" his dad asked. "The Red Huntress talked about knowing others. But the odds of more…" He trailed off.

"We should get on those tests right away," his mom agreed. They both moved into the part-kitchen, part-dining room, where Danny was sitting at the table and staring at his food, willing his appetite to come back. I like turkey and cheese, he thought mournfully.

"Hey, Dann-o," his dad greeted, ruffling his hair. "What have you been up to?"

Danny fought to keep his face under control. "The usual," he said vaguely. Lying to you, trying to stop a crazy evil ghost, getting the GIW off my back. "Homework and stuff." He wondered if they'd believed Phantom about the Empress—or if they were planning on doing anything about what their former-enemy (son) had said. He hoped they would. He wanted his parents on his side, behind him, supporting him, as they had before he'd managed to turn himself half-ghost. Before the lying and the bad grades and the missed school and the disappointed looks.

He wanted them to be proud of him, their half-ghost son. He wanted them to understand him, to approve of what he'd done. It was the same urge that had overcome him nights ago, when he'd been down here sipping hot chocolate with his mom. But he couldn't tell them, couldn't give up his secrets. How much would it hurt, spilling all he'd kept from them the past two years?

His mom sighed, opening the fridge to look for some lunch. "I just wish we'd had more time with him. He answered so many questions, but he left so many others blank." His dad went into the kitchen, too, watching Maddie bring out the things she needed to prepare a salad—lettuce, cucumber, bell pepper, tomato.

"Valdez thought she could drive the GIW off." Danny's dad shrugged. "But she was wrong, and none of use knew the agents would even be able to get a warrant. There's nothing we can do about it now, Mads. We'll just have to figure out some way to talk with him later. Hey, what if we—" here his voice rose with his excitement—"make something for him, disguise his ectoplasmic signature somehow, so the GIW can't track him. It wouldn't be a problem if we tried to talk with him again." His hands gestured oddly in his fervor.

Would they really do that for me? Danny wondered. His insides warmed at the prospect—they really were on his side, even if they were only doing so because they knew he was part human. But just the fact that they no longer viewed Phantom negatively was crazy to him. He studiously tried not to think about what they might be trying to do to him if he had really been turned into a full ghost in the accident.

His mom made a face as she began slicing the lettuce, as though she'd smelled something gross and rotting. His dad brought out another cutting board and started helping, chopping up some tomato. "Should we really do that, Jack? We'd be giving him the ability to hide not just from the GIW but from everyone else, too." She put the chopped-up lettuce into a bowl. Danny tried to appear as though he weren't listening, taking a bite of his sandwich.

She still doesn't trust me. Frustration rose in his throat, bitter on his tongue. What did he have to do for her to stop doubting him? Throw himself in front of a bus to save someone? She knew he hadn't committed any crimes; she knew he was dedicated to protecting Amity. Her doubt was physically painful. It felt as though she was denying him a piece of himself. That was what Phantom was—a piece of himself. No less than his human part, anyway.

The scars she'd left from years of awful judgment had just begun healing—why was she tearing them open so callously now?

"Would that be so bad?" his dad challenged. But his voice wasn't hard—it was oddly soft. "You saw what the Red Huntress did to him, what the GIW want to do to him. What we almost did to him. We owe him. And he's just a kid." His mom kept frowning.

"He shouldn't have fought the ghosts in the first place. And just because he didn't commit those crimes doesn't mean he should have the right to hide from everyone. We should have a way to track him."

Why? The suspicion was a poison. Insidious. Why does she want to track me? Do they plan on capturing me for the GIW? Arresting me? No. That was stupid. His parents didn't even like the GIW. And if they had wanted to capture him, they could've tried in the warehouse or at the station. His parents were many things, but liars were not one of them. Not like him. And they couldn't go after him—he was human now. He had rights.

Rights Dora and her people don't have. Rights Wulf doesn't have. Rights Frostbite doesn't have.

"We could have some kind of tracker for us, then," his dad said, clearly trying to compromise. It was hard for him to go back on an idea once he'd had it—it was why they had so many weird inventions that had no practical application. His dad just couldn't help himself, and Maddie enjoyed making complex machines for the sake of making complex machines. "Blocks the GIW and the Huntress, but we can find him."

Danny's mom's nose twitched, but she nodded as she washed some vegetables. "Yes, that could work. Don't get me wrong, Jack—I believe him about everything. But he shouldn't have kept his status to himself. At the very least, he shouldn't have tried to fight the ghosts. He's a minor."

Tried? Danny thought. I did fight the ghosts! Better than both of you combined. It wasn't arrogance—he knew his parents were not very skilled in the field, especially his dad. His mom was more capable. Valerie did rival him, though—he could admit that. He wanted to get up and leave; this was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. He didn't think he could sit there as they argued about helping him. If they did end up giving a signature-blocking device to his ghost half, were they even planning on telling him about the tracker, too? Danny had thought they weren't liars, but he supposed he had to have gotten it from somewhere.

They'd made no mention of the warning he'd given them about the Empress. They'd probably already talked about it—or they didn't believe him. Likely it's the second option. Their opinions of Phantom had changed, but they hadn't changed enough.

"Exactly. A teenager barely knows what they're doing on a good day," Jack pointed out. Evidently, they'd forgotten that Danny was there, listening in. The half-ghost stayed still and silent. I should know what else they think. "There's no way he thought it all the way through." His mom's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Yes, I suppose. I just wanted to ask him so many more questions, even if some of the information he gave us is wrong." She chopped the cucumber vigorously.

Wrong? I never once lied to you during that questioning! It had probably been the first honest conversation he'd had with his parents in months. And lies of omission didn't count; he'd let them assume what they would. He warred with himself: stay and listen to this vitriol or leave and not know what they thought about him. He was nearly finished with his sandwich, but… Strategically, it made more sense to stay.

"I know. The whole 'ghost culture' thing." His dad chortled, getting out some kind of oil for the salad. Danny tried not to scowl. "And the warning at the end was odd, too. We've dealt with ghost armies before just fine; I don't know why he was so panicked." His mom shrugged. It wasn't the response he'd wanted, but it was better than nothing. They at least seemed to believe something was coming, even if they didn't have the urgency he'd wanted them to.

"It wouldn't hurt to give more people more weapons, especially the police," his mom said. "We need to figure out a way to talk to him again, Jack. Alone—Valdez was a good way to convince him we weren't there to capture him, but she asked the wrong questions. We need to know about his biology, how he came to be. If he has an Obsession. Why he didn't go to the hospital after he became half-ghost. There must've been side effects to having that much ecto-energy pumped into his body at once." His dad nodded enthusiastically, getting out bowls to dish their salad up.

"The only way he'll show up is if there's a ghost around," he said. He served himself some salad, accidentally spilling some onto the counter. Maddie watched it absently. "So we'll have to try and be faster than usual to catch him before he disappears."

And if I stay will you just try to pry my identity out of me again? Danny didn't want them figuring it out. He didn't want someone else outing him. He wanted them to know on his terms—no one else's. He wanted control over his own secrets, a power he hadn't known since Technus had forced his half-human status into the open. And he wanted them to accept him, all of him.

He wanted so many things. Most of them were probably impossible.

"Did it go well, then?" Danny asked, finally breaking into the conversation. His parents turned to look at him in surprise; they had forgotten he was even there. It happened more than Danny would've preferred—they often got caught up in their own ideas and conversations about experiments. "Since you want to talk with him again."

"It didn't go badly," his mom replied. They both sat down across from him. "He wouldn't give out his identity, though." Danny willed his face to not look sardonic. Or angry. Or annoyed. I'm having a normal conversation with my parents that isn't about my alter-ego.

"Were you expecting him to?" He finished the last bite of his sandwich. His mom had a far away look in her eye.

"No, I wasn't. But it's terrible, Danny—not knowing. He's a scientific anomaly, the likes of which we may never see again. And he's been hiding. What if he'd gone his whole life without telling anyone?"

Anger swept through him—and bitterness, too. Would they ever see him as an actual person? They were always so convinced he'd done something wrong—as an evil ghost or human criminal. And now, what, he was supposed to be an "anomaly"? Like some kind of fancy cave rock or space phenomena?

"So you think he should've told the entire city he was half-human? For science?" I won't sound incredulous. I won't. Was this all about having answers to her? Not about the Empress or how the city had treated him or how she had treated him. No—she just wanted to know about his ghost biology. Maybe even experiment on him. The thought made him shiver. He'd thought with his revelation as a human that they'd have gotten past this. It seemed his expectations had been too high.

"No, but he should've revealed his identity to us—we have a right to know," Maddie said. "For his protection." Danny's hand twitched; he resisted the urge to clench it into a fist. I am calm. She wasn't wrong, after all. They did have a right to know, but not for the reasons she thought—whatever those were. They had a right to know because they were his parents, his family, and the people who had built the portal that had turned him half-ghost. Not that they knew any of that.

"Why do you have a right to know?" he asked when he thought he'd be able to control his tone. It sounded okay to his ears—neutral, at least. It gave no hint to the fury within, as torrential as any hurricane. Because how could they? They knew he was a human now. They knew he wasn't a criminal now.

"Because we're the leading experts on ghosts, Dann-o," his dad said. He'd already scarfed down half his bowl. "We don't know what kind of side-effects he could be experiencing because of his mutation. He probably doesn't even know half of what's happened to him—" I'm pretty sure I do, thanks—"and if he won't tell us, how are we meant to help him?" Danny's lips twitched, wanting to twist into an angry frown.

"Help him how?" he pressed, trying not to sound as invested as he really was in the answer.

"Well, we want to cure him of course," his mom said. The half-ghost stared at her. He suddenly felt as though he was falling—the ground one hundred feet below him, buildings blurring around him. The anger morphed to fear—what would they do to him to "cure" him? Would they hurt him? If they found out he was Phantom, would they use their status as his guardians to do whatever they wanted to him? "He's still alive, Danny—there's a chance your classmate could be fixed!"

Falling, falling. Her voice sounded far away. The infinite sky above, the hard earth below. Her words had swept him off the precipice he'd been clinging to. They thought something was wrong with him—his ghost-half was like a disease, a cancer. Something horrific that needed to be dealt with. Cured. A pressure built up behind his eyes.

"Oh." Why did it always end like this? Why did they always find fault in him? What had he done to deserve it?

…could be fixed…

"I know!" his dad clapped him on the shoulder. "It's great! Once we gain his trust, we'll be able to get more data. With more data, we can create a cure! Maybe. We think. I mean, for a human to be forced to deal with ghost urges and a ghostly form…" Jack shuddered, as though it was the worst thing imaginable. "Well, we don't want that for anyone, much less a high-schooler."

"Yeah, that's…" Danny felt faint. The world was spinning. Was he really falling? Hadn't he been sitting? He couldn't seem to get enough air. "…Great." They thought he was infected. A fucking freak. They would never love him, not really. And they'd never be able to accept that nothing was wrong with him—that he was fine as he was. They poke him and prod him if they found out. Until there was nothing left, not human or ghost or anything Danny. Just an empty body.

…can create a cure…

His limbs were tingly, weightless. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't breathe. His dad was talking again, rambling about their plans for a cure. A cure. They'd never understand that the ghost was a part of him. They'd never accept him—not wholly. Not ever. The questioning had been nothing more than a way to gain his trust, a way to ensure he wasn't a criminal so their cure wouldn't be wasted. He really had gotten his lying from them.

This was just like the interview they'd had with the news. It was just like Valerie's revelation that he truly was half-human. Nothing ever changed their bad opinion of him; their hatred blinded them. Even if they pretended they had changed, they'd only be deceiving themselves, too. They despised ghosts. There was nothing more abhorrent to them. A half-ghost was no different. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure there wasno way to cure him. Separating his halves led to severely distorted personalities—and maybe other things, too. He doubted he'd be able to last longer than a week in either form if they weren't together. He was Phantom, after all.

He couldn't breathe.

He imagined his dad, wearing the gauntlets, thrusting his hands inside his son's chest and grasping and pulling until Phantom was out and Danny felt empty and he'd stand there and smile like he'd done something good and say you're fixed now son.

"…get a sample of his blood and ectoplasm, that might enable us to—"

"I'm going upstairs," he heard himself say. His parents were staring, but he didn't care. His legs felt wobbly, but he forced himself up. Everything was muddled, as though he was underwater. He tried not to start panting—oxygen, I need oxygen. He couldn't have a panic attack here. Not in front of his parents. His mom called briefly, and he urged himself forward. The fear fueled him even as it ripped through him, tearing him apart.

Danny barely made it up the stairs. His legs gave out feet from the door of his room, and he slid down the wall to the floor. His chest hurt—not only was his heart trying to bust out of his ribcage, but his core was vibrating uncomfortably, too. He put his hand on his sternum, willing the pain to go away. He still couldn't get enough air. Please… He squeezed his eyes shut. Was he dying?

They'll never love me. They think I'm sick.

The thought wouldn't leave him. It ricocheted from the back of his skull to the front to the sides. He'd been so stupid thinking the questioning had gone well. They barely believed him about the Empress. And they wanted to "help" him—their new mission, apparently. He let out a whimper, not even realizing he had done so. His breathing came in pants, and darkness tinged the edges of his vision.

They can't find me here. They'll know. They'll know and they'll try to fix me and I'll die they'll kill me for real this time I can't I can't I have to move.

Using the wall as a crutch, he stumbled to his room, shutting the door behind him and heaving himself onto his bed. He flopped onto his side. The hurting in his chest had not gotten better; it had grown worse. He clenched his sheets, trying to ride out the pain. His diaphragm moved rapidly.

Something—or rather, someone—poked his head out from underneath Danny's bed. "Ghost child?" Technus asked. Danny groaned; he didn't need to deal with Technus again. "Have you been injured?"

"No," Danny managed to gasp. The ghost drifted closer despite this. Why did they have to hate him so much, even when he'd done everything he could to prove himself? Was it him? Were they right, and something really was wrong with him? The anger in him had dulled to an ache, the bitterness settling in his stomach like nausea.

…want to cure him…

"I'm fine." Technus examined him closely, looking for blood or ectoplasm. Finding none, he looked at the half-ghost in confusion.

"I don't understand," he finally said. "What's wrong with you?" The pain was finally subsiding a bit. Danny tried to breathe deeply, but he couldn't seem to get it under control. The fear was still there, crawling all over him and inside him like a parasite.

"Leave me alone," Danny growled. Well, tried to growl. It probably sounded less terrifying and more pathetic. But Technus didn't move, his face twisted like it had been when he'd woken Danny from the nightmare, when he'd admitted to forgetting what living had been like.

It was still so odd. And now was not the time, Danny felt, to try and puzzle it out.

"Are you having an emotional episode?" Technus sounded thoughtful. And worried. Danny at last took an almost-normal, shuddering breath.

"No, Technus. Leave me alone," he repeated. He couldn't—he couldn't handle kindness from a former enemy. He couldn't have someone watching him be weak, not if that someone wasn't Sam or Tucker. He just couldn't.

…to be forced to deal with ghost urges and a ghostly form…

The ghost seemed to realize that he was distinctly not what Danny needed. He tried to smile at the teen, but it came out as an odd half-grimace.

"Alright, ghost child. I am here if you need… assistance." And with that he went back under the bed, leaving Danny to deal with his panic and his fear alone.

They'll never love me.

They had in Freakshow's timeline. But then, maybe they hadn't. He hadn't seen the full extent of their reaction there. Perhaps he was always destined to be something other in their eyes, something never completely worthy of the title of human—much less the title of their son. And what a terrible time to have the revelation, with the Empress on her way…

He thought he had understood, long ago, that his human identity was an indefinite secret, one that might last a lifetime. That his parents would never know. His ghost-half, in their eyes, would forever remain something to be captured dissected, no matter what he did. They would never have to make the choice between their hatred of ghosts and their son. He thought he had understood this reality. And when they had said they weren't going to try to hurt him anymore because he was human… When he had proven his innocence to them… That reality had died, and hope had flickered inside him, coaxed to life by his stupid, stupid naïveté.

But now the hope, so warm before, was burning him. It scorched him from the inside out. He hadn't understood. He had thought, somewhere deep done, that they would love him unconditionally even if they found out. Pressure again built behind his eyes. I can't cry. Please, don't cry. They wouldn't love him if they found out. They wouldn't believe that a ghost could be their son. They'd consider him a "scientific anomaly." Something to be fixed. He curled in on himself, trying to hold his emotions within him. They grew hotter and hotter, roasting everything they touched. He trembled.

They'll never love me.

Against his will, the tears began to fall. There had to be something wrong with him, right? For his parents to have treated him like this… Maybe they were right. He needed to be fixed.

…could be fixed…

Who had he been kidding? He was something unnatural, caught permanently between life and death. It was wrong. He was wrong. With the terror that his parents would hurt him raised an awful shame. Why had he been such a dumb fourteen-year-old? Why had he gone in the Portal? Why? Why? A sob came, unbidden, from his mouth.

He muffled the rest of his crying into his pillow. He couldn't let his parents hear.

Eventually, the trio figured out that the GIW didn't survey the Mansons or Foleys at night—their surveillance vans left around ten in the evening and didn't return until six in the morning the next day. They apparently weren't suspicious enough of Danny's connection to Sam or Tucker to monitor them all the time, and their mistake left the trio an eight-hour window they were eager to exploit.

On the other hand, the GIW had apparently become more suspicious of Danny, and there were more agents watching his house, now. This, unfortunately, did prevent him from leaving at odd hours of the night—he didn't think he'd be able to sneak out like he had before with twice as many agents keeping their eyes on him.

"Are you in position for the first mainstay?" Danny asked over the Fenton-phones. He was sitting on his bed, multiple diagrams spread out on the covers, along with his laptop, which was open to a map of Amity. He'd printed a similar map out and had marked four locations. He'd locked his door—just in case. "Remember, the hole has to be at least a foot in diameter and three feet deep. We have to cover it entirely."

The mainstays were the anchor points for the shield—four, just as Technus had pointed out. They were large, metal tubes: two-and-half feet long, seven inches in diameter. Danny wondered if his parents would notice them missing—he and his friends had taken the largest ones, ones perhaps meant for the school's shield.

Well, Danny thought, this is more important.

"Yeah, dude." Tucker's panting crackled over the headset. "We know. You've told us, like, at least fifty million times."

Tucker and Sam were northeast of Amity, just past a cluster of apartments, digging a hole about a quarter of a mile from the main highway that cut through the city. Danny imagined it was difficult work: it was cold out, and the ground was probably tough. It certainly sounded like they were working up a sweat—and working up some irritation.

"Well, it kind of has to be perfect. Or the shield won't work," he said. The mainstays for the shield had to be placed at approximately the same length from the center of Amity—where they wanted the apex of the dome to be. They had already visited the spots where they needed them to go (it hadn't been a fun way to spend a Monday afternoon, especially with the GIW tailing them. They'd had to keep going to random places to make their visits seem purposeful. Danny had never been to any of the places they'd gone to, and he couldn't say he wanted to revisit). The angles, too, had to be virtually perfect: twenty-eight degrees between mainstays one and two, 152 between two and three, twenty-eight between three and four, and another 152 between four and one.

"Yeah, we know that, too," Sam said, grunting. "I really wish you were the one doing this. It would go by so much faster."

"I think I'm getting blisters," Tucker observed. The worn-out teenagers were taking turns shoveling, using supplies they'd taken from Sam's garage. Apparently, Sam's mom enjoyed gardening. ("Really," Sam had said, "it's more like she enjoys pretending to have an interesting hobby. She hires a gardener to do everything, though. She doesn't even tell him what to plant, just agrees with what he wants. And then she can show her flowers off at parties and act like she did it all herself. But that's rich people for you, I guess.")

"You're not the only one," Sam said. They'd already been working for forty minutes—it was nearly midnight.

Danny didn't say anything. Really, they probably would've been done with the first mainstay if he'd been there; his powers tended to give him more endurance and strength than a normal human, though they also meant he had to eat more. If he let his mind linger on it, that probably also meant he should sleep more—or at least the recommended amount.

He couldn't help the odd guilt that welled up inside him because he wasn't there, assisting them. That seemed to be all he was capable of feeling lately—guilt. And anger. Maybe exhaustion, too. He knew he hadn't forced them to work, but they'd always done things like this together, where he could help and protect them. He supposed they didn't exactly need protection at the moment, but they could definitely use the help. He felt like he was making them do all the work—never mind that they had volunteered. It was a different dynamic, and one he didn't particularly enjoy; he didn't want to feel as though he were bossing them around from afar. He wanted to be with them.

"Stop it," Sam chided, breaking through his thoughts. He started, crinkling the paper in his hand.

"I wasn't doing anything," he said, smoothing it back and setting it in front of him. Jazz also would've been with them, but they were afraid the GIW outside watching might follow her if she did something as suspicious as sneak out of the house in the dead of night. So instead, she was sitting in her room reading or sleeping or something. Danny, not wanting the distraction, had asked her to house Technus in her room until they were done.

It was exhausting to have the ghost in his presence all the time, especially with his bizarre change in attitude. That, combined with the situation as a whole, gave Danny the feeling as though gravity had reversed whenever he spoke with the ghost. Like he was falling toward the ceiling, the world completely upside-down. His breakdown hadn't helped, either.

He still hadn't told his friends about the breakdown. He couldn't confess to them that his parents had regressed in their thought processes, ready to "cure" Phantom without even consulting the half-ghost. He wasn't sure why, exactly—if it was the bizarre shame that had been lurking in him since the conversation he'd had with his parents. Or something else. He just… couldn't. He had deftly avoided his parents since then, too.

"I know a guilty silence when I hear one," Sam said. "But there's nothing for you to be guilty for. So stop." Danny knew that if he could see her face, it would be both annoyed and concerned—her chin would scrunch minutely, her eyebrows drawn closer together. Her lips would be down-turned, just slightly, little creases appearing in her skin. Like fabric, folded wrong.

He preferred many other expressions to that one.

"I'm not there, helping you," Danny protested. "We could've been halfway done by now if I were."

"That's not your fault," Tucker broke in. "Everything that's happened—none of that's your fault. Not the Empress, not Technus, not Valerie, not the GIW."

Didn't he see, though? It was—at least partially. If he hadn't been so, so stupid, half the things that had happened wouldn't have. If he'd been paying attention, Valerie wouldn't have gotten in that shot. If he hadn't left his backpack in a tree or had acted better, the GIW wouldn't be as suspicious as they were.

"And… another guilty silence," Sam said. Danny ran a hand through his hair, hitting the headset of the Fenton phones.

"No," he denied. "I'm not—I'm not feeling guilty." He was glad they weren't there to see him; they would've spotted the lie easily. He could imagine them now, glancing at each other from across the pit they'd dug, the glow from their head-lamps illuminating their shiny, sweaty skin. Did they believe him? He could see Tucker shaking his head, Sam rolling her eyes—like, Does he think we'll buy this?

"Were you the one who decided to take over the Zone?" Sam demanded.

"Um, no." He could see where this was going.

"Did you maybe trample a teenager's basic human rights and withhold vital information from the public?" she asked, sarcasm evident in her voice.

"Look, Sam, I told you I'm not—"

"Oh, maybe you hurt someone so badly it would've taken them months to recover had they not been half-ghost?" He could still see her in his mind, shovel on the ground, hands on hips, head tilted sardonically to one side. "No?"

Danny sighed, feeling suddenly tired. He didn't know how to respond to this anger—her anger. He rarely did. It wasn't that she was a girl or she was her friend; he knew how to respond to Jazz's anger, and Tucker's. It was that her anger was somehow worse, somehow more volatile, than theirs. Jazz's was a slow simmer until it bubbled over. Tucker's was like a fire, sparks and flame and smoke and then gone. Sam's—Sam's was a nuclear bomb. It went off, and it was over. But it wasn't, not really: it lingered in radiation and ashes.

"Sam's right, Danny," Tucker said. "And if you're not careful, she might hit you when she sees you tomorrow." There was the sound of metal clinking on metal."Okay, I think we're good. But we should probably measure just in case." There were a couple minutes of silence as the two presumably measured the hole's diameter and depth.

Sam probably was right; Danny could understand the logic. But he also could feel what his emotions were whispering to him: your fault, your fault, your fault. Because, technically, it all traced back to Danny being dumb enough to turn on the Portal—if he hadn't done that, there would be no ghosts in the first place. No property damage. No crazy GIW. No Empress taking over the world. No angry Valerie.

He had been dumb, and sometimes he felt like he hadn't gotten any smarter since then. The backpack-tree incident seemed proof of that.

"We're putting the mainstay in the hole," Sam said, letting Danny know what was happening. Her voice was tense—taut like a bowstring.

"Alright," he said. "Is the light turning on?" If all systems appeared to be okay, a green light on the mainstay was meant to turn on. If something was wrong, the light went red.

"Green," Tucker confirmed. If Danny could see him, he imagined his friend would be flashing him a thumbs-up and a grin. Sam didn't speak. The half-ghost wondered if she was merely frustrated with him and with the work she had to do or truly furious that he was accepting responsibility for things she thought weren't his fault.

"Assuming the others take this long, we'll be out until four, probably. That'll give us maybe three hours of sleep," Sam estimated, breaking the quiet. Tucker let out a tired breath.

Danny wanted to say something, but he felt oddly guilty about their lack of sleep, too. And he didn't want to enrage Sam further, who would probably detect traces of it in his tone without any problem. So he didn't say anything.

"God, I feel like you guys are my divorced parents or something," Tucker said. Something clinked again in the background. "And it's not a good feeling. Just get over it and talk about it later or something."

"I will not get over it!" Sam exclaimed. Danny rubbed the back of his neck—he did kind of feel that this was a conversation they should maybe be having in person. And maybe not in the middle of the night when all three of them were very tired.

"But can you talk about it later?" Tucker pressed. "We kind of have bigger things we need to worry about than your lover's tryst." Danny buried his head in his hands. He was glad Tucker wasn't there to see him blush. He wondered if Sam was blushing.

"Say that again, and the mainstay won't be the only thing going in that hole tonight," Sam hissed. She was probably jabbing her finger at the hole, or maybe her friend's chest. She inhaled and exhaled, the microphone sounding as if it was being buffeted by wind. "Besides, Tucker, I thought you were on my side."

"Er—" Danny could envision the boy fiddling with his glasses or his beret, maybe shrugging his shoulders and holding his arms up in a placating manner. "How am I supposed to side between my parents?"

"This is not a fucking joke—"

"At this rate, the Empress will get here before we do the mainstays, never mind anything else," Danny interrupted. "Tucker's right. Now's not the time—it's late, and I'm not even there. You can ream me or whatever later." It was the tone he sometimes used when they were in the middle of a ghost fight, when one of them tried to argue, but he was the one who came up with most of the in-the-moment battle strategies, the most effective ones. The ones that kept them alive. It was a tone the other two listened to.

"I don't want to ream you." Sam huffed. The fury had mostly left her voice—for now. "Alright. Later. I'm not even sure I'm… I don't think you're the one I'm angry with, Danny." That didn't make sense to him—why was she yelling at him, then? And over feelings he couldn't control, no less? It hurt him a little, her being angry with him when he hadn't done anything. But she wasn't even angry with him, apparently. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

"Fine. Don't worry about it, Sam." He paused. "I'm sure it'll all come out at the custody hearing, anyway." Danny could hear the grin on Tucker's face when the boy let out a startled laugh. It was good to hear a laugh. He felt like there wasn't much to laugh about, these days.

Mostly everything just made him want to scream.

Danny forced himself up, panting, from the floor. He wiped the sweat off his brow—he still sweat, even in ghost form. He wasn't sure why, considering his body temperature was much lower than normal, so theoretically his organs should've been okay a good ten degrees hotter. But maybe they'd acclimated to his lower temperature, too.

He wasn't sure the last time anyone had cleaned the red mats in their pseudo-attic, and they smelled like must and sweat. Not entirely pleasant. He fixed his gaze on the opposite end of the room, and, concentrating—

—He was there, stepping beside the opposite wall. Teleporting, he'd found, was a strange sensation. He'd previously only done it in times of extreme duress, so he hadn't exactly had the time to analyze what it felt like. Now that he could focus on the feeling, he wanted to take every bit of it in. The first thing he noticed was that it wasn't like Harry Potter-type teleporting (he'd read all seven books in the seventh grade when he'd had a lot more free time). In fact, it was the opposite. He almost expandedwhen he teleported. Expanded and separated and moved, and then he was there. Something akin to a solid turning into a liquid turning into a gas. It reminded him a bit of flying or going intangible because he got the same, physics-defying sensation from it.

He took a second to recover his breath and then bent down to put two more marks on the clipboard on the floor in front of him. He wanted to see how many times he could teleport in a row before he couldn't anymore. He wasn't sure how accurate of a gauge it would be for fights; if he were to try and teleport then, chances were it would be farther than the distance across the attic. But, well, he supposed it was like endurance training.

Or something.

As Danny tensed, preparing to teleport across the room again, he couldn't help but hear a voice in his head—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sam, Tucker, or Jazz—telling him that he was only wearing himself out. You need to be in tip-top shape for when the Empress does come. And that includes sleeping, the voice scolded. He scowled at the air in front of him and forced himself, instantaneously, across the room.

He fell to his hands and knees with a thud. He didn't have to worry about the noise escaping, however; the reinforced room kept most sounds in. And Danny had put Technus's odd willingness to help to use again, having him keep watch at the bottom of the stairs. He'd alert Danny if anyone woke up, so he could turn back human.

He didn't want to imagine what would happen if his parents came across the half-ghost practicing in their attic. There was probably only one conclusion they could come to: their son was Phantom. And it would go down hill from there—experiments, "cures," arguments, hurt, anger, sorrow. The fragile relationship his parents currently had with their son would shatter completely.

Danny hadn't told them when he'd first been exposed as half-human because he hadn't wanted to be the exception; he wanted them to know Phantom was just as worthy as Fenton. Now he worried about his safety. The fear he thought he'd left behind when they'd found out Phantom was half-human had returned. Vivisection was off the table, but who knew how far his parents would push in the name of "fixing" him? Days had passed since the questioning—and the terrible, revealing conversation afterward. Danny hadn't been able to sleep after that.

This was his grand solution: wear himself out until he was ready to faint from exhaustion, then sleep. It seemed to be working so far—except it didn't exactly stop the bad dreams. He averaged maybe four hours a night, but he knew from experience that was more than enough to keep him going.

Danny heaved himself upward. His arms and legs were trembling from exertion, though technically he hadn't even really used them. His stomach ached; he'd need to eat before he went to bed. He stumbled a little and used one of the boxes up against the wall for balance.

"Come on, Phantom," he coaxed himself. "Just a couple more times." He wanted to at least get to the number he'd gotten to the previous night. Or perhaps one more. His eyes were having issues focusing, but he narrowed them at the far end of the room. He knew he wasn't out yet. Go there, he thought, urging himself. Go there, go there—

—And there he was. He grunted. It was hard to grasp the marker to record the two additional teleportations, but he managed. Then, the half-ghost sat down, using the back of his hand to try and keep the sweat from his eyes.

Maybe a small break.

He eased himself against the wall, closing his eyes. It felt nice to just sit there, knowing no one was watching or expecting him to do anything. The GIW were outside, sure. And his parents would flip if they found him there. But for now it was just him.

Just him.

He wished he knew more. More about how his parents would react if they discovered him. More about the Empress. He wished he could speak to Valdez again, so he could warn her about the incoming ghost invasion. The officer had seemed to take him seriously, unlike two other adults he could mention (if he were honest, the number was probably much higher). He'd spoken about it with Sam and Tucker, and they had agreed.

It was simply a matter of when and how.

"At least we know why Vlad hasn't stuck his stupid nose into my business," Danny said aloud to the empty room, opening his eyes. "Sort of." He was trying to look on the bright side. The mayor was "missing"—whatever that meant. Danny and his friends knew he had to have something to do with what was happening; it was too much of a coincidence for him to go missing at this exact moment.

Danny stood, feeling more rested. Alright, he thought. Let's do this.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: Valerie and Danny Yell at Each Other Until They Feel Better

"I want to be the 'Tuck Master,'" Tucker said. He, Danny, Sam, and Jazz were in Danny's room. Technus was tucked under the bed, and the four of them were making themselves comfortable on Danny's bed and (in Jazz's case) his desk chair. "Or maybe I should be 'Destroyer of Worlds.'" Tucker stroked his chin.

"Why do we need codenames again?" Jazz asked, examining the map in front of them. It was a rather detailed replica of Amity—large and complete with every single street name. Although Google Maps would have something similar, Danny found the physical copy easier for their purposes.

"We don't," Sam deadpanned. Tucker pouted at her.

"You're no fun," he said.

"Tucker," Danny said, "we're notcalling you 'Destroyer of Worlds.' You can barely destroy targets directly in front of you, never mind worlds." It was a jab at the gaff his friend had made earlier; he'd been trying out some new pistol-type model ectogun and had completely missed. At least five times in a row. Tucker put a hand over his heart.

"You wound me. And you're supposed to take my side—not hers. We're bros." He leaned forward to watch as Danny marked the location of the mainstays on the map. Danny noticed he looked tired—and so did Sam. Now that they knew the GIW weren't watching them, the two had taken to going out to hunt the low-level ghosts that tended to drift through unstable, naturally occurring portals. There weren't many, however—there weren't a ton of ghosts in general, what with the Empress. And the half-ghost suspected he looked no better. His late-night training sessions were doing their job.

"Danny and I are actual siblings," Jazz said in her best matter-of-fact voice. It was the one she used when she presented her various theses to unwilling audiences (mainly Danny). "That trumps bros. And I vote no codenames. Who's going to hear us over the Fenton phones, anyway?"

"Three nays and one aye—the nays have it," Sam commented. She tapped the map, looking at Danny. Her eyebrow rose. "Why did you bring this out, again?"

"Memorization purposes," Danny said. "When the Empress shows up, the plan is for me to teleport to each mainstay and activate it—but if that doesn't work, you guys are the back-up plan. Each of us will take one, so we all need to know where the closest one to us is." Sam's lips puckered, as though she'd tasted something sour. Danny shared similar sentiments; why hadn't his parents made it so the portal could be remote-activated? Instead, each support had to be activated individually.

They'd decided against activating it early for a few reasons. The shield, once up, would only have energy to last so long before it turned off—maybe a week or two before the mainstays' power cores had to be replaced. There was no reason to activate it so early only for it to fail when the Empress actually came. They also didn't want the GIW—or his parents—interfering. Knowing how un-seriously they'd taken Phantom's warnings, Danny didn't think they'd simply allow him to use their technology for something they didn't consider a threat.

"This one's closest to my house," Sam said, pointing to one of the northern-most mainstays. "If something happens, I can get this one." Danny nodded, making note of that on the map.

"Right. And this one is closest to your house, Tucker," the half-ghost said.

"There's a small problem. How am I supposed to get there? Steal my dad's car?" he joked. Then, as the other three continued to look at him, he frowned. "No. No way. I can't take my dad's car! I only borrow it for small things—with his permission!" His voice was oddly panicked for something so banal in the face of the Empress. It was like someone panicking about losing their wallet in the midst of a house fire.

"Can you do it for the end of the world?" Sam asked. Her words were serious but her tone was not. Danny put his arm on Tucker's shoulder. His friend turned to stare at him.

"We all have to make sacrifices," the half-ghost said, mock serious. "This is yours, Tucker." He couldn't keep it in anymore—he grinned. Tucker shoved his hand off playfully and pretended to sulk.

"I guess." He sighed dramatically. "If it means saving the world. But because my sacrifice is far greater than any of yours—" Here Jazz made a noise of protest. "—I demand that you call me the 'Tuck Master' in gratitude." Sam was shaking her head before he finished the sentence.

"Absolutely not. We just voted that down—"

Danny let the words wash over him. It felt nice to be here planning with them. They weren't working somewhere far away or learning some earth-shattering thing about a new threat. They didn't have to calm Danny down from a panic attack. The half-ghost had still managed to avoid telling them about his last one. He'd only told them his parents no longer thought he was a criminal and that they weren't taking the Empress very seriously. Neither of which were lies, technically.

But here, sitting with them, joking around as they figured out how they were going to fix this mess… It felt right, more right than it had in a long time. Like Danny had found the pieces to a puzzle he'd lost. Or even simply an approximation, soothing the holes inside him. This reminded him of simpler times—when he'd been falling through floors and wondering how he was going to pass his algebra exam. It was nice.

"Come on, guys," he said, trying to reign them in. Maybe this was what teachers felt when they were attempting to get their students to focus. "We really should figure this out." He couldn't quite keep the amusement or fondness from his voice, though. He felt more relaxed than he had in a while. His parents may have been down the hall, and the Empress was on her way… But his friends were bickering as usual—and by his side.

"Danny's right," Jazz said. Tucker openly rolled his eyes. "We need to pay attention."

"Sometimes I forget you two are related," he said, "and then something like this will happen."

"Ha. Ha," Danny muttered. He wondered what he'd done to deserve friends like them—if he even did deserve friends like them. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that dark thought, though, so the half-ghost pushed his conflicted feelings away and focused.

It was time to get down to business.

Amity Times

VICE MAYOR SHARON JONES STEPS UP

by Maurice Foley

Until Mayor Vlad Masters is found, Amity Park can count on its vice mayor, Sharon Jones, to run the city. Acting as interim mayor for the foreseeable future, Mayor Jones promises to act with "all the dignity and integrity" befitting a mayor-ship.

" I'm hoping to help restore order in these troubled times," she said at a press conference. "I know we're all missing Mayor Masters, but I will do what's right for the people of this city."

Jones' record reveals that she has years of experience working in state government: before becoming vice mayor, she worked in state legislature. A long-time Democrat, she has a history of passing bi-partisan bills and a reputation as a peacemaker. Prior to her career in government, she taught political science at Amity Park University.

When asked what she was planning on doing with the "Phantom situation," Mayor Jones responded: "Preceding his disappearance, Mayor Masters declared Amity Park in a state of emergency. Despite this, Governor Snyder has not provided our city with any kind of assistance. Nor has the federal government stepped in to help us—save for the Ghostly Investigation Ward. However, now that the existence of ghosts has been revealed to the world at large, I intend to press the matter. Amity Park won't be written off any longer. As for Phantom directly, I know our own police department has been investigating the matter and have currently not found any evidence pointing to Phantom being guilty of any crimes."

By confirming that Amity's own police have found the ghost boy to be innocent, Mayor Jones has set the tone for how other government officials will be interacting with Phantom. While relations between the police department and our resident half-ghost have always been generally amicable, there has been fear that re-shedding light on Phantom's "crimes" will end this positive relationship.

Mayor Jones also had a very firm stance on the GIW. "I find the GIW's conduct in our city to be despicable," she said. "I have demanded that the federal government take responsibility for its bureaucracy's actions and abuses of power. I will ask, though, that the citizens of Amity Park remain calm and peaceful, trusting that we will do everything in our power to undo the damage they have done.

" Despite this, we will be continuing with our plans to install a ghost shield around Casper High to ensure the safety of our children. Doctors Jack and Maddie Fenton, our resident ghost experts, are now heading this project."

Currently, the only building enabled with a ghost shield is the Fenton residence. With how frequently ghosts have attacked Casper High, for most it's not a question of "why" but "why not sooner"? There have been many local government officials who have been against the idea in the past. Mayor Masters himself rejected the proposal numerous times, citing costs.

While Mayor Jones may not have directly approved constructing the shield, she has already proven to have different stances than Mayor Masters. Only time will tell what exactly this means for Amity Park.

Valerie was frustrated. She was frustrated with many things: work, her dad, her situation, the world. At the present moment, however, her frustration was directed at the piece of paper in front of her. She sat at her desk, hunched and clutching a pencil so tightly she thought she might break it.

"I will beat you, derivatives," she muttered to the paper, running a hand through her frazzled hair. "But maybe not right now." She set the pencil down and stretched in her cramped room. There was hardly enough space for her dresser, desk, bed, and nightstand, much less room to straighten both her legs and arms. But she managed, yawning. She'd been giving herself a headache with Calculus for almost an hour now—better give it a break.

She left her desk lamp on so she could see and moved to lie down spread-eagle on her bed. Valerie sometimes liked to count the cracks in her ceiling, but doing that now would only depress her. When had her life gotten so—so complicated? She wanted to go back to the old days, where her biggest worry had been the next party someone was throwing.

Actually, maybe not. She'd been kind of a brat, after all. But it hadbeen better than this frustration.Frustration was a helpless sort of emotion, she'd found, and it made her feel trapped, like the close walls of her room were growing even closer. She sat up, looking out the window. It was a clear night; she could see the crescent moon and a few stars shining through the light pollution.

It had all started with the ghost boy. Phantom. Weeks had passed since she'd shot him, weeks spent on her ruminating. Sometimes, in passing moments, she almost felt… guilty. But she'd been justified. And, really, she didn't know how to feel about him anymore—first he'd been an evil ghost, then a bad person, and currently… Well, she knew evidence could be faked. But she didn't think it had been. That meant Phantom had never used his powers to rob or kidnap—he'd been framed by the GIW, which made sense, she guessed. Valerie didn't exactly trust the government. But if the half-ghost was such a nice guy, why had he ruined her life? Spite? Some kind of personal grudge?

Valerie didn't know. Maybe she'd made fun of him at school. She had, regrettably, done that to a lot of kids. They'd been physically weak, considered geeks and losers and nerds, and she, with her social status, had cut into them with her words, bruising and battering their fragile self-worth. She felt bad for it, but that didn't exactly give Phantom the right to do what he'd done to her. He'd ruined her—and worse, he'd ruined her dad.

And now they lived in this crap apartment.

Her dad had yelled at her for what she'd done to Phantom, shouting about how terribly she'd acted.He's human! he'd said. He's a human boy and you shot him! He'd shouted until he was practically hoarse, and Valerie had taken it stoically. But she hadn't agreed. Maybe the half-ghost wasn't a kidnapper; he'd deserved it nonetheless, pay back for destroying her life and lying to her. Plus, she'd done it for her dad. They needed that money. And if she had to expose some shitty half-ghost's secret identity to get it…

Well. Valerie wasn't above doing that.

She was pulled from her thoughts as her ghost-radar went off. Her radar stretched only to the city limits and had a threshold for certain power-levels and higher. As much as she liked hunting ghosts, she needed her sleep. The Fentons were competent enough to take care of things like ectopuses—she couldn't be bothered to go out fighting at all hours.

Besides, her dad would kill her.

Valerie moved off her bed. She stepped lightly across her room and poked her head out the door. Deep, bear-like rumblings met her ears. Her dad was asleep. She grinned, retreating back into her room and shutting the door. He slept deeply, so he wouldn't hear her getting into her suit or opening the window to take off. If he noticed that she'd gone out at all, it wouldn't be until after she'd left—no chance of him stopping her. She might get another lecture when she came back, though.

It's odd, she thought, kneeling to retrieve her suit from her backpack on the floor. Ghost activity's been really quiet the past few weeks. It would've been a relief, but she suspected that something worse was happening if none of the ghosts were coming into Amity. She would've asked Masters, but… Aside from him being a crazy half-ghost, he was also missing. Apparently. He hadn't even bothered to tell her he was going on vacation.

She breathed a sigh of contented relief as the suit whirred in place over her skin. This, at least, was uncomplicated. Just her, a ghost, and the chase. Hopefully, with Phantom lying low, she'd be able to dispose of this ectoplasmic creep without his interference. She didn't want to deal with him right now, although she still wanted that reward. Damn the moral consequences. If she had to burn in the next life to give her dad a good run here on earth, she'd do it.

Valerie slid the window open all the way, clicking off her desk lamp. The streetlights below illuminated her way well enough. She was lucky her window was big enough for her to climb out completely. It was probably the only good thing about this wretched place. She leaped out, putting her feet together to activate her board. She pulled up maybe ten feet from the ground, rustling the bushes as she flew past.

Glancing down at her radar, she noted that the disturbance was maybe three miles away. The screen on her wrist reported that the signature was unknown, and there weren't any other ghosts approaching—not yet, anyway.

She hunkered low to her board and pushed it as fast as it would go. The Huntress was itching for a fight, some way to calm the raging storm of emotions inside her. She readied her weapons, flying through dark, quiet streets, past sleeping cars and silent houses.

Valerie heard the ghost before she saw it. It was screaming—but, oddly, it wasn't an angry scream. If she hadn't known any better, the Huntress would've said it was maddened, even mournful. And it was a name, too. Johnny. She had no idea who that was—some human who'd pissed the ghost off? Valerie wasn't sure.

The ghost was at the park. It had taken the form of a young woman with choppy green hair and pale, glowing skin. The light lit the monkey bars and park benches eerily. Its torn clothes and disheveled appearance made it worse, as if it was freshly dead and had just been murdered. And maybe it had, for all Valerie knew. It wailed as it lobbed powerful ectoblasts at playground equipment. Valerie watched as a couple plastic swings caught fire and melted, dripping onto the bark chips below. Its screaming was terrible, and Valerie was glad for her suit; it blocked some of the sound.

The ghost spotted her just as she aimed her wrist-gun to fire, dodging around Valerie's expertly placed shot. The blast made the grass behind the ghost smoke and smolder, and it glowered up at her from where it was floating, a blue ectoblast building in its hands.

"Human," it growled, lobbing the glowing orb at the huntress. Valerie flipped mid-air on her board, rolling to the side. The ball, still crackling with energy, missed and landed on a car parked on the side street. The hood dissolved, sizzling.

"Ghost," Valerie shot back, lifting her gun again. As she prepared to fire again, something popped into existence behind the ghost. Valerie adjusted her aim, wanting to be ready for this new threat—some kind of accomplice? The figure wore a black, skintight suit, well camouflaged against the darkness. Its bright aura kind of ruined the effect, however.

It was Phantom.

Valerie instantly felt disappointed—she had wanted a ghost fight. One where she didn't have to think about whether what she was doing was right or wrong. He always ruins everything for me. And since when has he been able to teleport with any sort of precision? But she felt a hungry eagerness rise in her, too: Phantom, surely, would put up more of a fight than this crazy thing. And if she caught him, like she had last time… That money was as good as hers—hers and her father's.

"Kitty?" the half-ghost—and wasn't that strange?—called. That must've been the ghost's name. He was in a loose fighting stance, and his hands were raised palm-out. Is this a fucking friend of his?"What are you doing?" The female-looking ghost whirled, a vicious snarl on its face. Its crimson eyes burned brighter as its anger grew, like red-hot coals in the night.

"You!" it shrieked, launching itself at him. Phantom, surprised, stumbled backward as it threw a punch at him, its fist trailing blue flames. "Where were you? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" It didn't give him a chance to respond as it aimed a kick at his chest, its high-heeled boots mean-looking in the gloom. Phantom easily dodged the wild attack. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Phantom's expression was blatantly befuddled: his eyebrows were near his hairline, and his lips pursed. This didn't prevent him from blocking its following swings, each one more unhinged than the last. They had to be friends; there was no other reason for why he wouldn't have been expecting an attack. He hadn't yet noticed Valerie hovering above them—though the Huntress only gave it maybe a minute before he did. He wasn't exactly unobservant. Should she fire at them? Dispatch the ghost and then the half-ghost?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Phantom grunted, kicking at the ghost's side. Unlike its own attack, his landed, and the ghost was sent flying to the right. The half-ghost finally caught sight of her, and his eyes widened. His fists ignited with ectoblasts, and Valerie was almost flattered. He clearly considered her more of a threat than the ghost.

"Hey, Phantom," she said, waving sarcastically as he stared up at her. "Having a good time with your friend?" He looked back at "Kitty" just in time for the ghost to land a solid punch to his stomach. He groaned, battered backward, before he fired one of his blasts, point-blank, into its face. It shouted, retreating a few feet to clutch at its cheek.

"The Empress wiped him from existence!" it screamed. Phantom watched it closely, obviously still not understanding why it was mad with him. Valerie couldn't say she understood either, but if the ghost wanted to go after him, she wasn't about to stop it. When it removed its hands, it had a nasty, glistening burn on its jaw. It would've been red and raw on a human; instead, it was juicy and green, like radioactive waste. "Johnny's gone, and it's YOUR FAULT!" It was almost a sob.

Kitty charged Phantom again, with a single-minded purpose, but the half-ghost didn't fly to meet it. Instead, he lurched backward, his legs forming a spectral tail to give him an extra boost of speed. He looked… sad, Valerie realized. His face had crumbled a little—but why? Who was Johnny? What the hell was this ghost talking about?

"You helped Dora!" the ghost yelled, trying to catch up with the half-ghost, who was staying just out of its reach. Why wasn't he attacking it? He could've already taken out his Fenton thermos and sucked it up by now. "Why can't you help us? YOU'RE HALF-GHOST, TOO! DO WE DESERVE YOUR PROTECTION LESS THAN THEM?" It threw an arm out to the buildings and the sleeping humans inside. "WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECTHIM?" Its words seemed to hit Phantom like an invisible wall, and he stopped flying away. The ghost reeled back its fist, ready to punch him again.

But as it moved in, he caught its wrists—oddly gentle—and pulled her close. Oh, God, Valerie thought, are they about to kiss or something? That would be worse than the PDA in the halls at school. She'd definitely shoot them, then—ghosts making out was not something she wanted to see. She raised her gun again, tensing her legs for the chase.

Phantom didn't pull it in to kiss it, though. He simply… hugged it. It struggled briefly in his arms, but he shushed it. It shuddered, relaxing minutely into him. Then, something bizarre happened. Something Valerie thought was impossible.

The ghost began tocry. Not crocodile tears, meant to manipulate an unsuspecting human into offering sympathy. No—it was weeping. What had moments before been a murderous ball of rage had melted into something softer. Something more… human-like. Valerie was so stunned she let her gun drop completely, her jaw slack. Phantom released Kitty's wrists and wrapped his arms around it as it lowered its head onto his shoulder. It shook with the force of its own sobs, clutching at the back of his hazmat suit.

Never had the Huntress seen such baffling behavior from a ghost. It even looked as if water—actual tears—were coming from the ghost's eyes. That's impossible! Ghosts didn't have emotions—not like, not like people did. It was pretending; it had to be pretending. There was no other explanation.

She realized Phantom was talking to it, trying to calm it down. No way… No way in hell are those tears real.

"Shh, I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there." He was even rubbing its back, like he was comforting a living, breathing girl.But he wasn't—he had to have been falling for its tricks. Or something. Valerie's minds buzzed with curiosity—who was this "Johnny"? Or this "Empress"? She didn't know, but given the ghost's extreme reaction—even though it had to be fake…

The Huntress was at a loss for what to do. She'd never been in this situation before, and there seemed something wrong with firing on them now, though a part of her itched to do so. It was the perfect opportunity—they'd seemed to have forgotten about her and were distracted. Or, at least, she thought they were. Except she caught Phantom glancing up at her every few seconds, as if checking to make sure she wasn't doing anything suspicious. And wasn't that rich—he was the suspicious one, not her.

Valerie didn't know how long she simply watched them as they floated in place, embracing. She still wasn't certain as to what she should do. It was so, so, so weird.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Phantom asked the ghost gently, breaking the silence. It seemed to have relaxed a tad. Valerie wondered where its desire to "kill" Phantom had gone (could half-ghosts even be killed? She had never asked Dani). The ghost pulled back. Valerie blinked as she noted that its mascara—ghosts could wear make-up?—had smeared with its tears, giving it bruised-looking eyes.

It hiccupped and seemed to realize that it was still holding its "enemy" (if that's really what they were and not a secret couple or something). It released Phantom, its cheeks flushing green—the ghostly equivalent of a blush? No way. Ghosts didn't have emotions. The tears, the blush—it was all fake. Valerie wouldn't fall for it.

"What is there to tell?" the ghost asked. It sounded like rusty hinges creaking. Its red eyes had dulled. "She came to our lair—our island—demanding our surrender. We—" Its voice cracked. Phantom rested his hand over its. It almost looked like it wanted to pull away, but it didn't. "We refused. We tried to get away, maybe go to the Far Frozen, and she sent a couple of her goons after us; we weren't important enough for her to chase us herself. A natural portal opened up, leading here, but they would've come through with us… Johnny said he'd hold them off… Before I flew through, I watched them rip him apart and—and devour his core. He never got to—got to complete his Obsession. He never ascended…"

Enough of this bogus crap. Complete his Obsession? Ascending? What a load of bullshit. Valerie couldn't believe Phantom was buying this, even if he and "Kitty" were ghost friends or whatever. It was acting as though this "Johnny" had died.But "he'd" clearly been a ghost—it was lying. Science—all of the Fentons' research—and Valerie's own experience, pointed to ghosts being incapable of any emotion save hatred. She re-aimed a blaster at them, a large enough shot to send both flying. I'm going to get that prize money.

But Phantom hadn't been as engrossed in the conversation as she'd thought. In an instant, just as she'd pulled the trigger, he'd shoved the ghost behind him, raising his arms up to create a bright green shield. It easily deflected her blast, sending it fizzling to the ground below.

They glared up at her—the ghost, pretending to be "exhausted," and Phantom, wary. He watched her the way a wildebeest eyed a river it had to cross, knowing there were crocodiles in its depths.

"What is wrong with you?" Phantom demanded. He sounded genuinely offended. "I thought you at least would've waited until she was finished." The ghost seemed to curl up behind him, as though hoping for his protection. Valerie remembered its words: You're half-ghost, too! Do we deserve your protection less than them?

"I'm not waiting for some ghost's story," Valerie said. "I'm doing you a favor—you're obviously falling for its lies." She laughed derisively. "It's telling you some sob story so you'll protect it from me." Phantom didn't budge an inch, his eyes steely. The shield remained, unwavering. But the ghost behind him recoiled.

"That's not true, you fucking piece of human trash!" it yelled, its hands balling into fists. "Johnny really is—he really is—" It slumped, its face crumpling like a piece of paper. It couldn't seem to even finish its own story. It's such a bad liar. How is Phantom even buying this?

"Kitty, it's okay," Phantom soothed. He didn't once take his eyes off of Valerie, though, not even to glance back at the ghost. "I believe you. I can find you someplace safe, where the Empress won't be able to get you. For now, anyway."

"Safe?" the ghost cried. "I don't want safe. I want to tear apart that fucking bitch's core!" Its eyes heated once more with its rage. Its aura seemed to glow brighter. "I'll do it, I swear by the Observants I will."

"I believe you," Phantom reiterated calmly. "And I won't do anything to stop you, I promise." The ghost seemed to relax again at those works—and Jesus Christ, if it wasn't moody. Probably because it was over-acting to sell its lie. Valerie rolled her eyes under her helmet. Phantom was eating it up.

"Whatever, Phantom. Believe what you want," the Huntress said. She set her gun to its maximum strength and began her barrage to break his shield. If this didn't work, she'd try an ectoplasmic grenade. Or maybe one of her rockets—that could be fun. The sound of her blasts deafened her, and she could feel her gun warming, even with the protective layer of her suit. But she didn't let up. Phantom groaned, clearly pushing to keep the shield up. Tiny cracks appeared. The ghost behind him began gearing up for round two, its eyes blazing. Valerie could hear it speak, even over the onslaught.

"I never understood why you protect them when they treat you like this!" it shouted. The half-ghost replied, though he said the words too lowly for Valerie to hear. She watched closely as the charge in her gun began to drop from the green into the yellow and at last to the red. It was a battle of endurance—would her gun or his shield last longer? If she gave out first, she would be forced to waste precious seconds getting out a grenade or switching from her gun to her rockets. It would give Phantom time to counter-attack.

But if he gave out first… She smirked. He was as good as hers.

He yelled as more cracks appeared, widening into fissures. It wouldn't be long now. And then, before his shield broke, her gun gave. It powered down with a tired whine, like an overworked dog.

"Shit," Valerie cursed, scrambling to bring out one of the grenades from their compartment. Bomb him and net him—if he passed out, he'd probably turn human. That half-million was going to go to a new apartment, just see if it didn't.

Phantom, knowing what had happened, dropped the shield. But instead of flying away or charging her, like she'd expected, he whipped out his thermos. "Sorry," he said, turning around, "but you're in no shape to fight." At first Valerie thought he was talking to her, and then she saw the panic on the ghost's face, its mouth opened to say something—

But Phantom pressed the button, and in a flash of light, the ghost was sucked into his thermos. Valerie was surprised—again. Why had he gotten rid of his only ally? Even if the ghost had been weaker than him, two against one were better odds than one against one. Stupid half-ghost, distracting me again!She fumbled, finally getting out what she wanted. He turned back to face her, his eyes narrowed.

She'd missed her chance at using the moment when he hadn't been paying attention. But the Huntress wouldn't let waste any more time; she pulled the grenade's pin and threw it at him, flying up higher to escape the blast. Her aim was true, but the half-ghost wasn't exactly blind. He dodged, flying upward until they were at the same level.

"I thought we had a truce, Huntress," he said as she readied her rockets. He amended his statement. "Well, until you shot me—twice. And captured me in a net. But you know I'm not a criminal now. Can we maybe stop fighting?"

"Why? Afraid I'll beat you again?" she taunted. The half-ghost's eye twitched, and he frowned. Ectoblasts formed in his hands.

"That wasn't a fair fight and you know it," he said. Valerie stamped ruthlessly down on the smidgeon of guilt that rose up in her. He ruined my life. He deserves this. She couldn't get the image of him comforting that ghost out of her head, though. Or the image of him looking up at her, those weeks ago, broken because of what she'd done. No. We need that money!

"I thought you were a kidnapper, Phantom. I thought you had used your powers to rob a store. You don't get to hold that against me! And even if—even if you didn't commit those crimes, you deserved everything you got for ruining my father's life!" she shouted, fixing her crosshairs right on his chest. Target Acquired flashed across the top of her helmet's vision.

"I'm pretty sure even criminals have the right to know what law they've broken," Phantom said cockily. It was a familiar attitude, and one Valerie hated. How dare he act all high and mighty? "You haven't even read me my rights."

With a cry, Valerie launched her rockets at him. He dropped fifty feet, straight to the ground—through the ground—into the ground—and the rockets exploded on the grass, next to where the grenade had. Her board lurched as the shockwave boosted it. The park was starting to look pretty banged up, patches of dark, smoking grass and pits littering the ground.

Phantom flew back up into the air, his expression irate. "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of you shooting at me, Valerie." The Huntress felt her limbs grow cold—was that a threat to expose her identity? After all that "pain" and "suffering" he had gone through because people were trying to reveal his? The hypocrite.

"Don't use my name!" she yelled, grabbing another grenade. "You have no right!"

"I have every right!" he bellowed. Valerie blinked; that was the first time he'd ever really yelled at her. Well, not the first time he'd yelled, but the first time he really seemed to mean it. "You exposed the fact that I have a human identity to the whole fucking town! You don't get to pretend that you're the good guy in this situation!"

"I AM!" she yelled right back. "You RUINED MY LIFE! I live with fucking rats because of you! I never see my dad! I am going to capture you and expose your identity to the whole world if it means he can be happy again!" She tossed the grenade at him, but he dodged again, baring his teeth at her. It reminded her of a rabid animal. An animal that needs to be put down. Then, his expression turned calculating. Cold.

"When your dad designed that security system for the labs," Phantom began, his tone furious but controlled, "they euthanized the guard dogs they'd been using before."

"So what?" Valerie demanded. What did that have to do with anything? He's crazy. It has to be some kind of distraction technique. A bad one.In spite of herself, though, she wondered where this was going.

"For animals, it can be both easier and harder to come back as ghosts. They don't have a lot of desires, and the ones they do have are strong. Less conflict than humans. But they're also very simple. Most never move on because their desire—like eating enough food every day—is ongoing." He hadn't relaxed his mid-air stance, nor had he lowered his glowing hands. He stared at her intently, as though she were the only person in the world. It made her—uncomfortable. "One of the dogs that was euthanized came back as a ghost. He was never mine, though I think he's… adopted me, I guess. He'd left a toy at the labs, and I didn't realize what he wanted fast enough. I did my best to stop him from destroying everything, but… I wasn't as good as I am now."

The Huntress could only stare. No way… He's trying to blame my dad! This wasn't her dad's fault—it couldn't be. He never would've condoned killing animals, especially dogs, just because it was convenient. Her face contorted in rage. In the distance, she vaguely registered sirens. Police, maybe. Or the GIW. That last one was more likely.

"Stop trying to pin that on him! You're a liar!" she yelled. Phantom threw up his hands like he was the one getting frustrated. He has no right! He's the one who's done me dirty, not the other way around.

"Talking to you is like talking to a fucking wall! It's like you don't have eyes, ears, or a goddamn brain! Fucking think, Valerie! Did it even seem like he was my dog? Did it look like I was the one in control? Why would I lie about this when I haven't lied about ANYTHING ELSE?" he thundered, his chest heaving. The sirens were getting louder. He glanced down, his face still twisted in fury, to see a few white vans rocketing down the road toward them. Valerie couldn't help but do as he'd said, even as her mind rebelled against listening to him.

She had thought back often to those moments that had ruined her life. She'd obsessed over them, even. But—had she really examined them as closely as she'd thought she had? The memories had branded themselves on her psyche. It was easy, thinking back to that week—that day. The giant ghost dog, rampaging through her whole life. Her dad's frustration. And Phantom, frantically trying to… pull the dog back. Stop him. The ghost boy had been panicking.

Maybe… maybe he's not lying…

And, really, why would he lie? He'd been telling the truth about the jewels, the mayor. This was the one thing that hadn't fit with the rest of his act, though she doubted, now, that it was an act. She'd known it hadn't made sense. She'd known, but she hadn't questioned it. Had she really been so blind, so enraged, so obsessed?

It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. We still need that money, even if… Even if he didn't actually ruin my life. He still let that ghost dog hurt my dad's career… But she was grasping at straws, and she knew it. She tried to summon the hatred, her fuel, the thing she'd been clinging onto for what seemed like a lifetime. But it wouldn't come. It refused.

The vans were at the park, now. The GIW were stepping out of them, guns raised to fire at Phantom. I can use that like I did last time, Valerie thought. She glanced down at her arm—her gun had recharged enough for a few shots. She brought it up to fire.

"No," Phantom said. His voice was like what she imagined a general's might sound like. He watched her, and the ectoblasts in his hands burned out. I don't understand—he knows I'm not letting him go. And the GIW are right there! Why is he making himself defenseless? "I'm not doing this again! I'm not!" And before she could react, he barreled toward her through the air. She pulled the trigger even as he wrenched her hand so that she'd miss. It went wide. She struggled as he gripped her arms tightly enough she could feel it through her armor.

"What are you—"

And then she was gone. She couldn't think or breathe or move—she would've panicked, but she couldn't do that either. She was in a great, empty abyss, only she also felt trapped, caged. The sensation was wrong—shewas wrong. She was floating away, getting bigger and bigger. Was this what dying felt like?—and then she was back.

But not in the air.

She found herself on hands and knees, trembling, on a flat rooftop. Her board clattered somewhere behind her. She was across the city, it looked like, somewhere in the business district. She pressed the button to release her mask as she retched; she didn't want to choke on her vomit. It lifted with a hiss—just in time.

Once she was done, she wiped her mouth, although the metal of her suit didn't really help; she only smeared the bile across everything. The taste of sour stomach acid lingered in her mouth. A drop of sweat dripped from her nose and landed on the concrete in front of her like a tear. The wind was cool, though—it felt nice on her face.

"I'm sorry," a familiar, echo-y voice said. She looked up, and there he was—Phantom, observing her from a few feet away. "I've never teleported anyone else before. I didn't realize it would be so unpleasant for full humans."

"You think?" Valerie coughed, squinting at him. He looked ragged, she realized. He'd been too far away for her to notice it before. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy—the contrast between the redness and the bright, toxic green of his irises made it all the more noticeable. He was covered in sweat. His hair, which was normally in disarray, seemed worse than usual. And he was shaking—from fatigue? He can typically go a lot longer than that and be raring for more. What was he doing before he got to the fight?

"What? Do I have something on my face?" he raised an eyebrow sardonically. He seemed… less agitated than he had before. Less like he was a second away from snapping. Valerie herself wasn't fuming anymore. But the prize…If she got to her board, she might be able to chase him until he was too tired to dodge or deflect her shots.

Why had he brought her here? To talk? To fight without any distractions? If it was to talk, why did he care? Was it some misplaced fondness? Or something greater? She didn't know, and she tried to convince herself she didn't care. She had a goal—a purpose.

"You look like shit," she responded, surprising even herself with the honesty. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. The action reminded her of someone… His human half?Maybe that was why—maybe he knew her as a human and liked now wasn't the time. Her board had a homing device—she just had to stand up, press the button, and she'd be able to jump on no problem. Without Phantom realizing what she was doing.

"Thanks," he muttered. "You're one to talk." His nose wrinkled. Valerie glanced at the vomit beneath her. Okay, he's got a point. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, avoiding the pool and trying to make it seem casual. He eyed her.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. The breeze blew a strand of white hair onto his forehead. He crossed his arms, rubbing his own shoulders. Was he cold? No. He seemed… self-conscious, perhaps. He glanced to the side.

"We need to talk. And we can't do that if the Guys in White are breathing down my neck. I've bought us a few minutes." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. This didn't help with the puffiness or the redness. "Do you even believe me?" he asked. "About the dog? Or are you just biding your time like you always do?"

Valerie opened her mouth to snap back defensively, but… She did believe him. It wouldn't stop her, but it was nice to know he hadn't singled her out for some kind of revenge. Maybe he could've tried harder to stop the dog. But the Fentons—ghost experts and hunters—hadn't exactly stopped it either, and she wasn't going around blaming them.

And, in this moment, she couldn't believe Phantom would ever do something so… so malicious. He's shorter than me, she saw. She hadn't known that before. But she hadn't ever really spoken to him before, had she? Not without threats, at least. He seemed small, his silhouette dwarfed by the infinite sky. Had he always been that thin? He had muscle, sure, but it was lean muscle. Not bulky. And he didn't have anyfat on him.

I have to do it. For my dad. It's more money than he's going to make if he spent years working at his cruddy job.

"Yeah," she croaked. "Yeah, I believe you." He slouched, as though a great weight had been lifted off of him. He believed her. How had she not seen it before? These emotions—unlike that ghost's—couldn't be faked. They were almost tangible, like if she reached out and touched him she'd feel them brewing just underneath his glowing skin.

"Okay." He couldn't seem to believe it. "Okay, that's—that's good. That's great." His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile at her, but it turned into a grimace. Valerie couldn't blame him.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked. Now was her chance; Phantom had a far-away look in his eye, like he was thinking about where exactly to start. Her hand crept towards the button on her arm.

"Well, I—"

She pressed it. It began beeping, and she heard her board rise into the air behind her. Phantom blanched—apparently that was possible for half-ghosts—and charged toward her; he knew he was exhausted, unprepared for another go-around. She tensed, leapt into the air—

And just as her feet met the board, he was there. Somehow, he looked angrier than he had when they'd been arguing. He slammed his fist into her shoulder, hard. It cracked, and she toppled backwards as he used his other hand to tear her hover board out from under her feet. She fell down, landing on her back with a thud. All of the air was expelled from her lungs.

"No," Phantom growled. Her board was bucking, trying to reach her. The beeping on her arm continued insistently. The half-ghost held her precious, precious board down with iron strength. He reached to the back of it and ripped into it, pulling out a couple of wires.

"Stop!" Valerie cried. The beeping in her arm died down—he'd torn out something vital in the homing mechanism. No board detectedflashed on the screen on her arm.

"I guess it serves me right," Phantom said, tossing the board behind him. It skittered across the roof, throwing up sparks. Valerie scrambled to her feet, dashing toward it, trying to dodge around him. She wasn't fast enough. He grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her, pinning her arms in place. "You hurt me really bad the last time we fought. Did you know that?" She knew he was angry, but his voice sounded… Not calm. He sounded like he was barely containing his anger. "I was in agony for daysbecause of you! It hurt to walk, to sit. To breathe."

He tossed her to the ground. She landed heavily on her back, again, and scuttled backwards as he advanced. Each step was deliberate, like a lion creeping up on its helpless prey. She retreated until she met the edge of the roof. The Huntress brought up her arm to shoot—it was point-blank, no way could she miss—but he reached forward and crushed it. She cried out—he hadn't hurt her, but the thought of being weaponless when he was acting like this, like he was dangerous, was too much to bear.

She tasted something unfamiliar in her dry, dry throat. It was fear.

"I'm not sure you understood what I said to you." Phantom was looming over her; she was trapped, with nowhere to go. Was he going to hurt her? Kill her for what she'd done to him? Had this been the final straw? "I wanted to talk, Valerie. Not fight. I thought you believed me!" He was frustrated, his mouth tugged into a frown.

"I…" She swallowed. "I do."

"Were you trying to run away?" he demanded. His face was stone. No, it was stronger than that. Steel. It was the steel of a blade, cutting through her, intoher. "Am I that fucking scary to you?"

"No… I—Phantom…my dad. The reward."

The half-ghost did something awful, then. His anger seemed to dissipate, and he slowly leaned back, away from her. And he laughed. She could only watch as he laughed and laughed, clutching his stomach. It wasn't a happy laugh. In fact, it was the ugliest thing she'd ever heard, tearing out of him like intestines torn from a gut wound. Her fear vanished—he wasn't planning on harming her. How had she thought that? It was replaced with an emotion as equally unfamiliar: concern. It was a mild concern, she'd admit. But it was there.

"Did I say something funny?" She'd meant for it to be demanding, but it sounded… lost. Bewildered.

"Yes." Phantom wiped a tear from his eye. Somehow, Valerie didn't think it was a joyful one. "You did. The reward isn't real, Valerie. Everything you've done to capture me was for nothing."

"What? No way!" Was he lying just to save his own skin? No, don't accuse him, she admonished herself. He's the one with the power here—you don't even have a gun. She took a moment to try and control her tone. "How… how do you know?" Phantom stared at her, as if he'd know what she'd been thinking. Was she that transparent?

"The ghost who did it—his name's Technus—confessed. He wasn't doing it because he really wanted to my human identity, either. He was trying to stir up trouble for me, and it worked. Well, I say hewas. Really, it was him under the direction of the Empress," Phantom explained. Valerie blinked. That was... not as simple of an answer as she'd hoped, she decided.

"So—he was lying?" she asked. Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

"Yes." Phantom nodded. He started to pace in front of her. Her eyes followed him as he went back and forth, back and forth. "That's what I wanted to talk with you about—the Empress. She's this—ghost. I guess that's obvious. She's been taking over the Zone, so some of the ghosts have been coming here, into the human world, to escape. That one you saw tonight—Kitty…" He grimaced at the memory. "Some of the ghosts get lucky. And some of them don't. Johnny was her boyfriend."

Oh. So that ghost and Phantom hadn't been a couple, then. But they'd clearly known each other. "What the hell does that have to do with this 'Technus'—or, or revealing your half-ghost status to the city?" It wasn't clicking in her brain. Phantom ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know how much time we have left, and it's kind of complicated. But basically she was warned that I might be able to stop her if she just let me be. So she decided to get me out of the game early. She had Technus hack the news station—and she's the one who sent those weird-ass medieval ghosts. And—and it worked. I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late to stop her from conquering the Zone."

"Okay, fine," Valerie accepted. He probably wasn't lying. He'd be able to come up with something better than this if he were. She didn't exactly understand why he was telling her, however. "But, not to be rude or whatever, I don't really care about the Zone. Or the ghosts." Phantom stopped pacing and sat down across from her. It was such a human gesture she almost jumped in surprise.

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "The Fentons don't either. And I'm sure most of Amity doesn't. But she's coming here next. In two weeks, we're going to have a ghost army on our doorstep." He frowned tiredly. Really—what hadhe been doing before he'd teleported to that fight?

"Holy shit, are you for real?" she asked, straightening. "Why the hell haven't you told anyone?"

"I have!" His tone was defensive, his posture more so. He seemed to cave in on himself. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you, of all people," he murmured. Valerie didn't think she was supposed to hear it, so she pretended she hadn't. Besides, she shared the sentiment. "I told the Fentons—"

"—the Fentons?" He glared at her for interrupting.

"Yes, the fucking Fentons. Need me to say it slower for you?" He didn't give her a chance to respond. "And they were supposedto tell the police—only, I don't think they did." He sighed again, then raised his head in alarm, shooting to his feet.

"What?" Valerie asked. She could barely process all this. When had he spoken to the Fentons? Why? How? They hated ghosts more than she did, and that was saying something. The last she'd heard, they had been convinced Phantom deserved to be jailed. But now it made sense, at least. When he'd spoken to her—and she'd listened, really listened—up above the park, he'd seen a potential ally. So he'd taken the chance, the risk, that she might be convinced further and had teleported her here. It had been a desperate play—but he was desperate. The public may have been on his side, but the GIW was still everywhere.

"The GIW. I hear sirens. I have to go. But—" Phantom looked down at her, pleading. "Do you believe me?" Valerie rose to her feet, but she didn't sprint for her board. The air was thick with what had transpired between them. All the unveiled truths. She felt bad for him. She'd never felt bad for him before. He'd been unknowable, cocky—even arrogant. But she'd never really spoken with him, had she? And all of his mysterious motivations, his contradictions… Some were still there—like why he'd decided to protect people in the first place when they'd done nothing but shun him—but much of it was making sense in a way it hadn't before.

It was still a lot to take in—too much, really. The Empress was such a pretentious name, too. Oddly, she felt used. She'd been played like a pawn against the half-ghost. The reward had been used to manipulate her. And if she felt manipulated by the fake reward, how must he feel? He'd been the one targeted, after all. She wasn't sure she trusted him, not after everything that had happened between them. But, aside from his half-ghost status and identity, he'd never lied to her. She saw that now. It had taken him bellowing at her for her to understand, but she did understand. And she could believe him.

Slowly, she nodded.

"I—I think I do. What are you going to do now?"

Strangely enough, Phantom pulled something from his belt—a piece of paper? No, an envelope. What the hell was he planning to do with a letter?

"I was going to give her this tomorrow, but…" He shrugged. "I guess now's a good a time as any." He peered down off the roof—there were the vans again.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A letter," he responded, giving her a look. "What does it look like?" He paused. "You have to be ready, Huntress. Two weeks. Get the Fentons to fix your board and your suit if you can't figure it out—they like you. I'm sure they'll do it."

And then he was gone, leaving her on the roof, alone.

Dear Lieutenant Valdez,

I didn't get the chance to tell you everything I wanted to when I spoke with you. Although I informed the Fentons, I don't know if they shared this information or made the urgency of the situation clear. While I would love to speak to you in person again, I think that if we met up, I wouldn't be able to give you the information you'd need without being interrupted. The GIW are very persistent.

I know you probably have more questions, but I'm not going to try and anticipate or answer them. We're running on a limited amount of time here.

I'll cut straight to the chase. Something is coming. She's a ghost, and she calls herself "the Empress." She's spent weeks—maybe a month, now—conquering the Ghost Zone. That's what we call the dimension the ghosts "live" in (for lack of a better term). But my sources tell me she won't be satisfied when she's through with that: she'll be coming here next.

I know she has an army—one strong enough to dominate some of the most powerful ghosts in the Zone. I'm told she herself is very strong, too. Please, don't underestimate her. Currently, we're thinking she's something like Pariah Dark but worse.

I'd tell Amity this, but I'm not sure they'll listen to me. You need to prepare. I'd advise stockpiling ecto-weapons and ghost equipment and making sure you know how to use them. Set some kind of evacuation route to Casper High School; the ghost shield will be a good place to hunker down if things get ugly. I have my own plans to protect the city, but I don't think I'll be enough this time.

She's supposed to be here in two weeks. She could be a little faster or slower than that. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more time, but I've been busy. And if you're wondering—no, I haven't left any fingerprints on this. Or DNA. So don't bother looking.

I'm leaving this in your desk drawer in the hopes you'll see it tomorrow morning. Make some kind of announcement—soon—so I'll know you got it. I don't know what other kinds of preparations need to be made. But you seemed to take me seriously when we spoke. Please take me seriously now.

Sincerely,

Phantom

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: A Visitor

"…The Amity Park Police Department has received new information regarding a potential ghost invasion. We are currently disseminating this information to relevant parties, including Mayor Jones. This 'ghostly army' is set to arrive in two week's time, but it is our belief that if we act quickly, we can be ready. We are currently setting up a plan in order to protect Amity's citizens, including using Casper High's nearly finished ghost shield as an evacuation point.

"We ask that you remain calm. This is nothing we haven't faced before, and likely we will be more prepared than we have in the past. The Fentons have generously elected to provide the Department with weapons and other equipment. They have said that those who feel they too need equipment will have access to it.

"We will be able to give you more details tomorrow. I ask that you be patient with us. I can now take questions.

"Yes, you."

"Lieutenant Valdez, would you be willing to share this unknown source with us?"

"For their protection and privacy, I am not at liberty to say who gave the Department this information. Rest assured, the source is very trustworthy. You there in the front."

"Do we have any estimate for the size of this army or how it might compare to other invasions we've faced in the past?"

"We believe it will be similar to Pariah Dark's—if not worse. Unfortunately, we don't have any specifics."

"Have you considered evacuating the city entirely?"

"We have. However, we think it may overly disrupt daily life if we were to do so. We also consider the ghost shield to be the safest place during an invasion. And there is no guarantee that the ghosts simply won't leave an empty Amity and make their way to the nearest place and wreak havoc there. We are the best prepared and equipped to handle an invasion, and with everyone's cooperation, it is my belief that we can see this through."

"Hey, Dann-o, have you seen any of the ghost shield parts lying around?" Danny's dad called as he came up from the lab. Danny was sitting on the living room couch, trying to do his homework. He'd become tired of trying to concentrate with Technus periodically making noise beneath his bed. While he'd almost gotten used to it—this was what he imagined sharing a room with a sibling might be like—he didn't feel like trying to muddle through English as he listened to the ghost mumble.

Danny looked up. His dad was sweaty, red marks from his goggles making odd patterns on his face. His hair was mussed, too. He must've been working on something—presumably the ghost shield.

"Ah, no," Danny said. He hadn't spoken to either of his parents in days, not since they'd revealed their feelings about his ghost half. It was painful to be reminded, painful in a way it hadn't been for a long time. He thought he'd adjusted to their… opinions. It was clear he hadn't.

"Strange." His dad flopped into the armchair to the left of Danny. The half-ghost willed himself not to flinch. He consciously relaxed his grip on his paper; he'd almost torn it. "Some of our mainstays are gone. Four, it looks like. I must've put them somewhere and forgot." His dad sighed. Danny knew he was always absentmindedly misplacing things. Well. Sometimes he was. Other times, it was Danny "borrowing" useful equipment or hiding dangerous weapons.

He would've felt bad about it, but he wanted to be vaporized to ash as much as the next person.

"How long will it take to put the shield up now?" Danny asked. As much as he believed the mainstays had been used purposefully, the school's ghost shield was a good fallback, as he'd suggested to Lieutenant Valdez. He was just glad she'd seemed to have received his message loud and clear. Although he could still feel the weight of responsibility around him, dragging him down, it felt marginally lighter.

He'd take what he could get.

"Not long," his dad admitted. He rubbed his face, scratching at the indentations left by his goggles. "Since the school kicked the GIW off the project, everything's been going a lot smoother. We'd been pretty overdue with that shield, but we're a little more on track now. Making a shield this big was never in even our wildest dreams. Do you want to hear about it?" His dad was getting excited; that was never a good sign.

"No, I think I'm good—"

"Great!" His dad began to gesticulate. "Well, first was figuring out how many anchor points we needed, and that took a lot of trial and error, especially because if we got the number right, sometimes the angle was wrong, not to mention the material—"

"I, uh, just remembered I left some of my homework upstairs," Danny said. His dad looked crestfallen, but the half-ghost just… couldn't. He'd been hoping to spend an hour by himself doing something normal—without ghosts. He gathered his things and started up the stairs. After watching his parents struggle, though, he was very thankful that Technus had figured out the number of mainstays and angles for them; the process sounded exhausting. "Sorry, Dad. Maybe tomorrow?" His dad perked up at the suggestion, though Danny couldn't say he had any desire or intention to follow through.

What was the point of bonding with someone who would only betray him later? Why put in the effort when his dad was only going hurt him? Whenever he talked to either of his parents, all he could hear was the conversation they'd had, overlaying reality and overwhelming him.

…want to cure him…

He turned his back on his dad and went up the stairs.

Once in his room, he placed his unfinished English homework on the desk. Getting it done had probably been a futile hope, anyway. Pointless. They had less than two weeks before the Empress arrived; how much did school really matter? Never mind that he'd wanted to take his mind off of it for a measly sixty minutes.

He itched to go train, but he didn't want to do it when his parents were home and awake—there was too much risk he'd be caught. Besides, he'd learned his lesson. He'd been exhausted when he'd shown up to fight Kitty and the Red Huntress, barely able to teleport the four times he'd needed to. He couldn't keep pushing himself like he had—even if it was the only way he seemed to get any sleep.

He still couldn't believe he'd managed to convince her. Valerie had been so bull-headed for so long; it had all he'd been able to do start a brittle truce between them those months ago. It hadn't taken much to shatter it, either. But this—she seemed to believe him. Not just about the Empress, but about the dog, too. For the first time ever.

He could hardly believe it. It was surreal in his mind, having both his parents and Valerie on his side. It was made all the more unreal by the fact that everything else in his life was turning to mush. How had these things—his ghost-hating parents and ghost-hating Valerie—remained solid? Maybe he wasn't a real ally to either of them, but he could count on them when it mattered.

Or he hoped so, because it was going to matter very soon.

Glancing at his shut door, he pulled out Dora's letter from where he'd stashed it inside his desk—not in the drawers. It was crinkled at the edges—he'd read it and re-read it almost obsessively. He needed all of the information he could get. He and Dora had traded a couple more letters (Danny had found himself growing rather fond of Volant), but her first one remained the most informative. And the most frightening. They'd had to do it infrequently; Danny was afraid the GIW agents who were monitoring him might figure out what was happening. Because even with the agency on the brink of collapse, they seemed determined to take him down with them.

At least Dora was doing well. She'd reported that Kitty was adjusting too, which Danny was pleased about. The half-ghost had asked Sam to drive out to the woods and release her. He and the ghost didn't have the best relationship, but she'd been so torn up about Johnny…

He jumped when he heard knocking at the door, and he almost groaned; he didn't feel like talking to either of his parents right now. Or anyone.

"Hey, Danny, can I come in?" It was Jazz. He breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. That was better, he guessed. The half-ghost sat in his chair.

"Yeah," he called. The door opened. His sister didn't look well, though she wasn't as disheveled as Sam, Tucker, or Danny himself. Her face was paler than usual, and bags hung heavy below her eyes. She'd been up late looking at their parents' blueprints for anything that might help them against the Empress. Danny helped, sometimes, but he didn't have the head for it like she did.

She smiled tiredly at him, stepping into his room and shutting the door behind her. Her nose wrinkled. "It smells really stale in here. When was the last time you dusted? Or opened the window?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Should I do that before or after the GIW capture me and the Empress invades Amity?" Danny rolled his eyes. She was right; his room wasn't—and never had been—the cleanest. But it wasn't his fault (it was maybe a little his fault). "And I'm not taking any chances with someone on the street hearing me talk to the monster under my bed."

Jazz sat on his bed. "No need to be so snarky. It was just a question." Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. It was her analyzing look—the one that usually came before some kind of interrogation, typically about his health. Have you been eating enough? Sleeping enough? You look way too thin, you don't need to be passing out again!

"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sigh. He had so much occupying his thoughts—the last thing he needed was an inquisition.

"Lieutenant Valdez took your letter well," Jazz commented. Danny knew this familiar tactic. Draw him in, and then, once she'd gotten him talking, bam. Catch him off guard with a topic he didn't want to discuss. "In fact, everyone seems to be taking your warning well."

Danny frowned at the generalization. "Some aren't. Mom and Dad aren't. The GIW definitely aren't." He tried to think of where she might be taking this conversation. Had she discovered his late-night training sessions? He hadn't done one the past couple of nights, but… his sister was like a bloodhound when it came to his health. Sometimes it was endearing. Other times it wasn't.

"The GIW are lame idiots, anyway," Jazz said, shrugging. "Besides, there are rumors the police might be arresting some of them soon. Then they'll really be out of your hair." That doesn't help with the ones currently outside my window.

"Maybe. But right now they're in my hair. Like lice." Jazz made another face and glanced around, as if a giant louse might spring out from his covers and straight onto her head. Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. They'd both gotten lice when they'd been younger, and the experience had been much more traumatic for her (possibly because she'd had longer hair).

"Gross, Danny. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if that was what was bothering you," Jazz said. She waited expectantly, like she was waiting for him to recover from something. He still didn't quite understand.

"Nothing's bothering me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, nothing's bothering me more than usual." Jazz's eyes softened as she seemed to sense his insecurity. I'm not lying, he thought stubbornly. What I said is true.

"Are you sure? Because you've been avoiding Mom and Dad pretty hard lately. You almost fled the room the other night when Mom asked if you wanted spaghetti for dinner. I was just wondering if it was the fact they didn't believe you—or if it was something else. Well, because they didn't believe Phantom." She watched him carefully, as though she were the scientist and he were her test subject. He didn't particularly enjoy the analogy.

He scowled. It was a good guess. "No. I told you, I'm fine. I just… didn't want spaghetti that night." Jazz cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

"I see." She twirled a piece of hair between her thumb and forefinger, looking contemplative. "You can tell me. I won't make fun of you if, even if it's something dumb." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She knew Danny wouldn't be getting upset if it weren't serious.

"I said nothing's bothering me. Can you just drop it, Jazz?" he asked, trying not to snap or plead. If his sister sensed that she was close, she'd pounce. He had to remain calm.

Jazz let the hair fall back to her shoulder. "You were just… You seemed so hopeful about them changing their minds when you went to the questioning. And I was, too. But now…" She rubbed her face.

"They did change their minds," Danny said. It sounded hollow to his ears, like he'd gutted the insides of the words before they passed his lips. They were nothing but skin, flapping in the air between them. "They aren't hunting me anymore, right? I'm happy." He couldn't look at her eyes. If he saw the emotion there—the concern and caring—he might break and tell her. And he didn't… He couldn't bear the shame of having someone else know his parents thought he was diseased. Them wanting to tear him apart hadn't been… It hadn't been better, but he'd gotten used to it, at least. This was new. He still felt like he needed time to process before telling anyone.

"You aren't." He glanced at her, and her face was sad, all lines and creases. "And it's okay if you aren't happy. We're so close to—to everything. But you shouldn't bottle it up. It's not good for you."

"I'm not bottling anything up," Danny insisted, crossing his arms. He wasn't some shaken-up coke can, prepped to explode. And he had no reason to be this—this frustrated. His parents were no longer hunting him, he had another (tentative) truce with Valerie, the police were on his side… The Empress was coming, but everything else was going okay. Not well, necessarily, but some parts were better than they had been. "I promise."

Jazz remained unconvinced. There was a stubborn, iron-like set to her jaw. "If you don't want to tell me, fine. But please don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" Danny protested, throwing his hands up. "And we have bigger things to worry about right now!" Jazz peered at the papers in front of him—the unfinished homework, Dora's crinkled letter. Danny tried not to flush.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically, gesturing to them. "It really looks like you're busy planning." She bit her lip. "Look, Danny, we do have important things to worry about—but your mental health is also important."

Danny snorted, sending her a dark look. "What psyche book did you pull that line out of?"

"Why do you always think I'm just spewing back up things I've—"

"Could you two keep it down?" Technus's intangible head poked up from the middle of Danny's bed. The ghost held up an equally intangible book, making it hard to see. "Some of us are trying to read." Danny glowered at him.

"And some of us, Technus, are trying to have a private conversation." As much as he wanted to send the ghost out of the room, he couldn't risk his parents coming across him. He'd asked Technus if the ghost wanted to go with Kitty to Dora's makeshift camp, but he'd declined. Danny had considered insisting (he didn't particularly enjoy the arrangement), but the ghost had been so adamant he was afraid Technus might try and come back. That would've posed more of an issue, especially with the GIW still crawling around outside his house.

He looked back at Jazz.

"If you won't tell me, will you at least tell Sam and Tucker?" she pleaded.

"There's nothing to tell," he said. He turned away from her and toward his desk, hunching over the papers. Really, he didn't even know why he was hiding it. Except then he'd see her look of pity. He'd have to hear her defend his ghost-half to his parents, arguing that he was as human as anyone, there's nothing wrong with him! And he didn't want to deal with that. Not when he had other things he had to do.

"Alright." She sighed, defeated, and got up to leave the room. She paused at the door, looking back at him. "If you change your mind, let me know." Then, she left, and closed the door behind her.

Over the next week, Danny felt stretched, pulled thinner and thinner until he thought he might snap in two. He couldn't get it out of his head that Dora's and Technus's estimates were wrong, that the Empress was coming early… He was a nervous wreck, constantly looking over his shoulder and jumping at shadows. He couldn't sleep, could hardly eat. If she comes now, we're dead, he thought. His parents had only just finished the ghost shield, and who knew if the police were really prepared?

It was a Thursday night, as he was trying to sleep, that Danny's ghost sense went off. He groaned, wiping a hand across his face, before realizing where exactly the ghost's signature was coming from—the lab. He flung off his sheets and stood, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He recognized the signature and wondered why he wasn't hearing any loud crashes.

Technus floated upward through Danny's bed, hovering just over the covers. "What is it?" he asked. "You are disturbed." Maybe his ghost sense wasn't refined enough to detect her over the Portal's signature—not that the half-ghost cared enough to try and puzzle it out right now.

"It's fine." Danny yawned. Funny. Now that he had things to do, he felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him, like it had been waiting for the best—or worst—moment to pounce. "I need to go do something. Stay here."

His naked feet barely made a whisper as he padded down the stairs. In his hand he held his Fenton thermos—just in case. He listened carefully, but he still couldn't hear anything. When he made it to the first floor, he noticed the lab door was closed, which wasn't unusual. He pressed an ear up against it, wanting to know what exactly he was getting himself into, and heard a disgruntled, irritated, "Fuck." Something clanged.

Well. It didn't sound like she was making trouble—though it didn't sound like she wasn't making trouble either. He eased the door open, and it creaked. Another curse met his ears. Danny descended, green light washing over him as he entered the lab like some alien sun. He shivered at the feeling of so much ectoplasm, his core vibrating happily next to his thumping heart.

"Ember?" he called to the empty room—for it had been her he'd sensed. The lab seemed intact: the Portal was closed, nothing obviously broken or trashed, and his parents' work appeared untouched. "I know you're there—you can drop the invisibility. It's just me."

The ghostly pop star suddenly materialized into view, her flaming ponytail smaller than usual. Her guitar was slung across her back, and she was clutching her abdomen, green ectoplasm leaking from her fingers. She looked oddly deflated, and she wasn't floating—a sure sign she was out of energy. She'd been attacked, possibly chased. The Empress was the most likely candidate. Danny set the thermos deliberately on the table next to him, watching her closely. She smirked at him.

"What, taking pity on me, babypop? It's a wonder you manage to defend this stupid city at all," she eyed him up and down. "And pink pajamas? Wouldn't have pegged you for the type."

She was in no shape to properly fight, like Kitty had been. At least she hadn't been destroyed like Johnny. Apparently he was running some kind of ghostly refugee center now. It was still so surreal to the half-ghost—all these enemies coming in from the Zone, making nice. Ember had made his life difficult before, what with trying to brainwash everyone and being a general nuisance. But it wasn't like he could send her—or Technus or Kitty—back to the Zone. They'd be destroyed, wiped from existence. So he'd help them—help Ember—even if his every instinct was telling him to attack, telling him it wasn't safe. And he'd do it in his pink pajamas, if he had to.

Danny crossed over and began rummaging in his parents' drawers. They always kept a heavy-duty first-aid kit down in the lab, in case one of their experiments went sideways. "The things you don't know about me could fill a book," he said. Bandages, alcohol wipes, a rag, antibiotic—did full ghosts have to worry about infections? Well, it wouldn't hurt—gauze, medical tape… and ecto-dejecto as a pick-me-up. His dad always kept some around so he could start improving the formula.

"Yeah, whatever." Ember observed him closely as he gathered the materials to fix her up. "You know, your ghost sense has gotten a lot better. I remember when you used to just wander around looking for us." Danny didn't reply. "Um, you're taking this surprisingly well. I thought we would've… y'know… been duking it out by now." Danny stood up, cradling the supplies in his arms.

"Do you want to fight?" he asked, gesturing as well as he could to her wound. "Because I'm guessing you just escaped from the Empress and aren't interested in doing our normal routine. I could definitely capture you and throw you back in the Zone if that's what you want—"

"No!" she protested, stepping backward. Realizing she was back-pedaling toward the Portal, she quickly changed direction. Danny stood where he was, his lips drawn into a thin line. "Don't put me back there!"

"I wasn't planning on it," he said, moving closer. "But I do plan on patching you up and sending you somewhere safe—if you're okay with it." Ember narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion lurking in every shadow of her face. She looked like she wanted to cross her arms or bring out her guitar—neither of which she could do with both her hands pressed to her injury.

"Why?" she demanded.

Danny shrugged, setting the supplies down on a nearby clear spot of table. "Because I'm a good person? I don't know." He leaned against it, as if in challenge—are you so scared of me you'd deny yourself treatment? Her eyes continued to be trained on him, as though he were some dangerous animal. He didn't appreciate the look—she, after all, was the one who instigated the fights.

"Fine," she said, conceding. She came closer. "But I'm doing it because it's what I want to do, not because it's what you suggested, dipstick. I don't take orders from you." He turned his back on her, the picture of unconcern, and began unwrapping the gauze. Oh, I should probably wash my hands, he thought. He'd bandaged himself a few times, but generally it was Sam taking care of everything. He walked over to the sink. "What the hell are you doing? I thought you said you were going to help." Ember sounded irritated.

"You're welcome to get an infection." Danny paused, and then said, more thoughtfully, "Can ghosts even get infections?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Ember, having deemed the current situation safe enough apparently, moved her guitar off her back, propping it against the table. Then, she leveraged herself up so she was sitting on it—another bad sign. She hadn't levitated up.

"You're the ghost," he shot back.

"You're the half-ghost," she said. "With ghost-expert parents or whatever it is they do." Danny immediately soured at the mention of his parents, and he scowled at her as he dried his hands and moved back over.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to guess?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He wet the rag, trying to think if there was anything else he needed.

"You already guessed. It was the Empress. Well, one of her lackeys. She's too high and mighty to come to me herself, but what can you expect from someone calling themselves 'the Empress'? Fucking pretentious. Anyway, I said no—didn't feel like being some minion, at my master's beck and call. Then I blasted 'em and ran. I'm glad your portal was unlocked, though you might want to lock it, if you know what I mean." Right. Danny had planned on turning it off anyway—and after he was done here, he'd do just that.

"Move your hands," he instructed. She did, and winced as he began cleaning her injury. It looked like she'd been stabbed, but the blade hadn't hit anything important—not her core or any major nerve centers. "Did they follow you?"

"I lost them," she reassured him. She practically growled as he brushed against her wound. "Could you fucking not?" Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach up and get him to stop.

Danny ignored her. "I don't know if you can get an infection—you don't know if you can get an infection. We're not taking chances." He wasn't about to try and help her only for her to "die" anyway. She stayed quiet, accepting if not admitting that he was right. Danny thought it was strange that she didn't know, but possibly the microorganisms in the Zone—if the Zone did have microorganisms and not something else entirely—were different from microorganisms on Earth. What passed for her immune system, Danny knew, was completely separate from what passed as a human's. Danny's ectoplasm had no recognizable white blood cells in it, after all. He wondered if the yetis would know.

"I never would've pegged you for a mother hen, either. You're full of surprises," Ember said. Danny rolled his eyes. He finished disinfecting the area and placed the bandage over the wound. It had mostly stopped bleeding, so he didn't apply much pressure—that would come with the gauze. He simply taped it in place.

"Have you heard from any of the other ghosts? Or about any of the other ghosts?" Danny asked.

Ember's mouth pulled down in a sneer. "Why should I tell you? You haven't been to the Zone in ages—wouldn't have thought you cared about what happens to us lowly ghosts. Not that we needed your fucking help." She waited for him to respond, but he didn't.

The half-ghost was tired. Tired of people accusing him of not being good enough—because he wasn't good enough, even when he'd done his best. The city had thought he was a criminal for the longest time, and the ghosts—his enemies—had, for some reason, been expecting his help, never mind that he'd had other things happening—things specifically designed to keep his attention from the Zone. He'd done exactly as the Empress had wanted, like an animal following an obvious trail to an equally obvious trap. And he'd been caught before he even realized what had happened, bars springing up around him.

It was a terrible thought—that he wasn't good enough. It was one that haunted him, kept him up late, wondering. Everyone seemed to think it, even the enemies he'd been fighting for years.

Danny placed the end of the gauze at the wound. "Lift your arms up," he said. She complied hesitantly, still waiting for him to defend himself, and he started winding the gauze around, making sure it was tight enough to keep her injury from bleeding more. She'd probably have to go into stasis when she got to Dora's, but with the ecto-dejecto and his limited first-aid, she'd make it no problem.

He didn't know how to convince her to cooperate with him. It was a miracle, in his opinion, that they had even managed to accomplish this with everything they had between them. Though he supposed Technus, Kitty, and Valerie should've clued him in that it was possible.

Finally, Ember seemed to grow uncomfortable enough to break the silence herself. "Walker joined her, the crazy bastard. So did Spectra and Aragon. A lot of the others, if they couldn't make it to the human world, went to the Far Frozen. I know Skulker, the Ghostwriter, and Wulf did—maybe Pandora. Now that Dora's kingdom's fallen, it's the only place left standing. They've been beating her back, but I think it's only because she hasn't been focusing her full force there." She said the words grudgingly, as if frustrated that Danny's reticence had dragged them from her lips. The half-ghost finished wrapping her, and she let her arms fall.

"That's good, I guess," he said. "That so many have escaped." Even if Skulker was a creep who wanted to skin him, Danny didn't believe destroying him—otherwise, he wouldn't have simply tossed the ghost back into the Zone.

Ember's lip pulled back in a half-snarl. "Again, why the fuck do you care? All you give a shit about is your precious Amity Park and your precious humans."

"I'm sorry. Next time, when you throw me through a brick wall, I'll be sure to ask how your day's going," Danny said, running his hands through his hair. Maybe they'd only had the opportunity to come through because he'd been dumb enough to turn the Portal on—he had been a monumentally stupid fourteen-year-old (and a not much smarter sixteen-year-old, it seemed), but Ember had made her own choices, too.

And Danny couldn't forgive her for putting so many people in danger—not when his core thrummed protect, protect every time he saw an innocent person about to be hurt or killed. Just like he couldn't forgive Technus for what he'd done. Whenever he saw the ghost, he couldn't help but remember how he'd started this entire mess.

Ember, unlike Technus, didn't look chastened at all. "Yeah, whatever, dipstick. Make your lame excuses." She got off the table, a little unsteady on her feet. She gripped the table. "Where exactly is this 'safe place' of yours?" Danny emptied the ecto-dejecto from its syringe into a cup his parents kept by the sink.

"It's with Dora. And it's not a 'lame excuse.' If you guys hadn't been making my life a goddamn nightmare here, I might've been able to figure out what was happening with the Empress sooner," he said. He handed her the glass and began cleaning up the supplies.

"The fuck is this?" she asked, sniffing it. "And the fuck are you talking about?"

"Technus exposed me as half-human," Danny said bluntly. Her eyes went wide—apparently that wasn't common knowledge in the Zone. "And it's enhanced ectoplasm. You'll like it."

"That was dirty, Phantom," Ember said, gazing into the ectoplasm. She took a sip. "There are some lines the rest of us tried not to cross." As Danny tossed the dirty rags into the biohazard bin his parents had set up, he tried not to let himself twitch.

"You crossed plenty of others—I don't see why this one should've been off-limits," Danny accused. He didn't look at her, focusing on putting everything away. "Brainwashing, nearly murdering people. You definitely caused a lot of injuries."

"That was just for fun, babypop. Fame was calling my name," she dismissed easily, taking another swig. "Revealing your big secret would've spoiled it all." Fun. Fun. What was it with his ghostly enemies and having "fun" by causing mayhem in the human world? People were more delicate than ghosts—even if Technus hadn't remembered that, Ember should've.

"Yeah. Fun," Danny repeated dully. He put the first-aid kit back in its drawer and straightened, running a hand through his hair. He remembered bruises and scrapes, an arm so badly sprained he could barely move it. Fun.

"Hey, you know the only place we can party like that is here the human world," Ember said, draining the last of the ecto-dejecto. She placed the empty cup back down on the table.

"Is it?" Danny asked sarcastically.

"Hell, yeah. If we'd tried half the things we tried here in the Zone, the Observants would have our asses in the Banished Lands faster than they could say 'brainwashing.' But they don't give a shit about what we do in the human realm." That… kind of made sense, actually. No one in the Zone cared about what other ghosts did as long as they did it in their own territory—and getting more territory could be difficult work. Nobody cared about Walker because he only jailed those in his portion of the Zone. But for Ember, who probably didn't have as big a lair… If she'd wanted to "take over the world" by brainwashing everyone, she couldn't have done it in the Zone. That would've been too much trouble.

"But I should care about the Zone, even though no one in the Zone cares about the human realm?" Danny asked. Ember put her guitar across her back again, her ponytail burning brighter than before.

"God, you can be an irritating little shit sometimes," she said. "But you're half-ghost—we're not half-human. You see?" Danny did see, and he didn't like it. Was this what the other ghosts thought? He'd felt guilty that he hadn't gotten to the Zone in time. Guilty that he'd fallen for the Empress's plans. Johnny had been wiped from existence because he'd been too wrapped up in his own problems, blinded by them. And he saw, in his mind's eye, Dora's people fleeing, stained in ectoplasm, fear on their faces. But Ember was being ridiculous.

"Oh, so it's like I owe you," he clarified.

"Exactly!" Ember exclaimed. The half-ghost glowered at her, willing her to understand how unfair she was being.

"But for me to owe you, you actually have to give me something first," he said. "And all you've given me is a lot of pain and suffering." He rubbed at his eyes. Now that she'd been cared for, he could point her on her way to Dora's camp and be done with it.

"You're so dramatic, dipstick," Ember said. Danny wanted to point out that he was not the one with a fire ponytail and skull-shaped boots, but he wanted her to leave more. He definitely didn't want to spend another thirty minutes arguing about which of them was the most dramatic. She tapped her chin. "You know what's weird about all this?"

Everything? Danny wanted to ask sarcastically. Instead, he settled for a neutral, "What?"

"How soon this happened after Pariah Dark. I mean, what are the odds two crazy-powerful tyrants pop up within such a short amount of time? And it's just—I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like I should know more about the Empress than I do. I feel like she's closer to Pariah Dark than we think she is," Ember said. Her eyes were far away, and suddenly Danny remembered Technus saying something about how the Empress had been oddly familiar to him.

But what does it mean? So many mysteries, so many questions. The answers only bred more unknowns, like an infestation he couldn't get out. The half-ghost thought his head might explode if he tried to figure it out tonight. He needed sleep. Really, he needed a break. But he'd take what he could get.

"Anyway." Ember seemed to snap back to reality, her eyes losing their unfocused look. "Thanks for the assistance, babypop—not that I needed it. If you could just point me in Dora's direction?" She hovered off the ground in anticipation.

"It's west of here, I think," Danny told her. "In the woods. You should be able to sense them even when you're a ways off—there's a lot of them. And be careful. There's GIW outside my house."

"Right." Ember nodded. She smiled crookedly at him. "Good luck, I guess." Then, turning intangible, she shot through the wall. Hopefully she'd get to Dora's safely. Danny would send the queen a letter asking about it. He sighed, sagging now that he didn't have to keep up appearances. His eyes felt dry and irritated.

But he still had one more thing to do before bed. He looked up at the Portal and wondered exactly how he was going to shut it down.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Throwing Things

"Madam President, how much did you know about these so-called 'ghosts' before this information was released to the public?"

"I have prided myself on running an open and transparent administration, and so I will not lie to the American people now. I was well aware of the Ghostly Investigation Ward as an agency and its mission to investigate science considered unconventional, unorthodox, or even unreal. However, the GIW did not report the existence of ghosts to their superiors. The agency has become increasingly out of control and independent. So as for the actual knowledge of ghosts, I was as ignorant as the American public."

"What are the possible implications—for our nation, for the world—of this revelation?"

"I don't think we can say anything definitively except that the implications are immense and far-reaching. All of mainstream science up until now has pointed to the idea of 'ghosts' as impossible—though, as we now know, it clearly is possible. We will need intelligent and comprehensive research before we act, which is why I'm appointing a special commission on ghosts to do just that. What facts they uncover will guide our policy and thinking. I currently can't say what other nations' thinking on this is or how they may react."

"Did you or anyone in your administration have anything to do with the cover-up, Madam President?"

"No. As I said before, the GIW were acting entirely on their own, with limited direction from the government. They hid the existence of ghosts from us. Currently, a number of GIW agents have been arrested and many are under investigation. We are a free country, and that means everyone must be held accountable under the law."

"Do you have any sort of plan for these ghosts going forward?"

"I plan on travelling to Amity Park to see the situation for myself. I believe it's imperative that we gather accurate information in order to gauge what must be done. The GIW claim that the ghosts are dangerous, but I think we can all agree that we need a trustworthy, un-biased source to investigate before we as a country decide to act on something."

"Would you be able to explain in detail this commission you're creating?"

"Yes. Its goal will be to find out everything of relevance there is to know about ghosts. I am appointing Doctor Richard Johnson to head this commission—he is a renowned physicist. My hope is that we will arm the American people with facts about this new—and possibly dangerous—topic."

One week. Seven days. One-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours. Ten-thousand and eighty minutes. Six-hundred-and-four-thousand-and-eight-hundred seconds. Ticking down—six-hundred-and-four-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-nine, six-hundred-and-four-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-eight—a bomb prepped to explode. It might detonate faster or slower, depending on when exactly the Empress came.

Sometimes Danny thought it was less of a bomb and more of a heart. A poisoned heart, and each contraction pumped the poison down the bloodstream to each organ and limb, bringing it all closer and closer to death. You're being morbid, he told himself. He was lying on a mat in the attic; he wasn't training (it was only four and his parents were home), but he'd wanted to be alone. He'd spent the past two hours with Jazz, looking through the last of their parents' inventions. It was fascinating and terrible to see how many inventions could be made to torment a ghost. There had been things to extract a ghost's core, drain them of ectoplasm, electrocute them until their nervous system stopped working, bring their temperature so high they melted, peel their skin off—

Danny squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over, shuddering. He could see it, his parents, with that gleam in their eye, using those things on him to "cure" him. He could hear them in his mind—if we get rid of the core we get rid of the ghost. Or maybe—when we bleed out that nasty ectoplasm he'll have only blood left. He'll be human then.

He realized his breaths were coming quickly, and he made an effort to slow them down. I'm their son. They wouldn't. They wouldn't. He sat up and opened his eyes. But wouldn't they? They think I'm diseased—they'd think they were helping me.

"You're calm," he whispered to himself. "You're fine, you're calm." He wasn't about to have another panic attack. He wasn't. He just had to stop thinking about it, and he'd be fine. In fact, he was already fine.

Really.

Danny's stomach growled, and he decided he'd been alone with his thoughts long enough. He stood, the mat cold under his bare feet. Determinedly, he focused his mind on the positives of the situation—positives that had absolutely nothing to do with the negatives of his parents. The ghost shield is ready. The city is ready. The GIW isn't running around anymore. No one thinks you're a criminal.

He opened the door and began walking down the stairs. Really, when he thought about it like that, it seemed much better. Maybe Jazz had been on to something when she'd told him that a change in attitude could actually affect his emotional state. He guessed all that psycho-analytical-whatever hadn't been for nothing. Maybe (he'd never admit that Jazz was right—ever).

As he made his way to the first floor, he passed the normal sounds of Jazz playing soft music in her bedroom—something by Mozart, if he wasn't mistaken—and the washer running. It was all so mundane, too mundane. No one would ever guess that housed here was a half-ghost, a full-ghost, and three geniuses. Well, unless they found the basement. Or just looked in anyone's room.

Danny paused before entering the kitchen, trying to detect if the coast was clear. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle his parents right then—he didn't know if he'd keep it together if he saw one of them. And bursting into hysterics wasn't exactly keeping it on the down low. But he didn't hear anything, so he went in, relieved when his eyes confirmed what his ears had heard: nothing.

He took out leftover mac 'n' cheese from the fridge, not bothering to warm it up or put it on a plate. He only took a fork from the drawer and began to eat straight from the container—he'd probably finish it anyway. He heard faint sounds coming from the lab, and he tried not to think about what his parents were doing down there.

If we distill these blood blossoms, we might be able to burn that sickness out of him. His dad's voice sounded deep and distorted in his head, a demon created from a conglomeration of reality and his own deep terror. We'll inject it right in his heart—

Someone was coming up the stairs.

Danny tried not to choke on his food. He swallowed, desperately attempting to fit the lid back on so he could stuff the container back in the fridge and flee. The footsteps were coming closer—he wasn't being fast enough, goddammit. He managed to fling his utensil across the room just in time for his mom to appear in the doorway. It would've been funny had it not been so scary. The half-ghost looked up guiltily, his pulse rocketing so high he thought it might burst a vessel.

"Hi, Danny," his mom said casually, walking in. She wore a slight frown, and her hazmat suit, which was normally pristine, was creased. She bent down and picked up the fork. "What on earth are you doing in here?"

"Um." Should he lie? Don't be stupid, why would you lie about this? "I was eating." She raised her eyebrow and moved closer to him to put the fork in the sink. Danny managed not to flinch.

"I see. Was the fork not cooperating?" she asked, joking. Although she was trying, it was clear the limited cheer was forced. Danny subtly edged away, still attempting to close the lid.

"Something like that," he replied, noncommittal. The container finally clicked closed, and he almost jumped at the noise. You're being ridiculous. You weren't this scared when they were actively trying to end your life, one side of him pointed out. Yes, but that was before they knew I was human. I thought that was their line in the sand. I thought it was my ace in the hole. But if they know Phantom is human, and they're still willing to possibly hurt or kill him, even unknowingly, do they even have a line? Will they really stop if they know it's me, Danny, their son?

His mom hummed. "Did you want anything specific for dinner? I was thinking tonight we could all fend for ourselves—Dad and I are in the middle of trying to get the Portal back up." She opened the fridge. The urge to put his food away and leave warred with the urge to stay as far from his mom as possible.

"That's—that's fine. What happened with the Portal?" He had to act normal.

"We're not sure. When we went down to the lab today, it was just… off. No light, no power, no nothing. It's very strange. It doesn't appear that someone sabotaged it—there's no sign that someone broke in last night, and none of the wires or anything are cut or broken. We think it malfunctioned somehow, but we're not sure. We haven't found anything that short-circuited…" she trailed off, lost in thought. She paused before taking the grapes out of the refrigerator.

"Strange," Danny said. They wouldn't find anything short-circuited or broken. After the accident, the half-ghost had studied his parents' plans for the Portal extensively. More than he'd studied for anything in his life. Last night, he'd spent some time thinking on how to shut it down. He'd decided that the best way would be to hide a few of the Portal's key components so it wouldn't turn back on. Once his parents found that they were missing, it would take them weeks to build new ones. It was a large enough timeframe that the Empress would certainly attack before then.

"It is," his mom agreed. She placed a few grapes in a bowl and washed them, still too close for Danny to comfortably put away his mac 'n' cheese. "You didn't hear or see anything odd last night, did you?"

"No, not a thing," Danny lied, resisting the impulse to rub the back of his neck. He was well aware of his ticks, his body wanting to give him away. But he refused to let it. I am in control. He made himself walk to the fridge—closer to her—and put his food away. He didn't take his eyes off his mom the whole time, the way a person wouldn't take their eyes off of someone with a gun or a bomb.

You're letting your imagination run wild, he told himself. You're thinking about thinks that haven't happened yet—that are never going to happen. They love you. It was his optimism pitted against his pessimism, his logic against his fear, his ghost-half against his human-half. One knew only hatred from them—the other only love.

His mom sighed, and Danny practically ran backward as his mom came to put the grapes back. She eyed him. "Are you okay, Danny? Have we said something to upset you?"

Yes. His throat was suddenly dry. "No, of course not. What makes you say that?" The words sounded right, but everything else was off. Was his voice higher than normal? Would she notice?

"You've been avoiding us, sweetheart. Don't think we haven't noticed. But I don't understand why." Her grapes sat, forgotten, on the counter. Her eyes held Danny's steadily, and her frown was one of soft concern. "Have we been too hard on you about school?"

The half-ghost swallowed. "No. You haven't—you haven't done anything, Mom." Her title—his name for her—fell through his lips like a dead thing. A leaf falling from a tree, a deer falling from a bullet, a son falling from a Portal. "It's fine. I'm just…" He searched for a lie. "I'm a little tense is all. You know, the Empress, Phantom. The GIW. Everything, I guess." Danny found that the easiest lies to tell—and the most believable ones—were the ones that held the most truth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were taking it so hard. You know you can tell me things, don't you?" I can't. I can't. He found himself nodding, however.

"I do." He didn't. He couldn't. Not so long as she refused to accept half of him as—if not normal—at least a part of him. An important part. "I know I can. You guys have your own problems, though." Problems like prejudice that stopped him from telling them things.

His mom suddenly seemed sad. The corners of her mouth drooped lower, like the sagging branches of a dying tree. "We will always make time for you, sweetheart. Always." But will it be time to help me or time to hurt me? Danny wondered. "And I know the Empress is scary, but we have it well in hand. The police are doing a wonderful job, and your dad and I have done our part. The shield is up, the officers are armed to the teeth, and everyone knows what they're supposed to do. It's nothing we haven't faced before."

Everyone kept saying that, but it wasn't true. The Empress exposed me. She did something no other ghost has done before. If Technus hadn't put his foot down… If he'd told her my human name… The GIW might've captured him. His parents definitely would've done something—though whether they would've protected him… Yes. They would've, and if I'm revealed now, they will. They will!

"I know," he said, trying to inject some certainty into his tone. He leaned against the counter, concealing the shaking in his knees. "And I think it's really good that we're so well prepared." That much, at least, was entirely true.

"Exactly." His mom offered him a tired smile that Danny attempted to match. "And as for Phantom—"

"Can we not talk about Phantom?" Danny interrupted. "Please?" He didn't know what he'd do if she started talking about "curing" or "fixing" him—and he didn't want to find out. His mom squinted, suspicious.

"Why don't you want to talk about Phantom?" she asked, voice level. "You said that was something upsetting you. I want to make you feel better, Danny." Discussing his ghost form with her would do the exact opposite of that, but he wasn't about to tell her directly. He traced the mortar in between the tiles of the counter. It was rough.

"Isn't it enough that I don't want to?" he said quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his mom's lips tighten. She rubbed her jaw.

"No, it isn't. That's really why you were avoiding us, isn't it? You started doing it right after that conversation we had. Why? How did we upset you?" Sometimes he hated that his mom was so damn smart. Sometimes he hated that he couldn't have inherited any of it, left instead to struggle for Cs and figure out the best way to plan his night so he could do his homework, fight the ghosts, and sleep.

"You didn't," Danny insisted. With the Empress so close, now was not the time for his parents to be putting the pieces together. She was about two years too late.

"No," she repeated. He could tell she was in full processing mode now. Her gaze was focused solely on him, and it was as uncomfortable as it had been in the past. It was as uncomfortable as he'd imagine it would be, with him strapped to a table, her scalpel inching closer and closer—

…want to cure him…

"We did," his mom said. Danny couldn't bring himself to speak. "Is it because he's one of your classmates? I swear, Danny, we're not hunting him anymore—we gave that up as soon as we knew he was human. And we know he's not a criminal. You and Jazz have always supported him; you should be happy!"

I'm not. The resentment simmering below the fear bubbled to the surface. It came whenever his parents said things he "should" do or "should" be. It came when they were disappointed in him, even when he'd done his best. It came when he thought of how things were supposed to be—them loving and accepting all of him, not trying to hunt him or throw him in jail or fix him.

It came like a dog summoned by its master, always clipping at his heels.

"I don't—" He didn't know how to explain it without giving himself away. "I'm not—" He faltered again, and he took a deep breath.

"We only want to help him now," his mom said, eager to defend herself and her ideas. As eager as she'd always been. It was something he'd admired about his parents—this excitement—but now it repulsed him. And scared him. "We're going to save him. We've already thought up a few ways that might cure him—"

"Stop!" Danny cried. "Please." It was barely a whisper. He thought he might vomit. He felt sweat, slick and terrible, run down his back. He wanted to yell at her; he wanted to cry. His mom stood in silence, surprised by his outburst. Why not tell her? A voice suggested. What the hell have I got to lose? "It upset me because you don't know anything about his condition. Were you even going to ask him about 'fixing' him before you did whatever it is you plan on doing to him?"

"Well." She paused, reluctant to admit what she'd really been planning. "No, not exactly. There's no guarantee he'd agree. He's grown used to his condition, reliant on it. But it can't be good for him. We're experts on ghosts; we know what we're doing. We're not going to hurt him, Danny—just cure him. Help him. He's sick. He probably doesn't even realize how badly having ectoplasm in his system is affecting him."

You don't know that! Danny wanted to scream it to the sky, to the universe, the words expanding until they reached the moon, the sun, the stars. Reverberating across the Earth. This was the issue, the crux of it: his parents' arrogance. They thought they knew better than him. They thought they knew everything about ghosts, even when the only time they'd ever studied one was when they were chasing them, shooting at them, or cutting them open.

I am not diseased, he thought forcefully. It sounded like denial, even in his head. I'm not!

He said none of it. He simply turned and began to walk out of the kitchen.

"Danny!" his mom called. "We need to talk about this! Don't run away from me!" Some part of her, though, seemed to realize how upset he was.

She wouldn't hear his side, anyway. She only wanted the opportunity to talk so she could convince him she was right. And he'd said too much, anyway. He'd wasted too much energy. There were bigger problems to be worrying about.

Mainly, a ghost invasion.

In the end, the Empress came two days earlier than anticipated.

It was a moment Danny could never forget, seared by panic and fear into his mind like a brand. He was sitting at his desk, reading his latest letter from Dora. It detailed the goings-on of her camp and also how Ember and Kitty were adjusting.

…Kitty is most desperately sad about her lover Johnny. I think Ember is a comfort to her; she and the singer spar and talk regularly, and her countenance becomes lighter and more carefree after. Ember's wound heals rapidly. She does not like being confined here, I think, but she bears it well. I spoke to her about scouting deeper into the woods or helping to erect more defenses—both of which I considered to be more to her liking—and she seemed to cheer at the prospect…

Despite Danny's poor relationships with both of the ghosts, he couldn't help his satisfaction at the news. It was nice to feel like he'd done something good, for once. He finished reading the letter and opened his laptop, deciding that since his ghostly enemies were turning into something like allies, he might as well update it on his ghost files.

It was this reason that he knew the precise time the Empress came—7:17 PM. Everything seemed normal, or at least Danny's new normal. His eyes were dry from lack of sleep, his hair mussed. The only light in his room came from his lamp and his monitor.

Then, his ghost sense went off. It only went off once, alerting him to the presence of many ghosts. There were multiple points from which he felt them, all from the forest to the north of Amity. She has more than one portal, he realized with dawning horror. He could tell that one of the signatures was more powerful than any other Danny had ever felt—except for Clockwork's, maybe. It was crushing in a way Danny hadn't anticipated, as though he were far beneath the sea, millions of tons of water pressing down on him.

He stood from his chair, opening his desk drawer so forcefully it almost fell off. He grabbed the Fenton phones and Fenton thermos from within—he had to get that shield up—but it was too late.

The ghosts were pouring in—Danny could hear the screams from outside, the shrill sounds mixed with terrible, echoing laughter and the sound of ectoblasts. Sirens sounded in the distance. The Empress had opened the portals, mobilized, and attacked in seconds, mere seconds. The portals had been opened outside of Amity, in the forest, so how had they gotten to the city so fast? How could they have underestimated the Empress so badly? He jammed the Fenton phones on his head as Jazz came running into his room.

"Is it her?" she demanded. She was dressed in cargo pants, boots, and a long-sleeved shirt. Over that, she wore a Kevlar vest, and was currently strapping a belt onto her waist—as well as a specter-deflector. "It's her, right?" Panic made her voice higher, and she was paler than normal.

"Yes," Danny replied shortly. Outside his window, the dimness of the night—for the last of the sun's lingering rays were vanishing below the horizon—was lit with the auras of a hundred ghosts. He felt the sudden urge to vomit—there were so many—too many—far more than even Pariah Dark had mustered. Some wore armor that clanged as they flew, others were ghosts she'd clearly recruited—he even saw some of Walker's goons.

He'd never faced so many before. Was there even enough space in his thermos? What would he do with them all, once he'd captured them? This was something he'd been viewing with dread for so long now it almost didn't seem real—this was a dream, a nightmare, and any minute Danny would wake up to realize he still had a week or a day left. It couldn't be now. He couldn't be facing her now. But he was. He was about to confront the ghost who had truly been behind exposing his half-human status, the ghost who had conquered the Zone in less time than it had taken Alexander the Great to conquer the Persian Empire, the ghost who had destroyed Johnny and probably countless others, the ghost who had laid siege to Dora's kingdom, the ghost who had forced the others to either join her, flee, or perish.

He suddenly couldn't breathe. It was hitting him—now. She was here now. She had made his life hell. She was here with an army, and it was Danny's jobto get rid of it. His heart thumped in his ears, a beat accompanied by the roaring hum of his core—it was almost like music. Protect, protect, protect. This was the time his human and ghost halves were most in sync, when his instincts wholly agreed with one another—perhaps one of the only times they were so cohesive. Protect, protect, protect.

Over the din, he heard a terrible screeching noise—the sound of metal twisting and moving. What the hell is that? What other terrible things had the Empress brought with her? In a flash, he had changed into Phantom.

"Technus," he called. The ghost was watching out the window—Danny would've scolded him, but what was the point if the GIW saw him now? The invasion was happening. It was happening now, right outside his window, and Danny had to do something. He would. He always had. "Try an protect them, would you?" The ghost nodded.

The bile that had been rising was tamped down by the strange calm that generally overcame him in these situations. The noise of the invasion outside became manageable. An eerie calm smothered him, cleared his head, stifled his emotions and tamped them down so far Danny wouldn't have been able to feel anything but this if he tried—this determination, this fierce anger. This urge to protect.

He was going to make her pay.

"This is Danny," he said into the Fenton phones as he flew, intangible, out his window. Chaos reigned in the streets below, people desperately trying to get to the school's shield. There wasn't enough room on the road to drive—too many pedestrians, too many ghosts—so they were sprinting, parents clutching their children as ghosts ganged up on them. The stench of burnt flesh permeated the air—these ghosts weren't holding anything back. "We're going to plan B."

"I'm on," Tucker said. Danny heard the sound of a car door slam and an engine start over the line. "And copy that. Heading for the mainstay right now—I'll see what I can do about some of these guys on the way." The half-ghost was proud that his friend's voice hardly shook, steady and calm. "Some of the streets are packed, though—people trying to get to Casper as quick as they can. My ETA's fifteen minutes, give or take." Danny heard the sound of a blaster in the background, and tamped down his worry. Tucker will be fine. He's a good shot.

Before the ghosts in the street realized he was there, Danny decided to use their lack of awareness to his advantage. He wasted no time getting into the thick of it. He barreled into one that was about to spear a young father and his kid—the two had been backed into a corner, nowhere to go. The ghost quickly turned intangible, escaping through him and behind him. He turned tangible after that, aiming his weapon at Danny this time. But the half-ghost rammed his fist into his face and brought out his thermos, trapping the ghost.

"Get to Casper High!" he ordered the man. He nodded shakily, scooping up his daughter—she'd been placed protectively behind him—and running in the direction everyone else was. Danny turned his attention to the other ghosts, his fists lighting up with glowing green energy.

"Sam, you there? I need you on the other mainstay. And Jazz, you're on the third. Just as we planned. I'll get the last, but first I need to get as many ghosts as I can out of the shield's range," Danny told them. If he made himself the most prominent threat, they'd have to take him out first before hurting people, and he could lead them away.

"I'm here, Danny," Sam said. She sounded breathless, and roaring air blasted in the background. "And I'm on it. My ETA's ten minutes, maybe less." Danny frowned as he shot a blast at a ghost who was dangling a child by his leg fifty feet in the air, the mom screaming below. The ghost laughed, but grunted as the shot hit her full in the core. She dropped the child in time for Danny to fly upward and catch him. The boy, mid-scream, stopped and looked up at his savior with wide, teary brown eyes.

"Here," Danny said, depositing the boy gently into what was presumably his mother's arms. "Get to the shield."

"Thank you," the boy's mom sobbed before she raced off. Danny looked up, side-stepping as the ghost from before slammed her enlarged fists—that was an odd power—into the ground where he'd been only seconds before. The sidewalk cracked.

"It's you," she snarled, her face twisted with hatred. She swung again, but it was wild, and Danny easily dodged. "My mistress will defeat you. You are no match for—" The half-ghost didn't wait for her to finish before trapping her in his thermos.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before. Maybe get some new lines," he muttered, shoving the thermos back into his belt. "Jazz, do you copy?" The ghosts that had been terrorizing other people in the street left them to come fight Danny—which was what the half-ghost personally preferred. He kept to the ground—he didn't want to be surrounded on all sides.

"Yes." Jazz also sounded winded. "I'm on my way to the mainstay on foot. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He heard the whine of an ectogun over the call. Abruptly, he wondered where his parents were in all this mayhem. He may have been on rocky ground with them, but he wouldn't be able to bear it if they were hurt. He remembered that they'd gone out shopping or something. He pushed it from his mind. They would be fine; they carried their equipment with them wherever they went, and they had the GAV. That thing was like a small tank.

"Has anyone laid eyes on the Empress?" Danny asked. He'd given them all Dora's description of their enemy, and even with the mess currently going on, he didn't think any of them would miss her. He ducked as the ghosts began firing at him, long distance—they'd seen what he'd done to their friends, and they were wary. But Danny could play that game, too.

"Nope," Jazz replied. "No sign of her." He fired his ectoblasts rapidly—slightly less powered, but much faster than his regular ones. It took concentration and effort, but he was rewarded when a couple of the weaker ghosts dropped, too injured to fly. He swept them up in his thermos, but the others avoided its beam.

"That's a negative," Tucker said.

"No," Sam answered, the same odd wind in the back of her call.

"Alright. The plan is to activate the shield and hold the ghosts off as best we can. Dora and her people will get here eventually to help." They'd discussed it in their letters. Dora had set up guards all over the forest, and they would know that Amity was being attacked.

"Copy that," three voices said, though one was filled with that loud, awful background noise.

"Sam," Danny grunted, lurching backward as one of the ghost's took a swing at him with their sword. He lunged, and they yelped, retreating, only for him to blast them, point-blank. "What is that sound?"

"Um," Sam said, and even though they were in the middle of an invasion, this was perhaps the oddest thing he'd heard. Sam was never hesitant. "So I may or may not be riding a motorcycle." Danny sucked the downed ghost into his thermos and spun around mid-air to face the remaining two. They were sticking together, and one of them created a shield around both of them once they realized Danny's attention was on them.

"What the hell, Sam? Why? How?" Tucker demanded. The half-ghost would've had similar questions, but he was busy. Not wanting to waste anymore ecto-energy than he already had, he flew upward—ten, twenty, thirty feet. The two ghosts watched him, confused. Then, he fell, urging his legs to remain legs and not a spectral tail. Gravity did most of the work for him, and he slammed feet-first into the apex of their shield, shattering it.

They yelled as Danny fell on top of them, flickering into intangibility just a second too late. In their pain and panic, he easily trapped them in the thermos. More ghosts were pouring onto the street, but Danny saw no more people. The half-ghost ignored them in favor of looking for those trying to evacuate to the shield. He flew higher and raced down the street to the next one, where he could hear shouts.

"Well, they aren't the greatest for the environment, but my parents hate them. So I learned how to ride one, passed the test and all that, and rode it when they were being especially irritating. I don't do it normally, but I thought it would be faster with the roads being so crowded." That was… the most Sam-like motivation Danny had ever heard of. Sometimes, he could believe she ran on nothing but spite. Well, spite and vegetables.

The next street over was deserted, but the one after that had fighting. The half-ghost dove, sucking an unsuspecting ghost into his thermos from behind. It was clear that these ghosts were only the foot soldiers; Danny hadn't yet fought a skilled warrior. The man the ghost had been beating was unconscious on the ground, his hair matted with blood and his face swollen. Danny carefully felt his neck for a pulse. He found one, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do with him. He could still hear sirens, somewhere, but he didn't have time to find paramedics. The ghosts here were quicker to catch on; they began to gang up on him immediately, surrounding him and the beaten man, shouting taunts.

"You can't win, Phantom!" He wondered for a split-second how they knew it was him, but he supposed if he could get ahold of the Empress's description, she could get ahold of his.

"Our mistress will destroy you!" one yelled.

"Abomination!" another screamed, glowing spittle dripping onto the ground in front of him.

"Ew," Danny said. They pelted him with ectoblasts, and he created a shield, protecting both him and the man behind him. "God, I know dogs better trained than that." This only seemed to make them angrier, and in addition to ectoblasts, they began to hit the shield with their weapons. Danny backed up, as though he was buckling under the strain, and they pressed forward eagerly.

Instead of the shield breaking however, he turned himself and the man intangible, sinking through the earth and coming up behind the ghosts. Danny left the man on the ground and rushed the ghosts, ripping one's spear from her hands and using it like a staff to slam into them before they knew what hit them. He brought the butt of it down on one's head and jabbed the pointy end at another, making him back off. Then, to ensure they were distracted, he flung the spear at a third and sucked them all into his thermos.

"Hey!" he called to a couple people running past him. He flew down to the ground. "Would you be able to get this man to safety?" he asked, pointing to the unconscious person.

"We can," the woman said, her face crinkling. "C'mon, Roger." Together, she and the man lifted the beaten man up, maneuvering around rubble to keep from tripping. Danny watched them briefly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Tucker's voice crackled in his ear. "Danny, we might have a problem." Now, his tone was panicky, and the half-ghost wondered anxiously if he was okay, what had happened. Why did he have to be so far away from his friends?

"We have a lot of problems right now, Tuck—you're going to have be a little more specific," Danny responded, launching himself into the air once more. He soared over buildings, keeping an eye out for something he could help with.

"It's the school—I'm not sure. I just passed it, and something has to be wrong with the shield or something. People are running away from it," Tucker explained. "I can't see anything from where I am, but I keep hearing a God-awful screeching noise. Should I check it out?"

"No," Danny responded, immediately changing direction mid-air. He would've teleported, but he wanted to conserve as much energy as he could. "We need to get the shield up as soon as possible, and I may not have enough energy left to fight if I teleport and turn on all the mainstays."

"Got it," Tucker said. Danny flew as quickly as he could toward the school, thinking desperately about what could've happened. Why were people running away from the one place that could protect them? He tried to feel for an ectoplasmic signature at the school to see if it was stronger than normal, but there were so many ghosts the signatures were blending together, obscuring the others the way a strong smell covered up a weaker one.

He paused only twice while flying: once to fire at a ghost who had a woman cornered, quickly sucking him into his thermos; the other time to save a family trapped in their home's rubble. Each time, he urged them to be careful of going to the school, warning that something was happening. He felt guilty that he'd directed the others toward danger, but there was no time.

The sun had finally finished going down, leaving the sky completely dark. Flashes of green, red, and white lit up the night. Danny could hear the sounds of fighting and blasts in the distance—the police, his parents, Valerie, or the GIW were all candidates. Ghost and human screams echoed everywhere, Danny's enhanced sense of hearing picking them up even when they were far away.

And then he heard the thing he'd been waiting for: a terrible screeching noise, like the one he'd heard before. Like the one Tucker had described. What was it? It ended abruptly, and Danny urged himself faster, the wind blasting back his hair. He could see the glowing of the dome in the distance—and then he saw—saw her. Drawing closer, he could make out the details. She was as Dora had said: at least seven feet tall, if not taller, and emaciated, her cheeks hollow and her joints swollen-looking. Her skin was a light bluish purple with undertones of a sickly green, and her eyes glowed a crimson brighter than any other Danny had seen.

Her hair was long, straight, and brittle, like darkly colored straw. She wore armor made of bones. Skulls adorned her shoulders as pauldrons, and smaller bones—perhaps fingers and cracked, broken ribs—had been sewn into the fabric of her top. She wore old-fashioned leggings and boots, but over it she had a skirt made of femurs and shins and whole feet. They swung as she moved, smacking against one another more hideously than Danny could've imagined.

She was hovering in the air, her back to the shield, silhouetted ominously by the green light that should've been Amity's salvation. Danny could hear shrieks as people who had arrived, expecting safety, turned and sprinted in the other direction. How was she preventing them from getting in? He couldn't see her firing anything.

"I'm at the school," he croaked into the Fenton phones. It was her. He was a wound spring, coiled tightly by fear. "It's the Empress—she's here."

"What's she doing?" Sam asked. Danny didn't reply.

He could see the entirety of the school, though he was still one street away. Police sirens bathed the houses intermittently with red and blue light—though the cars themselves were crumpled, useless heaps. Where were the police? Had they been trying to defend the shield? How had the cars been destroyed? He watched, flying nearer, as a man took his chances and bolted for the school. The Empress merely laughed—a condescending, arrogant, hateful sound, as though instead of vocal chords she had rocks in her throat, grinding together—and held up one hand. Her five fingers were grotesquely long, and before Danny could react, she closed it into a fist.

And somehow, the man exploded.

For a split-second, the half-ghost could see that he was encased in a reddish energy, and then his legs and arms and head were wrenched off by an invisible force, flinging the body parts in all directions. Blood sprayed into the air. The man's headless, limbless corpse tumbled to the ground. Danny's eyes went wide—he screamed—the man was dead now—dead—how dare she—and he teleported—

And he was there, in front of her—still screaming—tackling her into the shield, only she was fast, incredibly, unbelievably fast, turning intangible and bursting through him, behind him. Danny turned on a dime, whipping around to face her, his back to the shield. He could hear Sam or Tucker or Jazz or all three yelling in his ear, asking what was happening.

Up close, he saw more bodies, the wreckage she had wrought. He couldn't tell who they were, but he saw children and teenagers and adults, all clearly, horribly, trying to get to the shield that had been Danny's suggestion. Some were dressed in police uniform, ectoguns lying limply in arms not attached to owners. The smell was terrible. Something nearby was on fire, and the smoke mingled with the sour scent of ectoplasm and cloying blood. And it was in front of his school, right here on the sidewalk, beside the bushes and trees he passed nearly everyday, the sign that said carpool parking only, the bus lane.

He wanted to kneel over the corpses that had once been people and weep; he wanted to scream and rage that it wasn't fair. He wanted to throw up.

She had perverted this place, ruined it, she had killed people, and now Danny was going to kick her fucking ass into orbit.

Wordlessly—he wasn't about to waste his breath with banter—he brought a ectoblast into his palm, firing it point-blank, but she was quick—again—bringing up a wall of crimson energy that easily absorbed his blow.

"It's you, isn't it?" she asked, tone mocking, not seeming to care that he wasn't interested in talking. He didn't care about her motivation, her big plan, her grand speech—she had murdered people under Danny's protection, and he was going to make her pay. "The abomination. The half-ghost." She laughed again, but made no move to fight him, using her telekinesis or otherwise. Danny simply snarled, charging her.

She let him get close before turning intangible, but Danny was ready for that—he turned intangible as well, grappling with her. She grunted in surprise, but then she was away—she had teleported in a flash of red light—Danny immediately dodged to the side without looking, and her kick went over his head.

"What?" she demanded. She sounded irritated now. "Are you mute?" Danny spun mid-air, prepared to try something else—none of his hits were landing—when he felt a pressure, something immense, like a giant invisible hand wrapping around him, freezing him in place. He tried to squirm, get free, but he couldn't. He couldn't even look down. He could hardly breathe.

Was this what an ant felt, when it was being squashed by a boot?

"What did you do?" he demanded. She flew closer, one of her hands extended—the same gesture she had used on that man. Was this the same thing? Was she using her telekinesis to hold him in place? He gritted his teeth, straining, but he wasn't physically strong enough to break her hold.

"Ah, so you can speak. I might've thought a vile thing like you incapable of such higher thought." She loomed above him. Her breath smelled terrible, like fetid meat and rotting fruit. Danny gagged, but he couldn't turn his face away. Almost delicately, she lowered her hand to his face, her fingertips brushing his cheek. Her eyes watched him, malevolent and filled with a sick delight.

This was nothing like Pariah Dark—nothing like anything they'd faced before. She was entirely different—and entirely more sadistic. Against his will, his mouth opened, as though someone had used their hands to force his jaw downward. "Such pretty teeth," she said, reaching inside his fucking mouth to touch one of his back molars. "I think, after all the trouble you've caused me, it would be fitting if I ripped them out, one by one, and then—" She grinned, revealing needle-sharp teeth. "—I'll take your tongue."

Danny's mind nearly went blank—the pressure began on one of his back teeth, he let out a wretched noise, but still he could not move—think, Danny, you have to break her hold! His tooth ripped free, and he sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut—he didn't want the last thing he saw to be her ugly face. Ectoplasm and blood pooled in his mouth.

"Such nice noises you make," she purred, and oh, I'm an idiot. He opened his eyes. "I'll have to—"

She was cut off as Danny wailed. Directly in front of his mouth, she received a full blast of the sound and was forced back. The half-ghost felt the grip around him loosen, and he immediately got out his thermos—if he could simply trap her, he imagined the army would be easier to stop without a leader. He pressed the button, but it went flying from his hands and onto the ground, splashing in a pool of blood. The Empress, her gaunt face contorted with fury, let her hand fall to the ground.

"For that, I'll take your eyes and ears as well as your teeth and tongue before I obliterate you," she said. And he believed her. He spat, ectoplasm and a little blood dribbling from his mouth. The half-ghost wiped it away with the back of his hand. The Empress looked surprised now—disheveled. A few of the bones that had been sewn into her tunic had been blown off. Danny wondered how long it had been that someone had been able to fight her directly, one-on-one.

To quiet the voices in his ear, he said, "We've engaged. Can't talk now." Then, louder, he told the Empress, "You talked about me causing trouble, but I think you got it backwards," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw people taking advantage of the Empress's distraction to get to the shield. Good, he thought, trying not to look at the bodies. He braced himself. "You've caused me a hell of a lot more trouble than I have for you."

He needed to keep her talking; it had been shortsighted before not to speak with her. His anger hadn't dissipated, for he would never be able to rest until she was defeated and long gone. Rather, it had cooled into something that could be contained. His enemies often revealed their plans when they spoke—or other clues on how to defeat them. The Empress likely wasn't any different.

"So righteous," she said, eyes narrowed. "But you're weak. I'm certain it will take mere minutes of my tender touch to have you begging for mercy—pleading with me to end your miserable existence." She smiled at the image, as if she was imagining it now.

"That's fucking disgusting," Danny muttered. As she raised her hand again, ready to make good on her threats, Danny threw his hands high, palms out, and one of the strongest shields he'd ever made sprang into existence. It blocked all forms of ecto-energy—ghosts, ectoblasts, ecto-infused weapons—so why not telekinesis?

If nothing else, he had thought it worth a shot.

He groaned as that same immense pressure tried to crush his shield from all angles, pressing upward and downward. Danny felt his muscles shake at the strain, but the shield didn't crack or break. The Empress screamed in frustration, raising her other hand and also balling into a fist. The half-ghost cried out as more pressure was somehow added—minute cracks began to appear in his dome—he just had to hold out a little longer—there was no way she could keep it up for so long.

"I am your Empress!" she bellowed, her long, dark-purple hair whipping in the wind. "Nothing will stand in the way of what I am owed—of what is rightfully mine. You will cower and bow before me before I slay you, abomination—I promise you that!"

But it was a promise she couldn't keep right away; Danny's shield held, and she was eventually forced to stop using her powers to crush him. He let the green sphere flicker out of existence, though he stayed ready to put it up at a second's notice in case it was a feint. It wasn't—though the Empress was well and truly angry, now. Unlike many of his other foes, however, her anger was tightly controlled. Her movements were exact, precise, calculating.

He had to make her leave, somehow—get out of the shield's range, and then put it up. She was so powerful—she'd already killed at least a dozen people, if not more. A madness unlike Danny had ever known pulsed through his veins—he didn't know if he'd be able to get the thermos to trap her, but he didn't know if he'd be able to destroy her, either. He'd never destroyed a ghost before—nor had he ever killed anyone. But he couldn't—refused, absolutely refused—to let her slaughter any more people. He wondered if he knew any of the bodies scattered below. He didn't know.

He didn't know.

"I'll never bow to a crazy tyrant like you!" Danny shouted, gathering ectoplasm in both hands to blast her with. His throat was raw from his wail, and the empty space where his tooth had been ripped out throbbed, but his voice carried. He let his ecto-ball loose, faster than most others he could throw, but still, she dodged as if it was nothing, not even bothering to shield herself.

Was she being overconfident in her abilities? Or merely realistic in Danny's?

"You will," she said. "You're inferior to me and my army in every way—you're part human, trapped between a deficient form and a far superior one. I'll be doing you a favor, releasing you from that prison you call a body. Bones, heart, lungs—these are all weaknesses ghosts have managed to get rid of. You lag behind us, and my victory is ensured because of it. It is only natural for you to submit to me and my will."

Fuck, she's crazy. Beyond fruit-loop levels—she's an absolute nutcase with a god-complex to boot. Not to mention a murderer. "Natural? We're going to talk about natural?" Danny shouted. "You're the one wearing bones. That's like serial-killer level insane." The Empress twisted her hands, and for a moment he was terrified he'd be immobilized again, but instead, a chunk of ground beneath them surged into the air with a deafening crack, glowing red. Corpses fell from it, down into the pit it was leaving behind. It was at least three times as big as he was. With alarming speed, it rushed toward him. Danny knew that unless she let go of it with her telekinesis, he wouldn't be able to simply go through it using intangibility.

As the giant piece of asphalt, sidewalk, grass, and dirt zoomed toward him, the half-ghost braced himself—he'd teleport at the last minute, get out of the way. It was inches away when he did so, appearing ten feet away in the other direction. He was glad he'd spent all that time practicing in the attic—it was coming in handy now.

She growled and changed the momentum of her rock, flinging it at him with greater speed. He teleported again—soon, she brought up more chunks of land, ripping them from the earth with terrible cracks and creaks. She even lifted up one of the crushed police cars. It became a deadly dance, Danny only one step ahead. One of her objects would get close to him, and he'd disappear, just to land centimeters from another of her objects. They flew through the air at sickening speeds—he could be crushed between two or beneath one, with little time to react, if he teleported to the wrong place.

He started reappearing farther and farther away each time, and, as he hoped, she gradually followed him, until they were down the street from the school. Behind her, he watched as people wasted no time in using the Empress's distraction to their advantage. They streamed into the shield's shelter, far more than the previous trickle. He panted, sweat running down his back and thighs and face. He had stopped paying attention to what Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were saying over the Fenton phones long ago—he listened only for his name.

Half-way down the street, the flying objects stopped. Danny watched, baffled, as the Empress laughed, waving one of her thin, bony fingers at him, tipped with a jagged black nail. "You almost had me—clever abomination you are. Clever, but not as clever as me. I am not so focused on you that I cannot see the bigger picture." She smirked and twirled around, her bone-skirt rattling. Then, she sent the massive pieces of ground and the car hurtling toward the people entering the shield.

"No!" Danny shouted, and in an instant he was there, in front of the people just outside the shield. He watched the auras flicker off the objects—they wouldn't be blocked by a shield—not one Danny summoned or the one behind him.

His brain processed what was happening in an instant—there was no time to grab all the people and turn them intangible, no time to create a wall of ice, only time for one thing, a trick he had already used. He wailed, watching as the people on either side of him dropped, clutching their ears. The objects in front of him crumbled to smithereens, small bits of rock falling to the ground.

Barely a second passed before the Empress was there again, having teleported after him. "Get inside the shield!" he ordered the people, who scrambled to do as he said. Some had blood trickling from their ears, but Danny didn't have time to be guilty. "And then inside the school itself!"

He charged, springing upward into the air to meet the Empress again. "So keen to protect them, are you?" she said coolly. He raced at her, trying to land a blow somewhere—anywhere. But she dodged even as she spoke, keeping ahead of his punches and kicks with ease. "You should thank me for killing them. I have released them from their miserable little lives and given them a chance to move on to something greater, to be given power they have only ever dreamed of! They will shed their inferior skins, letting their filthy blood spill from their veins. They will be purged, beginning anew in a better form, a more powerful form. The superior form."

"I'd say you're crazier than a bag of cats," Danny grunted, still trying to hit her. "But at this point you're crazier than a fucking palace full of cats. A complete psycho."

"I will raze this city to the ground!" the Empress declared, as if she hadn't even heard him speaking. "Then, I will raise it again, stronger and better than before. Just as when humans die they become something better. The flames of destruction always give rise to something greater. And you will not stand in my way." Bits of bone on her clothing suddenly glowed red, coming off of her body. They had been sharpened to deadly-looking tips, and she sent them flying after Danny, so many it was all he could do to evade them. He couldn't teleport anymore, not unless it was an emergency—his core ached, more than the rest of his body.

"You never really explained that," Danny said, trying to keep her attention on him. "You said I'd caused all this trouble for you, but as far as I can tell, I was minding my own business when you decided to fuck me over." He flew around the bones as they trailed him, eager to skewer his flesh.

"You aided the lady Dora in escaping, you got rid of Sir Demortem, and you have taken in my enemies," the Empress said, directing the bones. They blurred in the air. Danny couldn't reply, too busy avoiding them. "Still, for all that, you are a weak, pathetic creature."

"Am I?" Danny challenged. He poured on the speed, managing to get ahead of the bones. Then he turned and fired. The ectoblast was powerful enough that it disintegrated most of them. "I'm holding you off, after all, oh Mighty Empress." Her eyebrow twitched, as if she didn't appreciate the reminder. "In fact," Danny said, "I think Pariah Dark was more of a challenge than you are."

"DO NOT SPEAK OF PARIAH IN FRONT OF ME!" the Empress thundered, charging forward. The terrible, metallic screeching sound echoed through the air as she twisted metal up from the ground, smashing it together through sheer force until it resembled something like a spear. It was the longest, ugliest spear Danny had ever seen, though—at least fifteen feet long. "He was nothing but a poorer copy of myself!"

"—Danny! Danny!" Sam's voice yelled into his ear. "The mainstay's up!" The half-ghost barely had time to process the statement beyond a general sense of relief.

The Empress swung her new weapon at him, and he dodged. It rammed, point-first into the ground, sinking far deeper than it should have been able to. Danny's mind raced. What is she talking about? Can I use this somehow? "Copy that," he said lowly to his friends. "Was he your ex-boyfriend or something?" he asked the Empress. "Did he dump you? Because I can see why—the anger, general insanity, wearing bones as clothes. Not exactly great girlfriend material."

The spear pulled itself from the ground, flying back into the Empress's hand. She jabbed it menacingly, moving closer. Danny tensed. "He deserved what he got, if he was so weak that he could not even defeat you, an abomination of both the human and ghost worlds."

"If you're so great, how come everyone knows about him and not you?" Danny asked. This only seemed to make her angrier, and she hurtled the spear at him, slashing left and right and up and down. Danny ducked and flew, retreating even as she charged closer.

"I WAS THE HEIR TO THE THRONE!" Her weapon shot through the air to the place Danny's head had been not a second before. He could feel the gigantic spear whooshing past, the air ruffling his hair. "I was the elder! Rightfully, it was mine! He was a traitor—a lying, dirty, good-for-nothing traitor! I was always better than him—worthless, terrible thing that he was. Conquering the Zone—ha! That was me!"

Oh, Danny thought. She wasn't his girlfriend—they're siblings. And now that he was looking for it, he could sort of see a resemblance in the shape of her nose and her complete air of arrogance. But why couldn't the ghosts remember her if she'd been the one to conquer the zone? And she called Pariah "traitor"—had he been the one who'd made her disappear all this time? "I mean," Danny said, breathless, ducking under another swipe of her spear, "his army was more impressive."

"HIS ARMY? HIS ARMY? MY ARMY!" she screamed. "And only a section! Those that were truly loyal to me were banished! His plans were my plans, and he executed them more poorly than I ever could've!"

"But, again, no one remembers you," Danny countered, still trying to stay one step ahead of her spear. He was flagging, though—and she was barely showing signs of slowing down. If it came down to a test of endurance, this monster in front of him would win. This crazy murderer would win—and whatever subsequent plans she had for Amity or the rest of the world would become reality. Hundreds if not thousands would die, die ripped apart just like that man had been, just like the other people below him had been.

"Because he made it so! He did not have the power to wipe my name from record—but should anyone have heard it, they would've forgotten it immediately. But no one will forget me now! No one will forget me ever again!" She laughed hysterically, a guttural, feral sound. She's unhinged. And it still didn't make sense to Danny—how, exactly, had Pariah made everyone forget her?"It is delicious indeed that he was locked up in the same manner I was—the one, single scheme he managed to accomplish on his own!"

"You know, now that you say that, I can definitely tell you're related," Danny muttered. "Both bent on world domination, both insane. Both with really bad breath." The Empress growled, her weapon swooshing faster and faster through the air. There was almost a rhythm to it—down, up, back, forward, left, right. He let his instincts take over, trusting that he would be able to evade her.

"Danny!" Tucker shouted over the line. "The second mainstay's up—what's the plan?" The plan? The plan was in shambles—Danny could hardly think he had to move so fast.

All he had left was for Jazz to get to the final mainstay—and then, he had to figure out some way of getting the Empress on the outside of the shield. A ghost suddenly flew up to address the Empress, and, with a glance at Danny, she walled herself in with the new ghost using her red ghostly energy. He wondered, worried, what the ghost was reporting to her—for it was clear that it was a report. He thought hopefully that something had maybe gone wrong, but luck wasn't on his side, if it had ever been.

He used the opportunity to think. "You and Sam need to capture as many ghosts as you can. They're still coming through the portals—we need to make sure we haven't trapped too many in here when we raise the shield," he directed. He wouldn't last much longer against her—she was too smart, too fast, and too strong. He had to get her outside the city limits. But how? She didn't fall for it when I led her away from the shield, even though I was doing it gradually…

Perhaps the answer wasn't that he needed to be moresubtle—perhaps he needed to be less subtle.

"Copy that," Sam and Tucker said in unison.

The ghost inside the Empress's blocky shield stopped talking. Danny prepared himself, tensing like a snake about to strike. The second she dropped her shield, Danny fired, but she was faster. She teleported to the right, out of his blasts, and smiled at him.

"I nearly have your realm in my grasp," she said, her voice lifted high with triumph. "Enough games. I have enjoyed toying with you for too long—I will love breaking you when this is over."

"Toying with me?" Danny snarled. "I don't know where you've been, because we've been pretty evenly matched." It was a surprise, actually—Pariah had been strong, ridiculously strong. Much like his sister. But Danny guessed he was stronger than he'd been before, more able to take on threats like her. It was a good thing.

"You have only thought so because I have allowed you so, abomination," she growled. The half-ghost was certain it was a lie—she seemed to have been giving her all when she'd ripped his tooth out and attempted to crush him. His gum ached at the reminder, though adrenaline had mostly wiped the pain away. This was her way of saving face, soothing her own ego that someone who was half-human had managed to hold his own against her.

She brought up her hands, and Danny immediately summoned a shield, ready to fend off her terrible power again. But it wasn't him she was going for—instead, she gestured at the buildings around him. Their foundations lit with the Empress's familiar energy, and Danny only had time to turn himself intangible before the entire line of houses outside the school's ghost shield came tumbling down.

The noise was deafening, worse than the sound of her crumpling metal. Bricks, glass, wood—everything—landed in a heap in the street. Bits of debris shot into the air—pieces of plaster, broken asphalt. Danny heard people screaming, somewhere. At least one of the buildings had been on fire before, and, unfortunately, this only seemed to allow the flames to spread. An orange glow lit the street.

"Jazz?" Danny coughed. "I really need that third mainstay up." He let go of his intangibility and his shield, looking to see where the Empress had gone.

That turned out to be a mistake.

That same great force pressed down on him once more. He felt one of his ribs crack, and he groaned. Shield, he thought. I need a shield! He heard her laughing, and now the force was pulling at his arms, his legs, he was going to die like that man, just a headless, limbless body falling to the ground—

A shield sprang into existence around him, though he felt his core protest at expending so much energy. The Empress snarled, but Danny could move again. He focused all his attention on maintaining the shield—he had to maintain the shield—his life depended on it—

"Danny!" Jazz's voice crackled through his Fenton phone. "I've got the mainstay! Only yours is left!"

Thank God. His shield cracked, but he didn't care. He let it fall entirely, and he heard the Empress give a whoop of delight—she thought she'd won, that he was too weak, but he teleported right in front of her—he grasped her thin, bony shoulders—and they were gone, together vanished from the spot—

—They reappeared on top of the last mainstay, and even as the Empress started to teleport back, or away, or somewhere, Danny forced her back, from Amity, with a short wail. It hurt, his core was throbbing, his stomach rumbling—he needed food or ectoplasm to restore his reserves—he landed on hands and knees—he thrust his hand into the dirt—where is it? There. He flipped the switch—the Empress was saying something, but he didn't care, couldn't care.

The mainstay buzzed and vibrated underneath him. A bright green light shot out, and Danny scrambled backwards, watching as it arched over the city, meeting with three others far above even the tallest of buildings. Then, the rest of the giant dome filled in—with Danny and the humans on one side, and the Empress on the other.

"You did it!" Tucker cheered over the line.

On the other side of the shield, the Empress had recovered from Danny's wail. The half-ghost sat, waiting to see what she would do. Here on the outskirts of the city, he could see that more of her army was pouring through her portals. God, there was so many. He didn't even have his thermos any more.

"You think this is over, abomination?" she demanded, flying closer until she was nearly touching the shield, only a few feet from where Danny was sprawled on the grass.

"It looks pretty over to me," Danny said, his green eyes burning into hers. "You've lost."

"Have I?" She turned around, the bones of her armor rattling together as she did. Turning to one of the ghosts standing near the closest portal, she said something to him, gesturing at the portal. Danny watched the exchange, trepidation pooling in his gut. What was she planning now? At least the shield had worked, even if had taken a while. He stood, his muscles aching. His stomach felt hollow and his mouth was dry—a sure sign he needed food or ectoplasm.

The half-ghost stood, his legs shaky. He could still hear sounds of battle behind him, but he turned his attention wholly on the Empress.

"Guys," he said, "I'm not sure we're done yet."

"What do you mean?" Jazz asked. "She can't get through the shield." Danny squinted, trying to see what they were doing through the portal, but he couldn't tell.

"She's doing something—and listen, I figured something out." He paused, trying to find the words to explain. "The Empress—she's Pariah Dark's older sister. He locked her up and made everyone forget her, somehow. It's not super clear. But she's bat-shit insane. She was—she was killing people. With impunity." He was embarrassed that his voice broke, but it had been brutal.Watching the man die, seeing the bodies of children and police officers, all doing their best to get to safety.

"Oh, Danny…" Sam trailed off. "It's not your fault." Those words, coming from anyone else's lips, would've been nothing but pity. But from hers, they sounded empathetic. The words weren't looking down on him; they were trying to lift him up.

"I just want to know where the hell Dora and her freaking army is," Tucker said. "Did she take the scenic route?"

"Wait, something's happening." Something immense—but slow—was coming through the portal. It looked to be a mottled, white-ish gray mass of flesh. What the hell? No—there were digits on the end of that flesh, along with giant black talons.

It was a foot—a foot the size of a house. They'd had to make the portal bigger so this thing—whatever it was—could fit through. Following that foot was a head, though it looked less like a head and more like melting skin. It glistened wetly, covered with sores, which wept a yellow, clear substance—like pus. Danny wouldn't have even known it was its face—it had no eyes or ears—except for the slits and the teeth. It had no lips, just a twisted, sagging opening where hundreds of teeth sprouted from pinkish gums. Some were chipped and broken—others gleamed white as if new.

…They were massive, far larger than even myself as a dragon, and malformed as if diseased…

"You know those 'great beasts' Dora mentioned?" Danny asked. His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. Horror clawed its way up his spine. A thing like that—taller than any of the surrounding trees—might have enough brute force to break even the largest shield. Why didn't she bring it out before? Except he already knew—it was big, and likely strong, but it was also very slow.

"No, don't tell me," Tucker said. "Really. I don't want to hear."

"It's fucking huge," Danny whispered. He watched as it crawled the rest of the way out of the portal. It had four main limbs, each wider than a building, but also smaller limbs jutting from its long body. These couldn't even touch the ground—they simply waved uselessly through the air. "Like seriously big."

The Empress flew up to its face without fear and patted one of its slimy teeth. "Do you like it?" she called down to Danny. "He's going to rip through that shield of yours like it doesn't even exist!" She laughed and, turning, said something to the beast.

The half-ghost couldn't hear what it was, but the creature evidently understood; it reared onto its hind legs and brought its forefeet down on the shield. It blotted out the sky—all Danny could see was its sprawling underbelly, the skin hanging in low folds. It was hairless and scale-less, he noticed, almost absently.

The shield buzzed horribly, the noise so loud Danny resisted the urge to cover his ears. The creature roared in agony, its skin blackened and smoking, but it reared again, prepared to slam down once more. As it did this, the half-ghost saw the Empress and a few other ghosts arranging something.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"What the fuck is that?" Sam said in his ear.

"The creature," Danny responded faintly. If he'd felt far away before, he felt like he was on another planet now. Everything was murky; he was underwater, watching the surface from below. It blurred—it wasn't real. Nothing was real—he could just sit here and—

A roar sent him reeling upward into reality—not the roar of the beast, but something else. A blue shape, high above, crashed into the creature, slashing with its—or rather, her—teeth and claws.

It was Dora.

"Dora and her army are here," Danny said, suddenly galvanized. He could do this—they'd set up the shield despite the set-backs, the Empress and her beast-thing were outside it—it would be okay.

He could do this.

"I'm going to help her fight it," he told them. They started protesting, but he spoke over them. "You have to get Amity clear of ghosts—start making your way here, but take out as many as you can. We need it to be safe—no more deaths."

"Alright, Danny," Sam said softly. "No more deaths." The others didn't argue, either. The half-ghost saw Dora's soldiers—fewer in number—fly out of the forest, attacking the Empress's forces with everything they had. Hope rose within him. A gentle hope, but hope nonetheless.

Danny wished he knew how to close the portals, but he didn't. He'd have to settle for kicking the ass of any ghost that decided to come through. Above him, the sky returned as the beast focused less on the shield and more on the dragon attacking it. Bright bursts of green flame burned the creature terribly, adding to the smell of seared meat. Danny could've choked on it—it was so thick in the air.

"Phantom!"

He whipped around, slipping into a battle stance without thinking about it. It was—his parents? They were riding in the GAV, his mom driving (thank God), his dad wielding a gun out the passenger's window. Relief came over him like a tsunami—so strong he wanted to drown in it. They were okay—they were okay. The Empress hadn't killed them, and they hadn't died elsewhere.

They stopped just before the shield, hopping out and running toward him. It seemed so normal, for a split-second. As though this were an ordinary day, and he was an ordinary teenager, his parents only here because he'd forgotten something, or they'd seen him and wanted to speak with him. Then the moment ended, and reality re-asserted itself. He was a ghost; these were his ghost-hunting parents. It was all a secret, his life. Or half-life, rather.

"What?" he said as they reached him. "I'm kind of busy here."

"What is that thing?" his mom—Maddie—asked. She shouldered her gun, as though it would do anything up against that.

"We don't really know," Danny answered honestly. "But I'm about to go fight it." Only—his parents were here. With him. On the Amity side of the shield—which he would have to go human to get through… Shit. Panic coursed through his veins, directed by an overactive core.

"Good thinking with the shield, by the way," his dad complimented. Danny only nodded, still freaking out. He wasn't ready for this—his parents weren't ready for this. They thought he was diseased, sick. If they found out Phantom was their son… He suspected their urge to "cure" him would only grow stronger as they fought to "protect" him. But time was running out—Dora screamed as the creature batted at her with a humongous foot. He had to help—he had to. Her soldiers were fighting valiantly, but they wouldn't last forever.

Was this it? Was this the moment his parents would finally find out?
"We needed to know your plan," his mom said. "Though I guess you're the one who took our mainstays. How did you figure out the angles? And the number you needed?" Her eyes had that familiar look of curiosity in them, but Danny didn't have time to humor her.

"That's not important right now," Danny said. "Do you have a spare thermos? I… lost mine." His parents looked startled by the request, but his dad obliged, pulling one of his very own Fenton thermoses from his pocket.

They might not ever love my ghost half, but they tolerate him, Danny thought. That will have to be enough. That is enough. It is. And even if they never accept Phantom, they could never hate Fenton. He wanted it to be true. He needed it to be true.

Danny took the thermos. He cleared his throat. He couldn't bring himself to look them in the eye. "Thank you." Was his voice rougher than usual? On the other side of the shield, the Empress began taking things out of a crate, using her telekinesis. I need to be over there. I need to be over there and damn the consequences.

It looks like the Empress will get what she wanted, in the end.

He turned to them. "How did you find me?"

"Your signature," his mom said, holding up her scanner. She seemed… embarrassed. It was an odd feeling for him to see her have.

"Right. Look, there are still ghosts inside the shield—you have to get rid of them. The huntress and the others will help. Amity needs to be safe," he told them. He tucked the thermos into his belt. His hands trembled, but it wasn't exhaustion. This is it. There will be no taking it back. He could wait until they left, but—but—

Realistically, he needed to be on the other side of the shield now.

"I'm going to go to the other side," he said. "Promise you won't follow."

"Who are those other ghosts?" his dad asked. "Is there a coalition of the Empress's army rebelling? Is it a coupe? A mutiny?"

"They're allies," Danny assured. "That's all you need to know." He took a step forward. "Promise me. The Empress can rip humans apart like they're nothing—she will kill you if you follow me. Do you understand?"

"Phantom—" his mom tried.

"Do you understand?" Danny repeated.

"Yes," his mom said. "We understand—we, we saw the school. We won't follow." Danny held her gaze, gauging her sincerity. Would it hold if she knew her son was about to cross the shield? He hoped it would—he couldn't watch them die. He couldn't.

"The first time I said my name was Phantom," Danny said, in nearly a whisper, "I was stupid. I included my first name—but, well, it never really caught on." His eyes burned, but he refused to cry. Not here, not now, not in front of them. "It's Danny." He saw the dawning realization, but he turned, sprinting—changing into his human form—he threw himself at the shield. He was through—he changed back—he wouldn't look at them—couldn't bear to see the disappointment this time, not this time, couldn't see the hatred, the need to fix him.

He flew into the air, his dad's call of, "Danny!" the last he heard of them. He prayed, with every molecule of his being, that they would not follow.

He surged upward, the wind growing bitter and cold, not that he could really feel it. "Dora!" he shouted. The dragon flew from where she'd been biting at one of the beast's sores—her maw was covered in the clear, yellowish fluid. She smelled terrible, and looked battered, but Danny had never been happier to see her.

He studiously ignored the anxiety that came with the knowledge that his parents knew. They knew, and he didn't know how they were reacting. Did they still love him? Did they still want to "cure" him?
Did it even matter?

"Sir Phantom!" Dora greeted, her voice gruffer in dragon form. "I am sorry we could not come faster." She flew to the side as the beast's head lurched in their direction. It moved unsteadily, as though drunk.

"Don't worry about it!" Danny yelled back.

"There is something odd here," Dora told him. "I can hardly fathom it, but her force is not large enough. Her army is too small, even considering those in the city. You must be wary, Sir Phantom." What was he supposed to make of that? Her army seemed plenty big to him. Why would she bring a smaller army to conquer the human realm? It was bigger than the Zone.

"We can't worry about that now!" he said. "We need to worry about that thing. We have to keep it from breaking through the shield! Any ideas?" He kept an eye on it as they spoke, but it seemed to be enjoying its time without pain. It made no move to bash the shield again.

"You must get inside it!" Dora said. "I cannot in this form—I am too large. But you, intangible, could worm your way to its core, or whatever it might have in place of a core, and destroy it. I shall distract it." Danny didn't want to know what the inside of the creature looked like—at all. It was hideous on the outside, and the smell was overpowering. The inside would be worse. But if Dora thought that was the only way, she was probably right; she'd fought these things before, after all.

Besides, he didn't think blasting at it from the outside would do anything at all; it was just too large. But if he could destroy something vital…

"Okay!" he agreed, trying to get himself ready. "I'm going in!"

He turned intangible and moved closer. He almost couldn't convince himself, though, that the thing couldn't hurt him—it was so large, and the teeth, only feet away, were longer than Danny himself. He took a deep breath and dove in. It was dark, far too dark to see. He was in the creature's tissues. He could feel them vibrate as the creature moved. Its insides were structured nothing like a ghost's—for one thing, it had no ectoplasm.

But it didn't have blood, either.

Danny flew around in the dark, holding his breath and navigating by the feel of the place alone. He was intangible, of course, but if he turned a finger or a hand tangible, he could feel the slimy flesh beneath. He found something like a vein and muscle-esque bunches that contracted and expanded.

He tried to go toward center—both humans and ghosts had their most vital organs, the heart and the core, in the upper-middle of their bodies. So did birds, he was pretty sure. And reptiles. So he just had to find the equivalent of the thing's heart.

It was easier said than done, and eventually Danny would run out of air. He could hold his breath far longer than the average person, especially in ghost form, but he would eventually need oxygen. Finally, he decided he might as well start blasting—at least the glow from his hands would let him see.

He turned his hands tangible and started gathering ectoplasm there. Once he had enough, he started firing in large bursts. The inside of the creature rumbled as it cried out in pain. He kept going, burning the thing from the inside-out. It moved, thrashing from side to side. It's working! He just had to—

Suddenly, something—or someone—wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides—they must've been intangible, too. He was teleporting, only it wasn't him controlling it.

And he was out, on the ground, the Empress's long, thin arms holding him in place. He heard her chuckle menacingly in his ear. He felt like he barely had enough energy to thrash, but he forced himself to teleport out of her arms and away.

He took in his new surroundings in a second: he was closer to the ground, near the portal the creature had lumbered out of. Hardly any ghosts were coming out of it now, and it was much smaller than it had been. A team of ghosts flew even closer to the ground, setting something up—crystals, Danny could see. Giant, glowing crystals. What the hell? They were being arranged in some kind of pattern, and they were linked together with fine wires.

"Did you really think I was going to let you destroy my creature?" the Empress asked. She sounded amused. Far too amused for someone who'd been kicked out of the city she'd been trying to take over.

There's something I'm not understanding. Dora's warning that something more was going on came back to him. But what is it? How do I stop it?

"It's not a very valuable creature when one person can destroy it," Danny commented. Before he could say anything else, the Empress used her telekinesis to hold him in place once more. She wasn't trying to tear him apart, however—she was merely trapping him. She flew over to him slowly.

A shield, he urged his exhausted core. You have to make a shield, Danny, or you're dead. Please, you have to.

"You are weak," she said, trailing a finger down his face, just to prove she could. If Danny could've moved, he would've shuddered at her touch. All he could see was her ripping out his tooth, her ripping that man apart, the bodies littering the ground—it filled his mind's eye, blotting out the real world. "So tired. So feeble. So human. I believe I owe you pain, do I not? I think I shall pull your fingernails, too. You do not have the strength to stop me. It's been leeched away."

Danny's breath came hard through his nose. Guards surrounded the circle of crystals, keeping away Dora's forces. No one was coming to help or rescue him. "Get away from me," he managed to spit, still struggling to create a shield. Just one. Please, just so I can move. Please. Please. He didn't know if he was talking to God or himself. Or if he was really talking to anyone—just begging into a void.

"You screams were delightful, when I pulled your tooth. But perhaps you're right. You're a unique specimen. I wonder—are you like the other one? Do you have bones?" She clenched her hand into a fist. Danny's arm was twisted, and his bone made a crack as it fractured under the strain. White-hot pain made him shriek, though he tried to stay quiet.

"Ah," the Empress said. "You do." She reached forward—to do what else, Danny didn't know—when one of the ghosts from below rushed up. He bowed deeply to the Empress.

"Mistress," he said. "It's ready. The others are, too. We activate on your order." She smiled, turning to the half-ghost.

"You will enjoy this, abomination. It will be sweet to see your face as your world ends around you." She nodded to the ghost, who flew back down. He and a couple other ghosts began fiddling with the crystals, which glowed brighter.

"What are you doing?" Danny demanded. It was hard to concentrate with the pain. He didn't think, even if he had the power, that he'd be able to create a shield—he couldn't focus, couldn't pay attention.

Was this how he died? At the hands of an enemy he barely knew, though one that had had haunted him for over a month, now. She'd caused him so much pain and suffering. His arm throbbed. He would die without speaking to his parents ever again, not knowing their reaction to what he had done—to who he was.

It would be agony, for the Empress to kill him. He'd be tortured until he no longer knew his name, but he'd die knowing he would not be there to protect Sam or Tucker or Jazz or his parents or Amity. It hurt him. It hurt him like nothing ever had before. The crystals began humming—soft at first, then loudly.

…sweet to see your face as your world ends around you…

No. This was not how the world ended. Not with him here, not with him helpless. He pushed—he shoved—there was a pain in his core—a sharp, stabbing pain—protect them, I have to protect them, please—

And a shield appeared around him. The Empress turned, shock on her face. It was a weakness to keep one's enemies alive just so you could hurt them later. Better to kill them quickly, never give them a chance to fight back. She shouted. Danny could move—he dropped to the crystals. They were so bright they hurt his eyes. He didn't want to drop his shield—he couldn't just use an ectoblast—

His left fist broke one of the crystals into splinters. Its sharp edges cut his knuckles. The light died—he'd done it—he'd stopped whatever she was trying to do—but she was laughing—why was she laughing—

And then the world shattered around him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: Welcome to the Apocalypse

The ground shook, and Danny was thrown off his feet, landing on his broken arm. The pain nearly made him pass out, black spots dancing across his vision. Brilliant lightning flashed across the cloudless sky, afterimages lingering on Danny's retinas, and it took on a greenish hue. Wind stung his eyes. The remaining crystals tumbled down around him, wires snapping; two nearly hit him, smashing to pieces and cutting his skin. Above him, the portal closed. There was a noise worse than anything Danny had ever heard before—worse than the Empress ripping earth from the ground or the beast landing on the shield—like two planets colliding. The smell of ozone and ectoplasm seared his nose.

What's happening? Danny's muddled mind seemed to process the outside world slowly, ever so slowly, as though the software in his brain was old and broken. He couldn't think. Confusion and horror made his chest tight. Why didn't it work? Had the crystals been some kind of trap—a set up? But the Empress had seemed genuinely surprised that he'd managed to get out of her grip at all. If it hadn't been, though, why had she been laughing?

Why was she still laughing? Why was the ground shaking? Why was the sky greener? Why had breaking the crystal not had any effect? Why—why—why—

…His plans were my plans…

Pariah Dark had once brought Amity Park to the Zone. Could the Empress have done something similar? Danny didn't know. He huddled on the ground, too weak to fly, as the earth undulated around him, as pliable as waves. He could only ride them out, the way a tiny sailboat did in a massive storm. It seemed to last an eternity. Then, finally, it stopped. His ears were ringing, but now that the clamor had ended, he could hear her laughing—laughing—laughing. It wormed its way into his skull like a parasite.

"Oh, little abomination. How valiantly you've fought. It would be admirable, truly, except you are so very terrible at it." Danny was lifted from where he'd been lying, shards of crystal slipping from his hazmat suit. It wasn't of his own volition, he registered belatedly; he was caught in her grasp once more. "Did you honestly think that would stop me? I am far smarter than any other enemy you have faced before." She looked him in the eye, red against green. Her hair was in disarray, and a few of her bones had been blown off, but this didn't make her any less intimidating. These were the only things out of place; she had not a cut or bruise or scrape—not once, not one single time, had Danny been able to land a blow.

Not physically, and not, it seemed, to her plans.

"What did you do?" he tried to snarl. It came out as a defeated whisper. Many of the trees behind her had fallen. Others were cracked—some were blackened and smoking. He didn't want to think about Amity, about how many people had been crushed by falling buildings… What about his friends? His family? Around them, ghosts continued to fight, but Danny could tell Dora's army was outnumbered, if only slightly—the queen had said that this wasn't the Empress's entire army, after all. He forced his voice into something stronger. "What were the crystals for?" And why didn't breaking one stop what followed next?
Danny was pretty sure he was going to die—he had barely any energy left, he was trapped in her telekinesis again, and the pain was so bad he couldn't think. But he wanted to know why he had failed before he died… Maybe he could get on the Fenton phones and warn Sam and Tucker… Maybe he could tell them what to say to his parents, his parents who knew he was Phantom now… His parents who he might never see again…

No, I will. I will. But was there any point, after he had failed? His emotions couldn't decide between despair, anger, and confusion, so the three grappled inside him, intent on becoming dominant. But all of them were smothered in that same slowness of thought, like they'd been covered in thick tar.

"You are arrogant," the Empress said. And Danny's friends were dying—or they had died—and here she was insulting him, as though he'd done something wrong, and not her. She'd killed people.

"Pot, kettle," Danny snapped back. If he never saw his friends or family again, it would be her fault—and if he had failed, he might as well make it as difficult for her as possible. It was the principle of the thing.

The Empress's eyes narrowed, and she reached out with her hand, touching his right arm—the broken one—and gripping it tightly. The half-ghost groaned in agony, clenching his teeth. "I suggest," she said coolly, "that you not antagonize the one who controls how quickly—and how painfully—you perish."

"You're going to torture and kill me anyway," Danny growled. He could feel the fog lifting from his mind. She had made his life miserable. She had driven ghosts from their homes and destroyed them—and people—indiscriminately. She was crazy. And somehow, she'd outsmarted him. Somehow, she'd won, even though she was a sack of shit with an ego the size of Mount Everest.

"I am," she acknowledged, releasing his arm. "But 'torture' is such a small word for all that it encompasses. I will not torture you, abomination. I will break you—in mind, body, and spirit." She squeezed her long fingers into a fist, and Danny's ribcage creaked at the additional pressure, his muscles spasming; she had already cracked at least one of them. Danny gasped, determined to make not a sound. The Empress let up, and he choked in a shuddering breath.

"I'll try not to break you too soon, though—that would spoil the fun. And I want to savor your look of hopeless defeat as long as I can." Danny could still move his mouth—he wanted to spit on her, show her he wasn't defeated. I'm not defeated until I'm dead. Well, until he no longer existed. It wasn't hope that fueled the desire, however; he knew the likelihood of escaping at this point was low.

It was fueled by revenge.

But she'd already hurt him and weakened him to the point he could no longer make a shield—he didn't want to become so injured he blacked out or couldn't move even if he did somehow escape her grip. Now that his head was clearer, he realized he couldn't afford to be dumb about this.

"I broke your crystal—how can you be so sure it worked, anyway?" Danny asked. Then, taking a wild guess, he said, "It doesn't look like Amity Park's in the Zone." And it didn't—for all that the sky had taken on a green tint, it was still dark. The Ghost Zone didn't have a night—its sky was a bright, radioactive green all the time. The Empress snorted.

"Your attempts at dragging information from me are pitiful, but I suppose you have earned it, in some small way—you are not a worthy opponent, but you, even half-human, fared better than all the others. I see that Aevum was right to worry about you—if you were a full-ghost, I might've even brought you over to my side." It was an odd compliment, and it made Danny feel slimy, as though he'd been doused in something foul—like oil or sewage. He didn't want her filthy compliments.

But he stayed silent; he could tell she was on the brink of revealing what she had done, eager to boast and brag as most villains were. She may have been smarter, more ruthless, and more prepared than his other enemies, but she wasn't as different as she claimed.

"You think small," she began. Danny bit his tongue to keep from answering, to keep from allowing this murderer to get away with insulting him. "Your opposition has only ever thought small, as well—Pariah included, at least when it came to the human realm. But I am not as small—"

She was cut off by the sound of a blaster—a ghost blaster. She side-stepped the actual shot itself easily, peering down below them. Danny struggled, hoping her concentration had been broken, but her grip on him was as tight as ever.

"Leave my son alone, spook!"

Oh, fuck. He knew that voice anywhere—he'd known it all his life. His mother. Relief flooded him—they still care, she called me her son—shadowed by a suffocating terror. It would take less than a look for the Empress to kill his parents, for them to explode like that man had, their eyes wide—

"Son?" the Empress inquired, something like vicious happiness in her tone. Danny wanted to be sick. No, no, this can't be happening. They aren't going to die in front of me—they aren't. They can't. Please. It would be bad enough for the Empress to kill him without killing his parents before his eyes. His core ached—protect, protect, protect—and he felt as if every cell in his body was straining against the Empress's telekinesis.

"That's right, ghost freak!" That was his dad. "Step away from Danny!"

The Empress smirked at the half-ghost. "You should've mentioned how amusing they are, abomination." She reached her hand up. Danny gritted his teeth, sweat breaking out across his face and arms and torso. All his muscles worked against her—he felt as though his very being was working against her—she brought her hand up—you have to protect them!—a sharp, stabbing pain pierced his core—

And again—somehow, though he had felt no energy left for him to use—he summoned a shield strong enough to break her powers. It was like he had found a new reservoir, somewhere deep inside himself. But he had to get to his parents—he teleported—

His arms raised, he stood on the ground, legs and arms wide, his shield flickering up around his teal-and-orange-clad parents just in time as the Empress's telekinesis bashed against it, seeking a weakness.

"How have you done that?" the Empress snarled. She closed both her fists, and Danny strained. The agony in his core grew more pronounced, but he didn't stop He couldn't stop. His parents were behind him, right behind him, and he was the only thing standing between them and their deaths. Around her, her soldiers looked up at the noise, but were too busy with Dora's army to intervene. "Again? It's not possible!"

"Danny," his mom said urgently. "Are you alright? Did she hurt you?" Danny's ribs and core and arm all seemed to flare up as she said it, his body eager for rest. Holding up his broken limb hurt, but more adrenaline was flooding his system, taking away the pain. He glanced at her, an ugly frown marring his lips. Both his parents were armed to the teeth—more than usual, more than he'd seen earlier. He wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed to get through so many enemy ghosts, but neither appeared to be critically hurt: his dad had a bruised jaw, his mom a burn on her leg.

"I told you to stay on the other side of the shield!" he growled. His mom flinched. "If I hadn't teleported in time, she would've ripped you apart."

"We couldn't just leave you," his dad told him. For once, his tone was serious, almost pained, and entirely no-nonsense. "Besides, it looked like you needed help."

Something in the half-ghost broke at those words. It wasn't the break of something whole—it was as if a wound, healed wrong, had been re-opened so it could heal right. It looked like you needed help. They cared. They still loved him. His mom's first words had been to ask if he was okay—they still considered him their son. The fear that had been lingering in the back of his mind dissipated like smoke.

It almost brought tears to his eyes, the overwhelming, all-encompassing relief.

"You shouldn't have come! I was fine!" Danny insisted. He refused to admit the resignation he'd felt at dying, the powerlessness, the horrible taste of absolute desperation, the burn of helpless fury. He'd been empty of energy, empty of hope. But escaping wasn't worth his parents' lives.

His attention was taken from them as the Empress screamed, forcing more pressure onto Danny's shield. He cried out—it felt as though someone had stabbed him and was carving out his core, piece by piece. Something was wrong, very wrong, but he had to keep the shield up. His parents yelled in alarm, but somehow the shield wasn't cracking or breaking, though Danny felt like he was cracking and breaking.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" the Empress roared. "Your shield cannot hold!"

Danny wanted to teleport both his parents out, but he could still barely teleport himself and one other—teleporting two would be too much. He wouldn't want to risk it with anyone, much less his parents. They both seemed scared and pale, beside him. It was odd—because parents were supposed to be the strong ones, the ones who knew what to do. But his parents had never faced a ghost so deadly, so potent.

I have to get them out of here. But how?

He had to buy time to think, time to do something. If he could somehow teleport them one at a time… But he couldn't leave one of them behind; the Empress would kill whichever parent he left right away.

"Tell me what you did to Amity!" Danny yelled. It had been the first thing to pop into his head, and he still needed to know what she had done. He still needed to know what he had failed to stop, needed to know if he could fix what he hadn't been able to prevent.

"You still can't comprehend what I've done, even when I've practically told you!" the Empress spat. The pressure around his shield let up slightly as she spoke—it took concentration to direct her telekinesis, but talking took concentration, too. Maybe if I… An idea was forming in Danny's mind. But would it work? "Are you really so arrogant as to think that Amity Park was central to my plans? The question is not what I've done to your precious city—the question is what I have done to the world!"

Her words echoed in Danny's mind, even as he tried to focus on his plan. They ricocheted off the front of his skull to the back, weaving in and out of his thoughts. Beside him, his parents gasped, understanding the implications as well as he had.

The world…

She was right; this had been so much bigger than Danny—bigger than Amity. How had they not seen it? How had he lowered his guard so far that she had managed to do something to the entire world? Had she opened portals elsewhere, in places that had no defenses against ghosts? Was that why her army was smaller than it should've been?

He was so stupid. She hadn't just played him with his identity—she'd played him with everything. They'd been so focused on protecting Amity… The rest of the world was helpless against ghosts. They'd only just found out they existed. He thought about how many people might have died because he had been too dumb to save them, paying too much attention to his own problems. People all over the world, terrified by something they'd never seen before. He wanted to vomit.

What had she done?

Keep her talking. It wasn't that he needed the information—though he did need it, as desperately as he needed air or water—but he needed her to be distracted, or as distracted as he could get her.

Maybe he had failed the world, but he wasn't about to fail his parents, too.

"Are you going to actually tell me?" he demanded. "Or are you going to make me guess? You talk a lot for someone who actually doesn't say that much." The angrier he made her, the better; it was more likely she wouldn't take notice of the odd color of his eyes, or the glow by his feet.

"I will have your subservience before I let you die, abomination," the Empress vowed. "You will name me your Empress!"

"You know, that actually doesn't answer my question," Danny said. He braced himself—he'd have to move quickly—more quickly than the Empress, who was already one of the fastest ghosts Danny had encountered.

"You—" But Danny didn't hear what she said after that—it sounded like another insult, anyway, not valuable information. He turned on his heel, dropping the shield as another one—one made entirely of ice—rose around them, hopefully enough to stop the Empress for a few seconds. That was all he needed. The agony in his core mounted until he felt like he couldn't breathe or move—but he had to.

To save them.

He grabbed the parent closest to him—his dad, who only had time to grunt in surprise—and teleported them away, just outside the shield. "In!" he shouted, only hoping he obeyed before teleporting back to his mom. The ice shield, imbued with ectoplasm, would stop ghostly attacks as well as physical ones, but it was nowhere as durable. The Empress was almost through, screaming the entire time, as he hugged his mom close, also taking her away.

He transformed into a human as he heard the sound of the Empress appearing behind him, launching himself across the shield. He made it just in time, his enemy's telekinesis fizzling as it touched the shield. He fell on his hands and knees, his jeans and T-shirt out of place on the battlefield. They were near where they were before, when he'd originally revealed himself to his parents. His core was screaming at him, and he clutched at his chest, forcing himself to inhale, exhale.

Something is definitely wrong.

"—Danny! Danny!" His mom was kneeling next to him, her hands hovering over him uncertainly, as if she didn't know if she could touch him. "What's happening? Where are you hurt?" His dad stood on his other side, his gun clenched tightly in his fist.

"I—"

"You are as foolish as you are arrogant!" the Empress called across the shield. Danny looked up, baring his teeth at her. The constant barrage of insults was tiring, and he found himself wanting her to either tell him what exactly she'd doneto hisworldor shut her goddamn mouth.

"The hell are you talking about now?" he yelled back, lurching to his feet to glare at her. He stumbled, but didn't fall, his mom still uncertain at his side. She was glancing between him and the Empress as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Or hearing. It must've been a shock—her somewhat shy, somewhat awkward son was screaming at one of the most powerful ghosts of all time.

One he'd failed to stop.

The Empress laughed, that same harsh, grating sound he'd heard originally. It scraped him raw, that sound. "Perhaps 'ignorant' would be more apt, as you do not even seem to comprehend what you've done. I had looked forward to killing you, but I suppose you killing yourself would have more flair."

Shut up, shut up, shut up. She was deliberately vague and was pleased to withhold answers from him, pleased to torture him, pleased to kill his parents and his friends and people and ghosts under his protection.

Why can't she ever give me a straight fucking answer?

"What did you do to my world?" he screamed in frustration and rage. His core contracted painfully at his emotion, but he ignored it. "Tell me!"

His dad took a step closer. "Danny, maybe—"

"TELL ME!" he demanded again, stepping until he was so close to the shield he could feel its warmth on the front of his body.

"Ruling two realms is harder than ruling one," the Empress said, smirking. "I simply took care of that issue."

…took care of that issue…

He couldn't speak. It was too horrible to contemplate—he'd failed completely, utterly, and wholly in stopping her. He'd failed everyone so badly. He'd failed, failed, failed.

"You merged the Zone with Earth?" his mom asked, voice disbelieving. "That's not possible!" The Empress's terrible gaze turned to her, and she flinched.

Merged them? She'd merged them? How? How had she done such a thing? With the crystals? But then why had breaking one not done anything? His mind seemed to creep, inch by inch, through his thoughts. Was there any way to reverse it—a second chance to stop what he'd failed to stop the first time?

Or were the two dimensions doomed to be stuck together for the rest of their existence? How did it even work? The shaking and lightning made more sense, he supposed distantly, but he didn't feel like the physics of the Zone applied here. And the Earth was a planet.

How do you merge a planet?

"Believe what you will, idiot human. Your science as it pertains to ghosts has barely scratched the surface—you are more ignorant than your abomination of a son," the Empress sneered. Danny felt like his mind was regressing back to that slow pace, back to that numbing confusion. Perhaps it would be better than this choking horror or profound guilt.

How many people had the Empress really killed? He didn't even know—and that was somehow worse. How big was her army, truly?

He didn't know that either.

"Don't call him that!" his dad said. "The only abomination here is you, spook!"

"I grow bored of you, worthless humans," the Empress said. She looked into the distance. "It appears your blue friend is having difficulties." Slowly, ever so slowly, Danny's head turned; he saw Dora flying sluggishly around the Empress's immense beast, clearly tired, run ragged. The creature, on the other hand, didn't seem any more hurt than when he'd last seen it.

He had failed the world, and now he would fail her. He couldn't stand it, but he couldn't move. His core ached in his chest, a deeper pain than he'd ever felt before. His arm was broken, his ribs cracked. He didn't know where his friends were—he hadn't heard them over the Fenton phones in ages, now. Had they all died?

Had he failed them, too?

Distracted as he was, Danny still managed to register the Empress's attack in time—she tugged one of the trees up from the dirt behind her faster than he would've believed possible—a trunk at least twenty feet long, and sent it hurtling at them—she released her telekinesis—it would go flying through the shield. He reached around, holding both his parents, and turned them intangible. His dad yelped at the strange sensation, and the tree went sailing harmlessly through him.

"Come out and face me!" the Empress challenged. "Your allies perish out here while you hide in there, you worthless coward! Or are you too weak to fight me? I will destroy every last one of your faithful ghost friends, and the humans I will kill next, so easily, like fingers squeezing a grape until they burst—"

"Don't listen to her," his mom said, pulling her wrist from his grip. "She's trying to lure you out there."

"I know," Danny muttered. I'm not fucking stupid, he wanted to add, only just managing to refrain. "But she's right—Dora is going to die if she doesn't get help." She was right about the other things, too, though Danny didn't see the point in telling his mom this. He was a coward; he was weak. He didn't have enough power to fight her, though he could still feel that odd reserve of energy just beneath the pain in his core. She'd only capture him again, something he couldn't afford. He wouldn't be able to help Dora either way. I have to, though. She came here to my aid, just like I came to hers. I have to. There has to be a way…

"She's a ghost, Danny," his dad pointed out skeptically. "She can't 'die.'"

Danny set his jaw and looked—properly looked—at his father. "Don't," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Just—don't. Not right now." His dad had the decency to appear chastened.

"You'll be dead soon anyway, abomination!" the Empress cried. "Probably only hours, now. What does it matter, if you die out here or in there? I will have killed you either way!" Her taunts stopped as one of her soldiers came flying up. Danny couldn't hear what he said, but his mistress's face transformed into an odd mixture of thoughtful and irritated.

What does she mean that I'll be dead in hours? What is she talking about? But she was fucking insane—who was to say she wasn't just spouting whatever came to her in order to keep his morale low, or to draw him out? But she was smart enough and with it enough to pull this off, another side of him pointed out.

"It seems humanity has gained a small measure of power since I saw it last," the Empress said. What? "It will be a pity that I won't witness your death, or my magnificent beast finishing Queen Dora and ravaging your pathetic city." Is she leaving? Why? He watched her carefully, looking for signs of a trick—but he couldn't see any. "Grayskelis, I leave you in charge. I trust you will strike quickly and without mercy."

"As always, Mistress," the ghost beside her—"Grayskelis"—nodded. "I shall not fail you." He saluted her as she teleported away—to where? Had she really just… left? Like that? As though she hadn't just nearly destroyed Amity? But it wasn't just Amity she was trying to destroy, Danny thought bitterly. It was the world.

It felt surreal, that she'd left, even though neither of them had been defeated by the other. It left him feeling loose, like a piece of trash blown by the wind. Almost empty. She was out there, going to cause more havoc, more deaths, but he couldn't follow. He didn't even know where she was, now. He couldn't stop her.

He felt like he could barely stand.

The ghost on the other side of the shield flew away, beginning to shout orders at what was now his army. Danny watched.

She's gone, though. The real threat, the strongest threat is gone. You could still save Dora, save Amity. Drive her army away—she has other problems. It felt wrong, wrong and dirty. She was out decimating other parts of the world and all he could think about was his own city, his own friends.

But what else could he do?

He swallowed, steeling himself. He didn't know where Sam, Tucker, or Jazz were—he hadn't heard a peep from them. But he couldn't—he couldn't—he had to focus on the ones he knew he could save. On the ones he knew he could protect.

"I need you to make sure no other ghost is inside the shield," he said, his voice stronger than he'd thought it would be. His parents, having been watching the Empress leave, stared at him in surprise. "We don't know if there's anyone else to do it—I haven't seen the Huntress or the GIW at all. Aside from me, you might be… You might be all we have left." Sam, Tucker, Jazz. Please. You have to be alive. But there were so many ways they could've died—ghosts or debris were just the start. He didn't know. Please.

"We're not leaving you—" his mom began.

"Why don't you ever LISTEN TO ME?" Danny bellowed, pivoting to face her. She flinched, and that hurt Danny, somewhere small inside. He was as tall as she was, now, though not as tall as his dad. All the frustration, all the anger, all the uncertainty came pouring out of him in a rush, like water boiling over a pot. "I asked you to stay on this side of the shield, and you came after me! I asked you to take the Empress seriously, and you blew me off! CAN YOU NOT JUST DO THIS ONE THING?"

It wasn't even anger at them, not really—it was fury at himself, for being tricked, for allowing this to happen, for failing. It was the terror that his friends had died, and he hadn't even had the decency to be there with them. He couldn't take it, not anymore. Everything had broken around him—physically, he had no idea what shape the world was in, what had even happened, really.

He didn't know, and it was killing him.

His parents stood there, mouths slightly open, as if they couldn't believe that their usually mild-mannered son had just shouted at them. His dad recovered first, lifting his hand up, as if to put his hand on his son's shoulder. He thought better of it, seeing the look in Danny's eye, drawing his hand back.

"We're sorry, Dann-o. It was just—just such a shock—and we didn't know before. We didn't know," his dad whispered. "We're sorry," he repeated, as if asking for Danny's forgiveness.

But now, like earlier, wasn't the time for this. Fires burned in the distance, lapping at his home—how many more would be taken by the flames? How many were trapped beneath rubble, struggling to get out? Though if the ghosts got in, Danny knew no one would survive. Not even him, probably.

"I know," the half-ghost said. "But I need you to listen, okay? Listen to me, and please do what I say. You have to make sure all the ghosts are gone—you know that if they coordinate an attack on both sides of the shield—"

"Alright, Danny." His mom shouldered her gun. She got the car keys out of her pocket—the GAV must've been somewhere close by. "We'll do what you want. We—we love you."

"I love you, too," Danny murmured. He didn't have time to watch them leave. It was eerily similar to how he'd left last time, but hopefully—hopefully he'd be able to defeat the creature and stop the attack. The Empress had been confident he was going to die, but he was going to prove her wrong.

He was going to win this time. He had failed to save the world, but he could do this one thing. Just this one thing. He forced his tired body to move through the shield and transformed into Phantom. He cried out as his core shuddered and nearly seemed to give out. Realistically, he should've already passed out by now—he should've passed out long ago. But that strange energy reserve was there. And he was going to use it.

But first—as he flew upward, ready to battle the beast again, he created a cast of ice, encasing his right arm and keeping it from further damage. It wasn't a long-term solution, but it would hold.

He made himself go faster—he could see that the giant creature's attention on Dora was waning as she waned, becoming more and more interested in the shield. Up close, he could see that Dora was leaking ectoplasm from a dozen different wounds, her wings shredded, her flame weak. The half-ghost suspected she wouldn't be able to stay in her dragon form for much longer, either.

"Dora!" he called to get her attention. She didn't seem pleased to see him, the exhaustion overshadowing everything in her face, which seemed so much older now, the reptilian wrinkles giving it a weathered, eroded appearance. "Can you hold?"

"I—I do not know, Sir Phantom. What has happened? What has the Empress done?" she asked, dodging a half-hearted lunge.

"She—" Danny could hardly admit his own failure, the fact that he had condemned millions to painful deaths. "She said she merged the Zone and Earth. I don't know how."

"Despicable witch!" Dora yelled. "To meddle in such things as worlds…" She growled, breathing fire at the creature. It was weak, however, and the beast began to lumber back toward the shield. If it gets in a couple good hits…

"I almost had it, last time," the half-ghost said. "Can you distract it again if I go intangible?" The dragon looked hesitant.

"I am not strong enough," she confessed. "And I do not think I could enter it, either, even should I revert to my smaller form. If I change, I will not be able to do much of anything." Danny frowned, gazing below. Grayskelis was beginning to have ghosts form up behind the creature, intent on flooding into Amity after it broke through the shield.

"Could you do something about them?" he asked, pointing. The dragon followed his finger. She nodded decisively.

"Yes. I shall create chaos among their ranks. I wish you luck here, Sir Phantom—you are strong." With those parting words, she dove, her maw a-glow as she readied her flame.

Not strong enough, apparently.

He made himself intangible, ignoring the protest of his core, and dove directly into the creature. This time, it seemed to realize what was happening, and without Dora to distract it, it turned its attention to him. On the inside, its tissues constricted, as though trying to trap him. It would make turning any part of his body tangible nearly impossible—he wouldn't be able to feel his way around or summon an ectoblast to kill it.

But what if I… He closed his eyes and concentrated. It felt as though a thousand needles were stabbing his core simultaneously, as though it was burning and melting and freezing and falling all at once—but he did it. He felt his cells replicate, pulling apart into a facsimile of himself—a clone. It flew up and out, understanding its mission intuitively.

Danny heard firing outside, and as the beast's tissues relaxed, he knew the clone was doing its work. He'd entered from the neck, so perhaps—down? He turned his finger tangible and lit it with the tiniest bit of ectoplasm, letting him see the slimy innards of the thing he was inside.

He flew downward, careful to keep his finger out of the fleshy walls. There was no Empress here to detain him, this time—he could do it. He would do it. So Amity could be, if not safe, at least safer.

He followed its throat down, flying as fast as he felt he could. Its tissues were as colorless as its outsides, a startling white-gray. He was glad he was holding his breath, as thankful as he was last time. Eventually, the throat opened into—something. Danny guessed it must've been its stomach, though it didn't look like any stomach the half-ghost had ever seen before: the juices inside were pitch black with a warm, orange undertone, almost like magma, and they bubbled and twisted in ways he knew normal liquid just didn't do.

He didn't risk touching it, intangible though he was. Instead, he flew out and was immediately greeted by more strange tissues and organs. I don't exactly know what its "heart" is going to look like. And one of these is bound to be vital, like a kidney or liver. Maybe I should start blasting. He extinguished his light and turned both his hands tangible, focusing on a strange structure in front of him. It was porous and shaped like a ball, but it didn't look firm.

He summoned energy to his hands, turning them tangible, and fired at it. He could feel the vibrations as its vocal chords roared, furious with him. The tissues constricted, moving closer, as if trying to stop Danny. It was probably some kind of defense mechanism—the half-ghost didn't really know.

The odd organ in front of him didn't appear overly effected, however—just slightly blackened. Danny narrowed his eyes and fired again. And again. And again. But although the beast screamed and moved, the organ merely pulsed, its outside still slick and mostly healthy-looking—except for the black spots. He wasn't doing damage fast enough.

Maybe it's resistant to the heat. The cold might be better. His core, it seemed, had finally deadened; Danny couldn't feel any pain, but he couldn't feel anything else, either. No vibrations, no nothing. Only the beating of his heart reassured him that he was still alive.

His hands took on a blue-ish tint, and he knew his eyes glowed as he began to form ice on the outside of the organ. It reacted quickly to the extreme cold, shriveling and wrinkling up. The ice spread to the other parts of the creature, frosting its tissues and other organs.

Danny smiled grimly, growing more and more ice. His hands grew numb, which was odd—he usually wasn't affected by cold at all. But he couldn't think about it—he had to focus. More, he demanded. More! He could feel his clone vanishing as the energy to maintain it was taken by the need for beast screeched, and the body around him shook and trembled as it was destroyed.

This will be the first thing I've ever killed, he thought. It wasn't even sentient, not like a ghost or a human was. It wasn't its fault—the Empress was controlling it, making it destroy the shield. Not that Danny felt any real remorse; when it was a choice between this thing and all the people left in the city, he would choose the people every time.

At last, it seemed Danny had done enough damage. He quickly turned himself back fully intangible as the beast stiffened and began to fall. He passed through its body to the outside world, sucking in a deep breath, marred by the stench of the creature he had killed.

He hovered there, perhaps a couple hundred feet off the ground, as the beast toppled to the ground. It landed with a thud, dirt and dust flung into the air with the force of it. Danny panted. I'm lucky it didn't fall on the shield, he thought. Far below, he watched as what was left of the Empress's army—a sizeable number, to be sure—flew in formation toward the summit of the shield. He could see a few of the soldiers had been left behind, battling it out with the remnants of Dora's own army. He caught a glimpse of flaming blue hair, close to the forest-line, and knew Ember and Kitty were fighting. But where was the queen?

Danny flew down, his whole body shaking at the exertion of creating so much ice. Crystals of sweat had formed on his face, and he couldn't feel his toes as well as his hands now—and the sensations weren't lessening. It was worrisome, but he didn't have time to deal with it—it felt like he didn't have enough time to deal with anything.

His landing was made clumsy by fatigue, and he staggered, kicking up dirt. He blinked blearily at the skirmishing ghosts, frowning as he noticed some who weren't fighting—they were instead standing around someone who was lying on the ground.

It was Dora.

Danny walked as quickly as he could, even forcing his muscles into a tired jog. "Dora!" he exclaimed hoarsely. He coughed, dirt having been lodged in his throat. His mouth tasted like the underside of a shoe. "Dora!" he said, stronger. Some of her guards looked up, their faces sad and drawn.

They parted for him as he came and dropped to his knees beside his ally, the ghost who had tried to help his city even though she had been hunted there. "Dora," he breathed. Too many have died already, he thought, imagining the bodies around the school. And I know ghosts can't really die, but… Please. Not you. It looked like she was asleep.

"There is nothing more we can do, Sir Phantom," one of the ghosts said. He wasn't dressed in armor—only robes. Some kind of healer, then. He had wire-rimmed glasses and a satchel slung over his shoulder. "She expended too much energy—she will perish. I don't have the tools or knowledge to heal her."

"No, she won't," Danny said. He pressed his hand to her torso, and he could still feel the vibration, faint though it was, of her core. He unhooked the thermos from his belt and pointed it at her. At the very least, he would buy her time—she wouldn't get any worse. He pressed the button, pulling her into the container. One of the ghosts, a woman bearing Dora's coat of arms, growled, moving forward and shaking him roughly.

"What have you done to our queen?" she demanded. "Are you so demanding you will not even let her pass in peace?"

Danny shoved her off, standing. He tucked the thermos back into his belt, making sure it was secure. "She won't get any worse in the thermos. That gives us time to get supplies and heal her when we're not in the middle of fighting off the rest of the Empress's army."

"Oh." The woman had a blunt face and blue skin. Her helmet had been discarded on the ground beside them. "I see. I apologize, Sir Phantom—I overreacted."

God, if only everyone else were as polite as she is when they fucked up. "Don't worry about it." Danny brushed the dirt off his hazmat suit. Worry and anxiety—not just for Dora, but for his friends and sister and parents—tried to claw its way up his throat and lodge there, but he shoved it down. "What's your name?" he asked.

"I am First Captain Lady Genevieve," she said, bowing deeply. Her hair, short though it was, flopped in front of her face. "Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier." Actually, she's almost too polite.

"Don't worry about it," he said again. He felt—dazed, almost, as though he'd taken a blow to the head. Only, he hadn't. He rubbed his temple, trying to get his brain working again. It's not over yet, he told himself. He looked up at the night sky, with that green tint. I don't think it will be over for a long time. "I—I have to follow the rest of the Empress's army. I think they're going to try and attack the shield."

"We shall follow," Genevieve decided briskly. She donned her helmet, visor and all. She flew into the air and drew her sword, addressing the ten or so ghosts below her, "Soldiers, you have fought bravely thus far. Our queen would be proud to see you here—and she shall tell you this herself, when she is well. Even without her here, our goal remains the same: we fight, to the last ghost, until we have won back our kingdom. When we finish off the last of the Empress's army here, we shall be one step closer to reclaiming our home!"

It wasn't the most inspiring speech the half-ghost had ever heard, but he knew she was probably as tired and battle-weary as he was. The ghosts cheered regardless, rising up into the air after her. Danny smiled at the captain, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes, and launched himself upward. The healer ghost stayed behind as they flew away.

It looked like the Empress's army had decided to attack the apex of the shield—its weakest point. It was the furthest from all the mainstays, less supported than other parts of the shield. It looked like there were at least a hundred of them, if not more. We don't have to defeat all of them, Danny told himself. Just enough to get the others to retreat.

"ATTACK!" Genevieve shouted, gesturing with her sword. The half-ghost was already on them, slamming those he could reach into the shield. He wanted to use the thermos, but he knew he couldn't—he wouldn't be able to release the ghosts one at a time, and Dora was in there.

He spun and flew up and down, dodging and kicking and punching. Luckily, he couldn't feel the pain of his ribs or his broken arm. He tried to avoid using his powers as much as possible; he could feel that strange energy reserve getting lower and lower. Instead, he relied on his instincts, which had been honed by two years of almost constant battle experience. The numbness in his limbs made it difficult to fight, but not so difficult he couldn't do it.

He did his best to avoid being surrounded, hovering low to the shield. The other ghosts weren't keen on getting close to it, but Danny could pass through it, if need be. It was only when he looked below him that he realized ghosts were actually attacking from both sides of the shield. He cursed, barely dodging as one of the ghosts in front of him stabbed at him with their spear. They had probably come to the top of the shield to keep from being captured by hunters.

The shield was designed mostly to repel attacks from the outside—it wasn't nearly as well protected from the inside, the way a bridge was designed to take weight from above, not below. And with the ghosts on both sides… Danny cursed again. He had to do something.

Not giving himself too much time to think about it, he transformed into a human. The ghosts fighting him looked surprised as he hurtled to the ground, passing easily through the shield. The ghosts on the inside of the shield seemed equally shocked, one of them even shouting and pointing.

Danny halted his free-fall by changing back into Phantom, racing upward to land an uppercut on one of the ghost's stunned faces. They were thrown into the shield, and it crackled around them, white electricity running over their skin like bright snakes. Then they plummeted to the ground below, either forced into stasis or completely gone. Either way, Danny didn't have time to care.

There were fewer ghosts on the inside of the shield than the outside. The half-ghost did his best to dispatch all of them, and the final two ghosts decided to simply flee and hide in the city rather than force him to beat them into submission. On the other side of the shield, Danny realized that of the eleven ghosts that had come with him, only three were left—Genevieve and two others, their faces obscured by their visors.

Danny floated downward about thirty feet and then threw himself up, flying as fast as he could. Please work. Once he was close to the shield, he turned human, his momentum carrying him through the shield, where he turned back into Phantom as quickly as he could, now on the other side.

He fought to Genevieve's side, and he realized that she was actually battling Grayskelis. He fired at the ghost, and though it was weaker than normal, the leader was distracted. "Phantom!" he said, anger leaking into his voice. He turned to the rest of the ghosts around him. "Our objective is to destroy the abomination!" he yelled, pointing to the half-ghost. "We destroy the shield afterward."

Oh, shit.

The ghosts all turned toward him. They couldn't fire at once, though—they'd hit their comrades. Instead, the closest stopped trying to break the shield and focused on fighting him from all sides. Danny dodged the best he could, but some of the hits landed, minor bruises and cuts wearing at him. Genevieve fought at his back, helping him stay one step ahead.

"That wasn't very sportsmanlike, Grayskelis!" Danny shouted, slamming his fist into the face of one of the ghosts trying to gut him.

"You are the last dregs of a defeated force!" Grayskelis taunted. "My Mistress has won, and you are in denial—she will have the world she forged anew." The half-ghost kicked one of the ghosts in the core, dodging their ectoblast.

"Yeah, well, I still broke one of her stupid crystals," Danny said. He wasn't concentrating on the words, more on the fact that Grayskelis was the leader—if he could get rid of him… Something lodged itself in his low back, and he gasped—it was a knife or a dagger. He ripped it out, whirling around to bring the blade down on the ghost who had tried to kill him.

It landed in their core, and it was the first time Danny had deliberately killed someone sentient.

"It was you who were stupid, believing that the network of merging points would be brought down by one broken link. My Mistress is wise—she had an overabundance of points connecting the human realm to the Zone, so that if one should break, the whole would remain unaffected," Grayskelis said. "You failed because she is too thorough and too intelligent—and that is why she has won, and you have lost." That makes sense, he thought distantly. There were too many ghosts—too many left. And Danny could feel his energy waning, his head growing thick, his limbs heavy.

"I haven't lost until I'm dead!" Danny screamed.

And then, he wailed.

He was careful to aim it only at the ghosts, and Genevieve stayed well behind him. They were blown back, some of them bleeding from their ears or eyes or else hurt internally because of it. He wailed until everything had gone numb—he could only feel the steady trickle of ectoplasm from the wound on his back. He wailed until his throat bled. He wailed until he couldn't wail anymore.

As it cut off, he transformed, involuntarily, back into a human. Genevieve cursed, trying to grab him before he went through the shield, but it was too late; he dropped like a million-ton weight toward the ground below. His vision flickered. Fly, he thought. Go intangible. You'll die if you hit the ground like this.

I think I might die anyway.

He managed to access something, though, just before he hit. Some kind of flight. Not enough to stop the fall, but he slowed it enough that nothing broke as he smacked into the street. His skull banged against the asphalt, and Danny saw stars. He moaned at the pain—his whole body somehow ached even as it was numb. It shouldn't have been possible.

He shifted on to his side, curling up as best he could. I did it. I saved Amity. Even if he hadn't been able to rescue the rest of the world, he'd helped someone. He hadn't let everyone die.

He laid there for a long time it felt like—maybe even forever. He flickered in and out of consciousness, but it was like he was flickering in and out of time, experiencing this moment, with him, lying on the hard ground, forever. Blood pooled underneath him, and the makeshift cast on his arm began to melt. The signs were there, but he didn't understand them. Time wasn't moving forward, or at least not with him. He was standing still, watching it pass by. Maybe this was how Clockwork felt.

He didn't hear the footsteps approach, didn't even realize someone was there until the warm barrel of an ectogun pressed against his temple. His eyes fluttered open, but he couldn't have moved even if he'd tried.

"Well, look what I've found." It was a terrible voice, a voice from his nightmares. He could picture the voice's eyes—those terrible gray eyes. "A little ghost boy, all alone. How perfect."

It was Agent R.

END PART ONE

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude

It was lucky, Mikey supposed, that he was at the school when it happened—when the ghosts came rushing into the city. He was with Abigail, Nathan, and a few others, staying late at the school for a club. Lucky, he'd considered at first.

And then very, very unlucky.

From inside the classroom, they could hear screams and the sounds of ectoblasts easily—not accompanied by the high whine that signaled an ectogun. These were deadly shots that would melt the skin off anybody they touched if the blasts were strong enough. And they sounded strong enough.

"It's happening," Mikey said, turning to the others. They were frozen where they'd been seated at the desks—well, except for Abigail, who stood up. "The invasion. It's here. People are going to start evacuating to the school." He wondered where Mrs. Vitale had gone—this was her classroom, after all. She'd left a while ago, maybe to go to the staffroom, and had trusted that they wouldn't mess with her things. They hadn't, although Jessica had written some weird tumblr quote on her whiteboard.

"We need to fine Mrs. Vitale, maybe get some first-aid kits ready," Abigail said. "I'll do that. Nathan, Mikey—go make sure the doors are open so people can get in." Mikey nodded and stood, looking out the window behind her. It was hard to tell what might be happening; the green of the shield obscured some things, though Mikey could see figures running and flying around. It wasn't quite opaque, but it certainly wasn't transparent.

"They're attacking a lot faster than what Lieutenant Valdez made it sound like," he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose. He worried, briefly, about his parents, but they were smart; they knew they had to get to the shield. And if they were trapped somehow, the house had reinforcements against ghost attacks. They would be fine. The worry was only a vague one, anyway—Amity had faced invasions before, and everything had worked out. Phantom had always managed to defeat the ghost, in the end.

And knowing now that the half-ghost was one of his classmates didn't deter the faith Mikey had in him. Danny was an expert at being a hero—he wouldn't let anything truly bad happen.

After the press conference revealing the timeline for the invasion, Mikey and his friends had tried to get Sam, Tucker, or Danny alone to speak with one of them about what was happening. He was sure they had more information; they'd been distracted in class, more so than usual, their eyes distant, like they were focusing on something only they could see. He thought, not for the first time, that if he hadn't known what was happening, he would've suspected drugs.

The trio, however, had been evasive. None of them had replied to his texts, and they had managed to weasel out of speaking with him using polite, faraway words. It felt as though Mikey were trying to catch air—though that may've been easier than getting any of them to talk.

It had been frustrating, infuriating; they'd said they'd forgiven him, but they were refusing to even listen to him. Like he was no more important and no more interesting than a speck of lint he'd found on his shirt. He found himself bizarrely hurt by their ostracism of him. This was his hero, and his hero was ignoring him. Blatantly. Yes, Mikey had maybe done something he shouldn't have, but did Danny have to be so—so petty?

The logical part of Mikey said it was possible it wasn't personal—it was possible the trio really didn't have time to talk. He tried to listen to that part of himself and not the ache. Danny had saved all their lives; what did it mean when such a good person thought he was a bad one?

Mikey snapped back to the present as Nathan heaved himself upward, face pale. "Why don't you guys help us?" Mikey said, turning to Jessica and Anthony. "We'll get the front and east doors—you get the back and west. Then we can prop open the emergency exits."

"I—I don't," Anthony stammered. Jessica patted his arm reassuringly.

"It'll be fine. We should help—it will go faster," she said. She, too, seemed pale, but she nodded at Mikey. Abigail turned.

"I'm going to check the staff room," she said. "And I'll write a note explaining what we're doing. If Mrs. Vitale gets back and finds the room empty, she might freak out."

"Good plan," Mikey acknowledged—not that he'd expected anything less. It was Abigail, after all. "Come on, Nathan," he said, prodding at the other boy. While Nathan liked to fantasize about fighting ghosts, in reality he was somewhat terrified of them. Mikey thought he liked the feeling of conquering his fears—of power—when he dreamed about defeating them.

"Y-yeah," Nathan said, following Mikey out the door. They walked down the hall, the windows filled with dim, greenish light. He knew it came from the shield outside, and not the ghosts, but it was still eerie. It was made eerier by the empty halls, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and the combat outside. The two walked quickly, not wanting to linger there.

"He'll defeat her, won't he?" Nathan asked, his gaze obviously avoiding the windows. He looked sickly in the gloom. "He's never lost before."

"Yeah, he'll defeat her," Mikey agreed, trying to reassure his friend. He did believe it though; Phantom had gotten rid of Pariah and every other ghost that had made trouble in Amity. He didn't think the half-ghost was about to stop this streak now.

They hurried as they reached the front doors—they could hear people shouting and pounding on the other side. Some of them stopped as they saw the students, stepping back to let the doors swing open as Mikey and Nathan pushed them. They rushed in, the cacophony of battle clearer through the open door. Mikey wasn't quite sure why they were so eager; they were safe once inside the shield, not the building. It was probably psychological.

"Thank you," one woman said. "Thank you." Others thanked them, too, eager to get through. We should've had some kind of system set up before, Mikey thought. Maybe maps or something, to show people where to go. They can't stay here; they'll block the way.

But despite this logic, many were stopping in the spacious lobby, sitting down on the benches or the floor, wrought out from the terrors of the invasion. Mikey heard a few kids crying in the mix, a grating sound. "Keep the doors open," he instructed Nathan. "More are bound to come. I'm going to start leading these guys somewhere else—they can't stay here, not if more people are going to show up. And I'll see if I can't find a doorstop or something." Nathan nodded. He still looked unsteady, though perhaps a little less pale. That's good. He needs to be clear-headed. Mikey's gaze went to those in the lobby—there were somewhere between ten and twenty people.

"If everyone would listen up!" he called. Fortunately, they were grown adults and not high schoolers, so he had their attention pretty quickly—that never would've worked with his peers. "You can't block the doorway here. I'll take you somewhere else. Are any of you injured?" No one raised their hand or spoke up, so Mikey guessed they were healthy enough.

"Where are we going?" one man asked. Mikey thought for a moment.

"The cafeteria," he decided—there would be ample space for them all and then some. Most of the classrooms were locked, though Mrs. Vitale probably had keys. But better to fill other places up first. The administration really should've planned this better.

Mikey led them to the cafeteria, where most sat gratefully at the tables. It was odd seeing adults there in the place of kids. He made sure they seemed alright before addressing them again, "Could a couple of you go back and show others that come through where to go?" They glanced at each other, and finally two people stood up—a youngish woman and an old-ish man.

"I'll do it," the man said.

"Me too," the woman added. Mikey nodded. He glanced around for anything that might be used to prop the door open, but he didn't see anything—there were just the long tables and benches and the counter where they served food. Maybe he should go back to Mrs. Vitale's room to see if he couldn't find a doorstop there.

"Do you remember the way?" he asked, and the woman said she did, so he watched them go (they did, indeed, appear to be going the right way) before heading in the opposite direction.

It was worse without Nathan by his side. Mikey half-expected something to jump through the walls and attack him. It had happened often enough before the shield had gone up, though he knew, logically, there was no way the ghosts outside were getting through the shield. He passed rows and rows of lockers, and he wondered at how normal it seemed even with a ghost invasion happening outside. Like the eye of a storm—this bubble of normality surrounded by chaos.

The door to Mrs. Vitale's room was still open, and Mikey poked around near the door and the corners, looking for a doorstop. He found a couple (one was currently holding the door open). He took them (they seemed big enough), and after checking to make sure the door itself was still unlocked, in case someone needed to get in, he left.

Back at the main doors, Nathan seemed to have gotten ahold of himself. He watched the ghosts outside the shield with interest, following their movements as they tried to break through the shield. Their forms were somewhat distorted, as though Mikey was looking at them through warped glass.

"You're right," Nathan said as he saw Mikey approach. "They did attack crazy-fast." The redhead nodded, bending down to put the doorstop in place. He opened the other door and did the same.

"I know. I'm not sure how exactly they did it—teleportation? Multiple portals? Or just good planning?" he theorized aloud. "Maybe it was something else entirely. I think it's taken a lot of people off-guard—everyone's shaken." He and Nathan moved back inside; it felt safer there, even though it technically wasn't any safer than where they had been. It's definitely psychological.

"We probably won't know until all this is over," Nathan agreed. "Oh man, do you think we'll get to see Phantom in action? Like, seriously fighting?" Mikey wanted to point out that this was their classmate they were talking about—Danny—and it wasn't some kind of show.

But he felt that same thrill of excitement, of anticipation, at seeing his hero defending them rushed through him. They'd only ever seen glimpses of the fights, or watched them on the news or Internet. Seeing one so intense in person… It would be exciting, if also terrifying. He didn't want to see Danny hurt, either. "Maybe," Mikey said.

Sirens in the distance grew louder and louder until Mikey could see the actual police cars pulling up to the school, lights flashing even through the shield. Armed with ectoguns, they began to pick off the ghosts attempting to destroy the shield (not that they'd been having much luck). Nathan whooped, like a fan cheering when his favorite team scored.

"This is so cool," he muttered. Mikey was glad he seemed to have completely gotten over his initial fear, though he knew it wasn't gone entirely. If the shield fell… Well, he doubted it would. While the Fentons may have been considered crackpots three or four years ago, today they were well known for their excellent, reliable technology. It was enough of a turn-around to give anyone whiplash, and Mikey knew for a fact the Fentons were delighted by their odd, citywide fame. Well, they talked about it often enough. Well, Jack talked about it often enough.

"Yeah." Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose, squinting out at the shield. Something strange was happening. "Do you see that?" he asked. The ghosts were moving away from the shield—and the police officers. Like they were running away. Except that didn't make sense: while they hadn't been winning the exchange, they hadn't been losing, either.

"Why are they leaving? Do you think the police scared them off?" Nathan questioned, turning to Mikey. The redhead shook his head.

"That doesn't make sense." He liked it when things made sense, lined up in neat, orderly rows. It was unfortunate most things in real life didn't do that—real life was a messy business, he'd found.

There was something coming through the ghosts—a figure. It—she, Mikey realized—was tall, with long hair and a thin frame. That was all he could really make out through the shield. She seemed to ignore the police firing on her—the redhead watched her raise her hand and grip it into a fist.

The police officers yelled as their cars lifted into the air, the metal squealing as it was bent and broken. Some tried to escape to the shield, realizing that she was far more powerful than the other ghosts they'd been fighting. But the ones who'd been running suddenly stopped. Stopped—and in a flash—they were dead, torn apart. It was all a blur to Mikey—if he hadn't been paying attention, he would've missed it.

Alive one second, dead the next, their heads and limbs separated from their body.

"Oh my God," he breathed, stumbling backward. He grasped at the wall for support. She killed them. "Oh, God. Oh, God." This was real—this was serious. People had died. Right in front of him. Right in front of him. Like they did in natural disasters or wars—but those were distant things, things he saw on TV.

Not things that happened in front of his school.

He heard retching—Nathan was throwing up, though he'd had the foresight to get to one of the trashcans. Mikey staggered away from the door; he didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to wait and watch if Phantom—Danny—showed up. Would he be torn apart, too?

The man and woman came back from taking more people to the cafeteria. The old man took one look at their faces and went outside to see what had happened. The woman approached Nathan, who was breathing heavily over the trashcan.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "What happened?"

"A ghost showed up," Mikey said, his voice nearly a whisper."She…" He couldn't finish it. "I don't know how many more people are going to make it through the shield." Everyone had been told to evacuate to Casper High, but now the school was a deathtrap. He had to tell his parents, contact everyone he could get ahold of.

The woman seemed to understand that something bad had happened without the specifics. She didn't look outside, just patted Nathan's back. The older man came back, face haggard. "We'll stay here," he said. "You boys go find an adult—maybe someone to contact an administrator, and I'll call 911. See if anyone can send out an alert not to go to the school." Mikey nodded. It was a good plan.

But I need to call my parents, first. He tugged on Nathan's arm. "Come on. I'll call Abigail, see if she's found Mrs. Vitale yet." The other boy was shivering, but he followed Mikey obligingly. The redhead got out his phone, fumbling with it briefly in his haste and his terror. He couldn't stop seeing those police officers dying. It played in his mind's eye like a scene in an action movie. Except those had been real people. He found his mom's contact and pressed it, holding his phone up to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Mikey cursed—something he rarely did—and left a voice mail. "Hey, Mom. Don't come to the school, okay? There's a ghost outside it, stopping people from getting in. You and Dad should just stay at home." His words were shaky. He ended the call and sent them a text. By that time, he and Nathan had made it back to Mrs. Vitale's room. This time, though, Abigail was there, seated at one of the desks. She looked up at them.

"Hey. I thought you were supposed to be manning the doors," she said. Nathan collapsed into the seat next to her, his head in his hands. Mikey didn't know how to reply, fiddling with his phone. "What's wrong?" she asked, looking at them both. "Did something happen? I found Mrs. Vitale—she's setting up the nurse's station, making sure everything is ready."

"There's some insanely powerful ghost outside the shield," Mikey muttered, slipping into the other seat next to her. "She's not letting anyone in." He couldn't just come out and say the words—we watched her kill some police officers. He didn't know who else had died on their way back to the classroom—how many had died.

"Oh." Abigail frowned, looking out the windows. "The school is large—I'm sure a few people could come around the back—"

"Something tells me that's not going to be an obstacle," Mikey interrupted. "She—she tore off their heads."

"Oh," Abigail repeated, voice soft.

In his pocket, Mikey's phone buzzed. Normally, he would've ignored it, but what if it was his parents? He pulled it out and set it on the desk—his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly see the screen. But it wasn't his parents. It was—what?

He opened it; he was curious, and he needed a distraction. Desperately. Ignoring Abigail's, "What are you doing?" he checked social media—maybe it said something about the attack, people coming to help.

Instead he saw something far more chilling.

"Holy Jesus fuck," Mikey cursed. The words felt foreign but appropriate, especially as he watched ghosts come alive on his screen—ghosts most definitely in Germany and not Amity Park. "It's happening everywhere."

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked. She leaned over to see his screen, and her eyes widened minutely as she took in scenes of "strange, spirit-like beings" pouring through portals across Europe and Asia and Latin America and Africa. "Oh, no," she breathed.

"He doesn't know," Mikey said, pulling away from his phone. "He warned the city about the invasion two weeks in advanced." The connections came so quickly he could hardly say them as quickly as he thought them. "Danny would've warned the world about the invasion if he'd known the ghosts would attack there, too. This is bigger than we thought—this is bigger than he thought. We have to tell him. This is a disaster."

"'We'?" Abigail said. "What do you mean 'we'? Nathan looks like he can't even stand, you said yourself there's a homicidal ghost outside the shield—" Mikey flinched, but she plowed forward—"And we have no way to really contact him or find him." Nathan sat up at the mention of his name, wiping tears out of his eyes and spittle off his mouth.

"We could call 911, like that man did. Let them know it's happening around the world. Maybe they can get to Phantom. Or the mayor or something," Nathan suggested. "And it's not like we don't have Danny's number. Or Sam and Tucker's."

Abigail drummed her fingers on the desk, her mouth a thin line. Mikey could almost see her brain processing it all, working as fast as any computer. "That's true, but they're fighting right now—how likely is it that they're actually checking their phones? Or that they even have them?" Two very good points, though the redhead thought Nathan's idea of calling 911 wasn't a bad one. If they could get a dispatcher to listen to them and notify the police, surely someone would tell Phantom? Or at least be able to do something? Everywhere else in the world was far more vulnerable to ghosts than Amity was.

"I'll text Sam, Tucker, and Danny," Mikey said. "Abigail, you call the police." She nodded, pulling out her phone. The redhead sent a quick message to each of the trio, something along the lines of, The ghosts are attacking the whole world, not just Amity. Their plan is bigger than you thought. He hoped it was succinct and informative enough to get across what it needed to.

"The line is busy," Abigail said. "I'm on hold." They waited one minute… Two minutes… Nothing. Finally, Abigail hung up. "I guess they're getting too many calls." She sounded frustrated, upset.

"We have to go and find him ourselves," Nathan said. "We're bound to find someone if we leave—a police officer, the Huntress, the Fentons—or Danny himself."

That's crazy, Mikey thought immediately. "Nathan, we'll also be finding a lot of ghosts trying to hurt us. And that ghost is just outside the shield. She'll—she'll—" No. It made more sense to stay inside the shield, where they—and this information—were safe. It made more sense to tell Mrs. Vitale, or even that old man, what they'd found out. Surely an adult would know what to do. And even if they didn't, what were the three of them going to do? They were kids.

Sam, Danny, and Tucker are just kids, another side of him argued.

"Listen." For once, Nathan didn't seem naïve or flustered at all. He was as serious and determined as Mikey had ever seen him. "If we all go at once, through different sides of the school, she might only be able to get one of us—the other two will make it through."

"But what if Danny shows up here?" Abigail said. "To fight the ghost?" It was another good point.

"Can we take that chance?" Nathan pressed, leaning forward. Sweat beaded his brow.

"Can we take the chance that we'll die?" Mikey demanded. "This is a stupid plan, Nathan."

"I'll go by myself, then," the other boy snarled, standing. Mikey stood with him. There was no way this would work—no way it could work. The ghosts outside the shield would hurt them before they ever had a chance to find anyone, much less get this information to Phantom.

"No, you're not!" Mikey said. Abigail stood, too, watching the exchange with quiet eyes.

"You just don't want to admit I'm right!" Nathan shouted. "You two think you're so much smarter than me! Well, you're not!" Was that what this was about? Nathan being insecure? How could he be so ridiculous, at a time like this? Mikey almost couldn't process it. Nathan had just watched people die, and he thought their issue with his plan was that it had come from him?

"We don't think that," Abigail said, raising her hands. Her tone was soothing, as though she were talking to a scared animal. "We know you're smart. But you're not thinking right—we don't have any weapons, any anything. We wouldn't last two seconds out there."

"Don't placate me!" Nathan yelled, brushing her hands off him. "When I wanted to help Phantom, everyone brushed me off. But when you had an idea, well, that was different! Even though you ended up completely alienating him!"

"I seem to recall you were on board with that plan as much as I was," Mikey said stiffly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Has he really been hiding these feelings this whole time? "And I'm sorry that you feel like we've been brushing you off, but is now really the time you want to have this conversation? There's a ghost invasion happening right outside." Logic had always worked for him in the past, and he knew Nathan was a logical guy. Mikey just had to help him see that logic. Maybe he's more messed up from seeing those people die than I thought.

"You're not listening to me!" Nathan cried. He looked like he was one shove from tumbling off a cliff. His eyes were wild, his face bleached of color. "I don't need you! I'll do this without you!"

And he bolted out the door.

"Nathan, wait!" Mikey said, shooting after him, Abigail only a step behind. "Just think about this!" His friend didn't answer. He's going to get himself killed, and he's going to make me watch, Mikey thought in a panic. None of them were particularly athletic, but Nathan seemed to pull some speed out of nowhere, out-pacing both Mikey and Abigail. All three were huffing and puffing, and if this had been anywhere else, at any other time, Mikey would've already given up the chase. Their footsteps pounded on the linoleum.

The redhead's glasses slipped down his nose, and his shirt was un-tucked, but he didn't bother fixing either—he had stop his friend from hurting himself, from dying… Nathan went flying out one of the emergency exits, the door smacking against the outer wall with a bang. Mikey and Abigail raced through after him, the girl one step ahead. It seemed fortune was on their side; Nathan stumbled on an uneven patch of ground. Both Abigail and Mikey had the same thought—they seized their chance, sprinting forward and catching their friend by each of his arms.

"Let go of me!" Nathan shrieked. "Let go!" He outweighed both Abigail and Mikey, but together they were enough to stop him from going farther. The shield was perhaps fifteen, twenty feet away. They had only just made it in time. Nathan thrashed like a fish caught on a hook.

"Not until you stop acting like a fucking lunatic!" Abigail screamed back. Her grip was vice-like, and Mikey did his best to mimic her on the other side. He saw movement outside the shield, in the corner of his eye, but he was so preoccupied he didn't pay attention to it at first.

"I'm not a lunatic! I'm not!" Nathan sounded hysterical, as though he was somewhere else, in some other reality, not this one. "Don't call me that! I'm finding Phantom!" And then Mikey saw her.

She was watching them from the outside of the shield, as close as she could get without touching. Her smile was wide, revealing teeth sharpened to points, like rows upon rows of miniature spears had been stuck in her mouth. She can't do anything—she's on the other side of the shield.

"Guys," he muttered, but that was all he could say before she raised her hand, and from the outside, a car—a white Toyota Sequoia, if he wasn't mistaken—came hurtling at them—through the shield, Mikey lurched to the side, but he was too slow—he screamed—

And then, nothing.

The ghost approached the ruined keep cautiously, drifting slowly through the air. Even crumbling, it was grand: its towers seemed to touch the green sky, and most of its walls stood tall, despite their cracks. This sight was familiar, however, and didn't explain the disturbance he'd felt—nothing, upon first glance, appeared to be changed. What was unfamiliar was the fact that the doors to the palace were wide open. He gasped. Who has opened them? How did they find the crown?

He flew quickly now, eager. The abandoned castle had once been his home, and he hadn't been inside in centuries—not to mention… Don't become hopeful. Even She may not have been able to survive so long in isolation. He could feel Her signature inside, but he'd always been able to—it saturated the examined the doors, and sure enough, among the scenes of the coronation was the crown. It was magnificent, even old and tarnished. He reached a hand up to brush its surface, tears pooling in his eyes. How long had it been since he'd been able to touch the palace's wondrous walls? Pariah had been thorough when he'd set up protections; they had prohibited even the lightest brush against the castle.

The ghost left the doors, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of his longing to go in. He didn't fly; he wanted to feel the floor beneath his feet. The entrance hall was dusty, and the rich rugs and paintings that had once decorated it had faded with time. The statue in the corner—that he had long admired—was cracked and broken. It was almost too much for him to bear; he had spent long years wishing desperately to enter the keep, and once he'd finally been able to, he found his home in ruins. The pain of seeing it like this was nearly worse than not seeing it at all.

He paused as he heard a noise coming from the throne room. Vermin? he thought, but the protections would've stopped anything from coming through. It was impossible that something had made its home here already. He crept across the hall to the archway of the throne room, peering inside. The throne itself was in better condition than most other things, as though its aura of power and strength had shielded it from the whims of time. Some of the stone steps leading up to it had broken, tumbling down to land on the floor.

Then his eyes landed on something he had not dared to wish to see, even though he'd been wishing to see Her for eternities upon eternities. He couldn't believe it—was it a vision? Only instead of the future, was he being shown the past? Except, She didn't look as he remembered: Her hair was more brittle, Her body thinner. But Her eyes were the same—they were sharper than any bird's, crueler than any snake's.

And still, She was more beautiful than he had recalled.

"…Mistress?" he said, almost a whimper. He fell to his knees before Her—how was it that She still existed here? Without any direct ectoplasm to ingest for centuries, She should have perished long, long ago. It was a miracle She was here. And yet… He could believe it.

"Aevum," She greeted, and Her voice was the same—rough like gravel rubbing together. It was a powerful voice, a voice he had followed all his life and death—all the time he had served Her. "I am told I have slept a long while."

"Centuries, my Queen." He dared not look up. If he did, She would disappear like a mirage, like a thirsty man seeking an oasis that was never there. He had been living without proper contact for a long while now, forced to reside miserably in the Banished Lands. Perhaps he had gone mad. "How is it… The prince locked you here—we could not find a way to break his protections…"

"Peace, Aevum," She said. He could hear the sounds of Her walking closer, the fabric swishing on the floor—why didn't She fly? Were Her energy reserves so low that She could not even do what She had long considered child's play? She laid a hand on his trembling head, stroking his hair lightly. "I know you did not betray me—Pariah confessed, in those final moments, how difficult it had been to draw you away, dupe you, in order to get to me."

"I do not know why the vision never came," Aevum confessed, almost tearfully. He finally looked up at Her—his benevolent Mistress. Her face was as kind as it ever became. It had not a softer look—he had never seen it hold one—but rather a less hardened one. "He cast us out, after you were gone. I wanted to end him, and I tried, but I was not strong enough. Please, forgive me." The hand didn't leave his head, simply continuing to pet him.

"I do forgive you—you, who have always served me loyally," She said. Aevum sobbed. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever heard Her say those words; he adored his Queen, more than he could ever say, but he knew She was unrelenting. The most he could've hoped for was a prolonged, painful existence, only kept because She needed his visions. He would've endured it gratefully, gladly, if it had meant that he would see Her again.

"Thank you, Mistress," he murmured fervently, kissing the hem of Her long dress. "Thank you." He knew he deserved worse—he deserved agony for what he had allowed happen to Her—but She had forgiven him. In all these years, he could not have anticipated ever seeing Her again, much less Her forgiveness; he had despaired of locating the crown long ago. "But I still don't understand. How…"

"Up," She ordered, withdrawing Her hand. The intimate moment between them had vanished. She was no longer his closest friend; She was his Queen, the one he had devoted himself to, wholly and entirely. "We have much to discuss. I shall tell you our good fortune, and you shall tell me of all that has occurred while I've been trapped here."

Aevum rose to his feet, looking up at Her—his Mistress towered over him, over everyone, as it should be. "Of course," he replied reverentially, dipping his head. She climbed the steps to ascend to Her throne, where She sat, watching him languidly. For the first time, Aevum noticed the crumpled, bloodied body in the corner of the room. Strangely, it had a human skin tone—one of the lighter ones, whitish like the bones inside. He recalled with disgust a time when he'd had such skin as that. He was privileged to have been elevated to a higher standing. "A human, Mistress?" he asked.

"Not quite," She answered. "Examine it more closely." Aevum was helpless to do anything but comply, though confusion wrinkled his brow. He stepped closer—he dare not fly in his Mistress's presence, for She had always made it clear he was to ask permission for most any action when he was with Her. The human had light gray hair and a beard—a man, then. Its eyes were closed, and it appeared bruised, but its torso moved faintly, indicating it was still alive. It had been injured: blood pooled underneath it, and one of its legs was twisted unnaturally. But beneath its skin, Aevum could detect… A pulse. A vibration.

An ecto-signature.

"Impossible," he muttered, looking back to his Mistress. "How can it have a signature? That only comes with a core."

"Indeed. And yet, it was the one that freed me, though it was surprised to find me here. It didn't look like this, then—it appeared far more… ghostly. It called itself 'Plasmius.'" She drummed Her fingers on the armrest. "It has both a core and a heart; I believe it to be some human-ghost hybrid, with the ability to switch between forms. It is the only thing that makes sense." Aevum was filled with revulsion. A human and a ghost? To mix something so inferior with its superior counterpart... His core thrummed in response to his anxiety.

"Yes, it's disgusting, I know," She said. "Unnatural, for it to be both alive and dead—for it to have access to the powers of a spirit even as it is forced to survive within the limitations of the flesh."

"Will you kill it?" Aevum asked, turning away from the sickening specimen. His Queen shook Her head.

"No. It is unique—I should like to keep it for a pet, I think. Besides, I wish to know where it came by my crown, and how it obtained its powers. I am an expert on both human and ghostly pain; it will be fascinating to see how it reacts to each." Aevum nodded, moving away from the thing. His Mistress had always been smarter than he, understanding the value of information intuitively. "I would've thought that Pariah would've destroyed the crown after trapping me and taking my throne." Her tone was bitter, angry, and Her gaze could've burned through the thickest of metal.

"He may have usurped you, my Queen, but you were still his sister. I don't think he could bear to destroy the only thing that might free you, even though he wanted you trapped here. Instead, he hid it away, and Althea wiped the minds of the Zone, now and forevermore, of your presence. There was no need to destroy any physical evidence of you, because whenever someone discovered clues to your existence, they forgot it immediately," Aevum explained. "It is fortunate I had already fled when she did so—I was out of her power's range."

"Althea." His Queen sighed. "Worthless traitor. She was always too greedy for her own good. What did Pariah offer her? Riches? A place by his side? I hope he destroyed her afterward."

"Something to that effect, but he didn't destroy her—he imprisoned her. Her power would not have lasted had he not done so. I searched for her, too, to end her miserable existence, but I—I failed in that too, my Queen." He almost wanted Her to punish him, want Her to absolve him of his failures, hurt him so the guilt eating away at his core would go away.

"I do not hold you to your mistakes, Aevum, grievous though they may be. I—" She was cut off as Aevum fell to the ground, clutching his head. A vision. This power had been with him all his ghost-hood, but he still had not found a way to make them less painful.

A scene flashed before his eyes—it was the ghost Clockwork. He was watching the Queen and Aevum on his time screens, his face impassive. He stopped Her from raising Her beasts and alerted someone else—a human? It was a boy, only it changed into a ghost, and Aevum watched in horror as it managed to defeat his Mistress before She ever even had a chance to build Her army, before She even had a chance to recover from Her time spent trapped here.

When he recovered, he was on his hands and knees, shaking, his Mistress looming above him. Without a word, She helped him rise, knowing that he would tell Her what he'd seen once he'd gotten his bearings.

"I have seen your end, Mistress," he said. Her mouth twisted into something hateful, the idea of Her being destroyed after She had just been freed unacceptable. "We must act quickly if we are to prevent it. A ghost—Clockwork—he shall See us soon. His powers and mine are alike, though I will admit his control is better. But I can block his Sight—at least for a time. He resides in a tower, and we must find some way to keep him there." His Queen took the news in stride. She was adaptable, intelligent, ruthless. She always had been.

"Very well. You will do so at once—we cannot afford any set backs, not when we have just tasted the tiniest bit of victory. Perhaps we can use some of the very things Pariah used to trap me here against this 'Clockwork.'" Her mind worked rapidly, he knew, more rapidly than even those considered geniuses.

"There was something else I Saw," Aevum said. "There was another who placed a key role in your defeat—a half-human, half-ghost. It had two forms. We must find some way to kill it or stop it. It lives in the human realm." She regarded him carefully with Her crimson eyes.

"Clockwork first," She instructed. "Someone with powers exceeding your own can be nothing less than dangerous. Then, we shall worry about this other 'half-ghost.' Such abominations, scurrying about like rats. Someone certainly should have killed them by now."

"And then, my Queen?" Aevum questioned, unable to contain his anticipation. It burned in his core like an ectoblast, building and building till he thought it might burst. "Shall we awaken your beasts? Re-conquer the Zone?" She smiled at him, as though his question was amusing. Her needle-like teeth gleamed in the light of their auras.

"No, Aevum—that is no longer my goal. The Zone is only the first step. I will have the human realm, to purge humanity's insipid existence and swell my ranks. And I shall never again be called 'Queen Idolum'—the name is not suitable for my ambitions. I am not going to merely rule a kingdom—I am going to take all the lands that rightfully belong to me. And that makes me not a queen; that makes me the Empress."

Chapter Text

PART TWO

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sam Rides a Motorcycle

Sam was trying to do homework when the ghosts came. It was biology, which was something she liked, and she was trying to focus. A few low-level ghosts had slipped through the past few nights, despite Danny shutting down the Portal, and the worksheet had technically been due a few days ago. Ghosts were always coming through; the dimensions were close in Amity, especially near the forest. There were fewer ghosts now than there had been before the Empress started conquering the Zone, but she'd still lost too many hours of sleep. Tucker, too.

She was curled up on her floor near her window, letting the last dregs of sunshine light her paper. Pine-scented candle smoke wafted through the air. Her mom called her collection of candles a fire-hazard; Sam considered them soothing. She'd disabled her fire alarm, so it would stop going off, and had refused to let anyone put it back. Dying in a fire is a good way to go, she'd told her mom. It'll be something interesting to put on my epitaph. Pamela had looked appropriately horrified, and Sam had patted herself on the back for offending her mother's over-developed sensibilities.

Most found her room, with its rock-band posters, macabre décor, and dark walls, unsettling and dreary. Sam liked it, and Danny and Tucker thought it was cool. Though she told herself she didn't need anyone's approval, it was secretly nice to get it. Years of rejection had been oddly soothed when she'd first shown her best friends her room and their reaction had been positive.

She knew something was wrong when the ghost radar on her bedside table began beeping incessantly. Usually, for one or two ghosts, it would make a couple noises and stop—this was something different, more like an alarm or siren than anything else.

Sam leapt to her feet and dashed over, her homework falling to the floor. Is this it? she thought. Is it time? She picked up the radar, and it showed dozens upon dozens of unknown ghostly signatures pouring into Amity—some even simply appearing there—from all sides of the city. Sam knew, though she was one day early, that it could be only one thing—the Empress.

Her army was pouring into the city so fast—too fast. Will Danny be able to get the shield up in time? Except, with so many ghosts inside Amity, it might be better to conserve his energy and switch to plan B.

Sam ran to her closet, and from the back she pulled out a duffel bag, filled to the brim with ghost-hunting gear and equipment. She pulled off her skirt, leggings, and tank-top—none were very good for fighting—and donned sturdy gray cargo pants, a long-sleeved undershirt, the specially-made Kevlar vest, and her steel-toed boots, lacing them tightly and double-knotting them.

She could hear the sounds of fighting outside as she strapped a specter-deflector onto her waist. I'll have to remember to take it off when I run into Danny. Onto her outer belt went a Fenton thermos (which Danny had smuggled to her long ago, complaining that his dad wasn't making them fast enough) and two ectoguns, fully charged and warm to the touch. The belt had holsters; it was specially made (courtesy of the Fentons). She kept the safety on—they wouldn't kill anyone, but they might leave some nasty burns. She muted her ghost radar, and it was the last thing to go into her belt.

She went over to her dresser and pulled out the bottom-most drawer on the right. Wedged inside was a small notebook stained with ectoplasm and blood. She took it carefully and placed it in an inside pocket of her vest awkwardly, zipping it up. She had no idea if actual armor-type vests had pockets, but the Fentons' vests did, which she was grateful for.

And now, the Fenton phones—

Her thoughts were interrupted as her door was abruptly opened. There her mom and dad stood, mouths open in surprise. Her mom in particular looked as though she'd caught Sam in the middle of having sex with someone, not putting on a headset.

"Samantha?" she demanded in that voice that made Sam want to chew her own ears off. If only her mouth could reach. "Just what do you think you're doing?" She could always tear them off, she supposed.

"What does it look like?" Sam deadpanned. "I'm about to throw a party. What are you doing?" She knew her mom wasn't as dumb as she looked—why did she have to ask such stupid questions.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" Pamela chided. "Leave that ridiculous equipment here. We're all going to the basement."

Ah, yes. The basement. Two weeks ago, her parents, upon hearing about the invasion, had gone completely doomsday prepper. They'd descended into a full-out nuclear family, in fact, buying things from the Fentons to ghost-proof the room. We won't be stuck huddling at the high school with the whole town. Who knows how long we might be trapped there? her dad had said. They even looked like they might be from the fifties—with her mom's nice yellow dress and her dad's plaid sweater-vest and kakis.

"You go," Sam said, tucking the Fenton phones into her pocket. She had to get out of here. "I'll be fine." She removed her ponytail only to gather up more of her hair and put it back up.

"I don't know what you think this is, Samantha, but you're not a fully-trained ghost hunter." Her dad marched forward, moving to pull off one of the ectoguns from her belt. Sam danced backward easily, and he huffed in frustration. Behind him, her mom crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous, and you'll get yourself hurt or worse. Leave the Fentons or that Huntress lady to get rid of the invasion."

It was nice to know they cared. Really, it was. But Sam had better things to do than try and convince them she needed to leave; she should've already been in contact with Danny by now.

"Look, I'm going whether you—" She was stopped as one of the ghosts from outside broke in through the window, shards of glass blowing inward. Sam raised her arm reflexively to protect her head and, faster than a striking snake, drew the thermos. The ghost opened their mouth to say something, but she was too quick; she uncapped it, aimed, and pressed the button. The ghost was sucked in before they could so much as fire an ectoblast.

Why didn't they just turn intangible? A part of her wondered. They're here to cause destruction, a different part of her answered.

"Where did you learn to do that?" her mom demanded. Sam ignored her, shoving the thermos back in her belt, and pushing past her shocked father. "Samantha? Answer me!"

Sam glared at her—they were basically the same height now. "Move out of my way, Mom. Get to the basement. I can take care of myself—trust me." And that was part of the issue between them—one drop in a whole sea of things between them. Trust. Pamela didn't respond, so Sam pushed past her, too.

She walked briskly through the hall and down the stairs. One glance out the window was all she needed; the streets weren't about to be clear any time soon. Her car wasn't an option—or it would be a slower option, anyway. She went into the garage, stuck on her Fenton phones, and found her helmet (now would be a terrible time to crash and die, after all). Then, she opened the garage door, climbed onto her Yamaha V Star 250 Raven, and raced out as fast as she could.

"—there? I need you on the other mainstay. And Jazz, you're on the third. Just as we planned. I'll get the last, but first I need to get as many ghosts as I can out of the shield's range." Danny's voice crackled over the headset. He sounded as he usually did in these situations: calm, cool, collected. Two years, he hadn't been so, but there were only so many times a person could panic before the pressure hardened them.

"I'm here, Danny," Sam said as she rounded a corner. A couple of ghosts spotted her and began following. "And I'm on it. My ETA's ten minutes, maybe less." They fired a few shots, and she dodged, swerving dangerously close to the curb. People were running everywhere, trying to make it to the shield. Sam wanted to stop and help, but she had to focus.

If this is just the first part of her army, we need to make sure the shield is up as soon as possible. It might've been better for Danny to teleport, but if he did, he might be too worn out to actually help fight all the ghosts—and that, Sam knew, would be a disaster. She turned on her bike's headlight, and it flared out into the darkness in front of her.

Danny said a couple things over the line, but they were clearly directed at someone else, so Sam ignored it, going as fast as she dared. The two ghosts behind her eventually dropped off to find easier prey, though they probably could've caught her had they been more determined.

"Jazz, do you copy?" Danny again—was his sister still not on? Sam frowned as she turned a corner to find a man about to be killed by a sinister-looking ghost with a spear. She slowed rapidly to a halt and, her legs touching the ground on either side of her bike to steady her, brought up her ectogun, and fired at the ghost's back.

"Yes," Jazz responded. "I'm on my way to the mainstay on foot. I'll be there in twenty minutes." The ghost turned to Sam, his previous victim forgotten, and, with one hand still holding the gun, she single-handedly brought out the thermos, uncapped it, and trapped the ghost inside.

He was sucked in just as he opened his mouth, and Sam spent a brief second wondering what he had been about to say. Perhaps something clichéd, like, You'll never stop me or We've already won. The man, trembling, took a few steps forward as Sam put her thermos and gun back into her belt.

"You saved my life," the man muttered, looking at her with wide eyes. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Who—who are—" Sam waved and sped off. She had a mainstay to get to.

"Has anyone laid eyes on the Empress?" Danny asked. He'd given them all her description, but Sam was pretty certain the ghost would stand out if she saw her. So far, all she'd seen were low-level ghosts—soldiers, minions, whatever. None had even come close to the Empress's supposed power levels.

"Nope," Jazz replied. "No sign of her."

"That's a negative," Tucker said.

"No," Sam answered.

"Alright. The plan is to activate the shield and hold the ghosts off as best we can. Dora and her people will get here eventually to help." Reinforcements. Good. Even if they managed to get the shield up sooner rather than later, there would still be a good portion of the Empress's army both inside and outside Amity. If Dora took out the ones outside, they could get rid of the ones inside. It wouldn't be easy—but it was doable, especially with the Huntress, Danny, his parents, Jazz, Tucker, and herself all focused on one thing.

"Copy that," she said, her voice blending with Jazz and Tucker's.

"Sam," Danny grunted, sounding strained. Probably fighting. "What is that sound?"

"Um," Sam said, unsure of how to admit what she'd done. It was such a rich-person thing to do, spending thousands on a whim. And she would've been ashamed of it, but well… Irritating her parents was worth it. Plus, technically, it had been a present from her grandma. How could she have said no? "So I may or may not be riding a motorcycle."

"What the hell, Sam? Why? How?" Tucker demanded.

"Well, they aren't the greatest for the environment, but my parents hate them. So I learned how to ride one, passed the test and all that, and rode it when they were being especially irritating. I don't do it normally, but I thought it would be faster with the roads being so crowded." All of this was true—while her bike's gas mileage was better than her car's, it also emitted more air pollutants. She rode it sparingly, more to make a point than anything else. Though she couldn't deny she didn't enjoy the thrill of it, the adrenaline energizing her faster and more effectively than even the strongest coffee.

Many of the streets were covered in rubble from the ghosts—debris, totaled cars, or broken streetlamps—buildings on fire and the odd person or family fleeing. On these, there wasn't really a safe way through, not even with her increased maneuverability. So she had to take roads she wasn't used to taking, adding on to her time. She could only think of how much longer it would take Tucker, who was in a car. She got turned around a couple of times, but she knew she was mostly going the right way, which was the important thing.

Tucker's voice crackled in her ear. "Danny, we might have a problem." He sounded anxious, and in turn, anxiety flared in Sam's gut like she'd eaten spinach that had gone off. Is he hurt? Did he spy the Empress?

"We have a lot of problems right now, Tuck—you're going to have be a little more specific," Danny responded. His tone was worried, uncertain; he hadn't like Tucker's ominous words any more than Sam had.

"It's the school—I'm not sure. I just passed it, and something has to be wrong with the shield or something. People are running away from it," Tucker explained. Sam couldn't see herself, but she knew her skin had paled. Something wrong with the shield? It was a terrible time for it to malfunction—and it probably was no coincidence, either. Had the Empress sabotaged it somehow? "I can't see anything from where I am, but I keep hearing a God-awful screeching noise. Should I check it out?"

"No," Danny said, in his I'll take care of it voice. It was one Sam found simultaneously endearing and annoying, though she knew he was the most capable ghost hunter in Amity—possibly the world. "We need to get the shield up as soon as possible, and I may not have enough energy left to fight if I teleport and turn on all the mainstays."

My thoughts exactly, Sam agreed silently. The stretch of street in front of her, dark except for the streetlights, was straight and clear, so she sped up, hoping to make up for some of her lost time. She was careful not to go too fast, however; she needed to keep control of her bike, and she couldn't be going so quick that if something jumped out at her she wouldn't be able to stop in time.

"Got it," Tucker said.

The line was mostly silent after that, broken by talk unrelated to any of them. Sam knew she was almost there when she started recognizing the road names again. It was simply a matter of following them until she reached the mainstay. This part of the city was eerie—completely silent, even though it was still before eight. The windows were dark; no cars on the roads; and there were no people, either.

It was, dare she think it, a ghost town.

Tucker and Danny are rubbing off on you, she thought to herself. You need to step up your game—you used to make better jokes than that, even in your head.

Her momentary distraction was cut off as Danny spoke. "I'm at the school," he croaked. "It's the Empress—she's here." His voice was wrong. It was filled with shock, and a despair Sam didn't often hear from him.

"What's she doing?" Sam asked, urgent. How was she disrupting the shield? Was she truly so powerful that she had the ability to destroy it—somehow? And, importantly, did Danny need some kind of back-up? He said something, but it was garbled, and probably not addressed to them.

Focus on getting to the mainstay. Danny can handle himself. She practically flew down the next street.

The half-ghost sobbed over the headset. And then, not a second later, he screamed—a terrible scream, one only giving hint to the pain he was in. It had almost sounded like one of his wails, but to use one so early in a fight… And for it to be filled with so much agony… After treating almost all of his wounds, she knew what noises he made when he was in pain.

So the only question now was not whether he was hurt, but how hurt was he?

"Danny?" she demanded. "Danny, are you there? Are you okay? What's happening?" The line exploded as Jazz and Tucker joined in, asking what had happened—what was happening. Sam's mind couldn't help but leap to all the times she'd seen Danny hurt and helpless, blood and bruises covering him like clothing. Limbs broken. Burns larger than her head. The most recent example was his fight with Valerie, but an entire host of memories haunted her, in her waking moments and in her dreams. They haunted her more thoroughly than any actual ghost could, stalking her like a shadow, like a pervasive, malevolent cloud hanging over her, choking her.

She couldn't bear to not be there with him, watching his back.

The moments of his agonizing silence after that scream were the longest of her life, time stretching and bending to torture her further. The terror of not knowing, not being there to help. She couldn't stand it.

And then: "We've engaged. Can't talk now." Short and to the point—he had other things occupying his thoughts now. She wanted to ask what the Empress had done to him—if it had, indeed, been the Empress. But there would be time after, once they'd finished this—if they finished this. Regardless, she couldn't let her worry for Danny overwhelm her; she had her own job to do.

Sam hugged her bike as she almost skidded around a corner, attracting the attention of a few ghosts who had been destroying one of the nearby office buildings. They flew after her. Fucking hell, she thought. She was so close to the mainstay—she'd probably have to take care of these fuckwads before she actually turned it on.

They stayed on her tail as she approached the mainstay. There were four of them. Two had blue skin, one had green, and the other had a sort of pinkish-orange, like the color of shrimp, which she hadn't seen often in the ghost world. She was finally moving out of the city, the only illumination provided by her bike. The tree line was dark and ominous, and to either side of her, visible a mile or two away, were massive portals. Ghosts flooded out of them in a constant stream, adding to the already sizeable number in the city.

We have to get this shield up.

She ground to a halt once she was close, cutting the engine and propping her motorcycle up with the kickstand as fast as she could. By this time, the ghosts had surrounded her, laughing. It was hard to see with her helmet on, and she quickly removed it.

"What are you doing out here?" the green-skinned one asked. They wore heavy-looking armor and wielded a massive sword, which was longer than Sam was (and she was a very respectable 5'7"). "The others ran the other way." Their voice could've belonged to a man or a woman.

"Maybe it's stupid," one of the blue ones said. They were clearly male—they had a deep voice, a square face, and a beard. He pulled his spear off his back and jabbed it toward her, as if to poke her. "Are you stupid?"

"I'm not an 'it,' asshole," Sam growled, whipping the Fenton thermos out from her belt. She had uncapped it and pressed the button before he knew what had hit him, her aim precise and perfect. The others flew away too quickly for her to suck them in, however, hovering above the ground.

"Watch out!" The other blue-skinned one chuckled. Her voice sounded female. "This one's got claws!" None of them seemed alarmed that their comrade had been trapped, but the soldiers' lack of loyalty wasn't exactly her problem. She hopped off her bike, making sure to keep the three remaining ghosts in her sight. One of them fired off an ectoblast, almost lazily. Sam rolled, coming up to with the thermos raised to capture them again.

The evaded, the pink-orange one circling around so that they surrounded her. Sam sprinted toward where the mainstay was buried—the only cover out here was a couple of lone trees and her motorcycle. She trusted her ability to dodge.

Her trust proved to be well-placed, as she wove and danced around their ectoblasts to make her way to where she needed to be. They seemed wary of coming too close, afraid to be caught in the thermos. They didn't have as much space to dodge up-close.

The green one finally wised up. The only warning Sam had was a shiver up her spine before the ghost came up through the ground behind her, trying to pull her into the air—probably wanting to toy with her. Her specter deflector electrocuted them, and they cried out. Sam captured them easily in the thermos.

With their compatriots gone, the two remaining ghosts treated her with far more respect. They thought it would've been funny to play with a defenseless human before killing her. Sam wasn't helpless, though—far from it, especially when it came to ghosts.

"C'mon," the orange-pink one said, their gender also difficult to determine. "Let's just kill it. No more messing around." The woman-ghost nodded. The two barraged Sam with ectoblasts, singing the ground beneath her as she hopped backward. Their aim was decent, but Sam was practiced at evading ectoplasmic blasts—and the burn scars on her arms, legs, and torso had been excellent motivation to learn. Still, one clipped her boot, and the smell of burned rubber reached her nose. It hadn't hit her foot, however.

She panted, sweat drenching her brow. It was a matter of endurance, now—would she become too slow and get hit, or would they be too tired to fire any longer?

Her stamina proved to be better, and as they rested briefly, she whipped out her ectogun. Its rays travelled faster than the thermos, though they were much slower than bullets. She fired in quick succession, hitting one of the unsuspecting ghosts directly in their core. It was the blue-skinned one, and she cried out in pain, dipping close to the ground. The pink-orange one, tired, and realizing there was no way to beat Sam one-on-one, quickly flew away, leaving Sam to suck their companion into the thermos.

She wiped the sweat off her brow and tucked her weapons back into her belt. She walked to where the mainstay had been buried and kneeled down. The dirt over top of it was loose and easy to brush away. Once uncovered, she quickly activated it. It whirred and hummed and seemed to be working.

"Danny, the mainstay's on," she said into the phones. No response. "Danny?" Nothing. Her voice rose. "Danny! Danny! The mainstay's up!"

"Copy that," he finally acknowledged before shouting something—presumably at the Empress. Sam allowed herself a brief moment to enjoy the cold night air before moving back over to her motorcycle, re-donning her helmet, and climbing on. She flicked the kickstand up with her foot and was off, a dark figure against an even darker night.

Danny was yelling again, but clearly not at them. Sam couldn't say she minded—as long as he was making noise, she knew he was okay enough to fight.

"Anyone need help?" she asked into the Fenton phones. "Tucker? Jazz?"

"I've nearly got it," Tucker panted into the line. She could hear firing in the background. "So I think I'm good."

"It's going to take me a lot longer than I initially suspected to get the mainstay up, but I'm handling it," Jazz said. Sam nodded before realizing neither of them could see her.

"Got it," she said. She'd do her best to fight the ghosts she came across. She wished there was some way to take down the portals, but even if she could, there would be so many they'd easily overwhelm and overpower her. She was better off trying to get rid of the ones already inside the city. But where are they? she thought, racing through the deserted streets. Probably where the people are—which will be toward the shield. Except, hopefully they'd all gotten the memo to stop trying to evacuate there. As she rode deeper into the heart of the city, she saw more and more people.

And more and more ghosts.

She usually sprang up on them, sucking them into the thermos from behind. She stopped two from killing people—but for some, she saw, she was too late. She averted her eyes from the corpses. Don't think about it—focus on the ones you can save. The ghosts had only really come as a trickle before—this was a torrent compared to that. Even Pariah's skeleton army hadn't been as large.

They'd always been there in time, before. Had always managed to save the day before anyone died—but there were just too many—and some part of Sam accepted that. There was only so much four people could do—seven, counting the Fentons and Valerie. Even with the police helping (and possibly whatever was left of the GIW), there were at least two hundred ghosts already in the city, if not more. They had attacked quickly, ruthlessly. Almost unexpected, though everyone had known they were coming.

The upside was Sam could track them using her radar, though it didn't cover the range of the whole city. But they had no way of tracking her. And although two hundred seemed big, in reality this number was spread out in a city like this. Most of the ghosts Sam came across were working alone or in twos or threes. They fought loosely, as most ghosts did, and individually.

They were also not the most powerful ghosts, and Sam could hardly spare a thought to consider where the Empress's more competent allies were. It was a haze of fighting ghosts and rescuing people, directing them away from the school's shield and into shelter nearby. She had to be careful not to get cornered—six or more ghosts against her weren't good odds. The thermos and specter deflector served her well, however. I'll have to thank the Fentons at some point.

A few minutes into her new mission, Tucker's voice echoed in her ear: "Danny! The second mainstay's up—what's the plan?"

"You and Sam need to capture as many ghosts as you can. They're still coming through the portals—we need to make sure we haven't trapped too many in here when we raise the shield," Danny directed. My thoughts exactly. They had no way of stopping the ghosts; their best course of action was to try and get rid of them once they were already here.

"Copy that," Sam and Tucker said in unison. Sam rode onto a street in chaos. She hopped off her bike, immediately ducking behind a car for cover as shots rained above her; if she had moved a second slower, she would've had some terrible burns on her face and neck. She didn't like how her helmet obstructed her vision—it was cumbersome and wouldn't help her aim—so she used the brief seconds of respite to remove it. It clattered to the sidewalk beside her.

The night was lit up with flashes of light: ectoblasts and flickering streetlamps. Screams came from all around—how was Sam supposed to know who needed her help first? The ghosts who had been firing on her moved closer, underestimating her as the others had. She easily solved the issue by whipping out the thermos and sucking them inside; they only had time to offer confused cries before they were trapped.

Over her headset, Danny spoke. ""Jazz? I really need that third mainstay up." He sounded winded—not a good sign. And he must've been getting desperate. Hurry, Jazz.

But no—she couldn't get distracted. Focus, Sam urged herself. Keeping low, she sprinted out from behind the car to another an overturned minivan, closer to a pair of ghosts destroying the front windows of a house. Sam didn't know if there was anyone inside, but she supposed it didn't really matter.

Hidden behind the vehicle, she easily aimed the thermos and captured one of them. The other, however, was too fast, and more powerful than many of the other ghosts she'd been fighting. They teleported away from its beam, appearing closer to Sam's hiding spot. She ducked low; if she could take them by surprise, she could probably get them no problem.

"Danny!" Jazz's voice crackled through the Fenton phone. "I've got the mainstay! Only yours is left!"

Good job, Sam congratulated Jazz in her head. She didn't want to clutter the line with anything unnecessary. Only Danny's mainstay was left—and that would be easy, seeing as he could teleport. Then the city would be safe, and they would hunt down the ghosts remaining in the shield. This whole mess would be put behind them.

Well, kind of. Assuming everything went that well. But, seeing how things had gone so far, Sam didn't think luck was on their side.

She prepped the thermos again, and just as she began to poke out from behind the minivan to aim, green lights arced out from where the mainstays were and formed an impressive dome around the city. Sam took advantage of the distraction and sucked the ghost, who'd been watching the shield form in shock, into the thermos.

"You did it!" Tucker cheered over the line. Sam felt a similar elation, buoying her upward and flooding energy into her tired limbs. Was it over? Had they succeeded? Danny said something to the Empress, but Sam didn't think the ghost was still inside the shield.

She rose completely out of her crouch. The air smelled like smoke and blood and battle, but the shield overhead provided an odd sort of false daylight, softly glowing above the city—almost like the Zone's sky. Sam kept the thermos out as she padded down the street, trying not to alert any ghosts of her presence. Strands of hair that had come loose from where it had been pulled back blew softly across her face.

"Guys," Danny said over the phones, "I'm not sure we're done yet." A shiver of foreboding crackled through Sam's muscles like electricity.

"What do you mean?" Jazz asked. "She can't get through the shield."

"She's doing something—and listen, I figured something out." He paused. "The Empress—she's Pariah Dark's older sister. He locked her up and made everyone forget her, somehow. It's not super clear. But she's bat-shit insane. She was—she was killing people. With impunity." His voice broke. Her best friend sounded almost sounded as though someone had hurt him physically, fractured a limb or cut him up. Sam knew the feeling of a smarting, invisible wound; the bodies she herself had seen were summoned to her mind's eye unbidden. How much worse would it have been to watch them die, rather than simply see them lying there motionless?

"Oh, Danny…" Sam trailed off. "It's not your fault." It would do nothing to ease the deep guilt she knew lurked inside him, dark fissures opening wide in his psyche. But she could only provide superficial comfort, now. And she knew he needed any comfort she could give, no matter how shallow.

She could barely process the information that the Empress was Pariah's sister—it was frankly bizarre. Though she guessed she could see the resemblance in their need for domination and control.

"I just want to know where the hell Dora and her freaking army is," Tucker said. "Did she take the scenic route?" He had a point, though Sam knew Dora probably had her reasons. Unlike many of the medieval kings and queens she knew from history, Dora had a deep sense of duty toward both her people and her allies. She wouldn't abandon them when they needed her help so badly.

"Wait, something's happening." Fuck, Sam though, is the Empress breaking through the shield somehow? Are people trapped on the other side? She waited, anxiety and anticipation whirling through her like storms colliding.

"You know those 'great beasts' Dora mentioned?" Danny said. His answer did nothing to calm this tempest, though Sam was glad she at least knew what they were up against. But if she's going to use them at all, why only bring one? And why now, after most of the battle is already over? She didn't know, and this probably wasn't the time to ask.

"No, don't tell me," Tucker said. Sam agreed with the sentiment, even as she waited to hear more. Dora had made the "beasts" sound horrific, straight out of one of Sam's nightmares. Or maybe one of Danny's. "Really. I don't want to hear."

"It's fucking huge," Danny whispered. "Like seriously big." He sounded overwhelmed, and Sam couldn't blame him. In fact, of all the people Sam could blame in her life, Danny was so far down the list he might as well have not existed on it at all. And Sam herself was overwhelmed—completely and utterly. This was bigger than they could've imagined, and while they'd managed to get the shield up, it just seemed to be getting worse, spiraling further and further out of their control.

Sam was distracted from her train of thought as an ectoblast buzzed past her head, singing her hair. Acting on instinct, she ducked and rolled, avoided at least five more shots. They were coming from somewhere above her head and to the left, so she ran right, the thermos clutched tightly in her hand.

She hurled herself beneath a huge Ford truck, landing on her stomach under its front part, which was more likely to block ectoblasts than its bed. She gripped the thermos tightly in her hands, peering carefully out from underneath. She didn't see anything—the ghost was obviously flying—and she couldn't hear anything either. Damn it, damn it. There was no chance the ghost hadn't seen her hide here, but they weren't firing. What—

Her thoughts were cut short as the ghost flew down through the truck, intangible, Sam yelped in surprise, the angle not good for using the thermos. But as the ghost grabbed her, hands lit with heated ectoplasm to melt her skin and kill her, the specter deflector sent a terrible shock through him—up close, they were clearly a him.

Sam scrambled out from under the truck as he fell on top of her, dazed. She whirled around, still on her knees, and trapped him in the thermos. As she made to stand, the shield high above her crackled and boomed deafeningly. She covered her ears just as it stopped.

"What the fuck is that?" she asked, struggling to her feet. Somehow, her hands had gotten scraped in the fight, and they stung and bled. The pain was inconsequential.

"The creature," Danny responded. He sounded almost like he couldn't believe what he had seen, and Sam tried to imagine the size a thing would have to be to cause that much of a reaction from the shield.

She found she couldn't.

Sweat stung her eyes, and she wiped it off with one hand, smearing blood across her forehead. If my parents saw me now… They would probably demand that she stop right this instant, that this sort of thing was best left to professionals, not young socialites. Never mind that Sam was basically a professional herself and her only two friends were Danny and Tucker—not exactly "socialite" material. She didn't particularly get along with the other rich kids.

"Dora and her army are here," Danny said. He sounded stronger, and Sam supposed that if she saw an entire host of allies coming to her aid, she'd also sound a little stronger. But she was pleased nonetheless; the ghosts outside the shield would be less of a problem, letting the ghost hunters focus on the ones inside Amity, who posed the greatest threat to everyone.

"I'm going to help her fight it," he told them. They started protesting, but he spoke over them. "You have to get Amity clear of ghosts—start making your way here, but take out as many as you can. We need it to be safe—no more deaths."

"Alright, Danny," Sam said softly. She could see the bodies, and she knew Danny was thinking the same. "No more deaths." His plan was a good one, anyway, even if she still wished desperately that she and Tucker were there with him, watching his back.

Bad things happened when they weren't there.

Sam made her way back to her motorcycle and dropped helmet. Safety first, she thought sarcastically as she put it on. But if a ghost attacked her on her bike, the last thing she needed was her head cracking open. She'd die alone on the road, useless.

Over the line, she heard Danny say something. She ignored it, as he didn't seem to be addressing them, but then—wait. It sounded like—like he was talking to his parents.

But he's on the inside of the shield! she realized, eyes widening. And there's no way he has the time to wait ten minutes until they're out of sight. Was this it? Was this the moment her best friend's secret was revealed to the two people he had simultaneously most wanted and been most afraid to tell? He stopped talking, and Sam immediately spoke into the phones.

"Danny? Was that your parents? Are you okay?" There was no response. It's like last time, she assured herself. He's just busy fighting the ghosts. "You guys heard that, right?"

"Yeah." Jazz sounded faint. "He was definitely talking to Mom and Dad."

Tucker made a small worried hum. "I hope he's okay." The words made it clear he didn't know what else to say—and what could he say in a situation like this? With their best friend by himself, confronting everything alone. She could only think of how injured he'd been after his encounter with Valerie.

Sam straddled her motorcycle and started the engine. "The universe kind of has a way of fucking us over in these situations."

"I would've thought it'd had fucked us enough by now to be satisfied," Tucker responded. Sam snorted and rode off. She'd check up on Casper High's shield first, see if they needed help with the ghosts. Then, she'd head for the last mainstay, which was probably closest to where Danny was.

Jazz huffed, and her microphone crackled. "Could we stay on task, here?" She sounded exasperated. It was oddly out-of-place—Amity was overrun with ghosts, her brother's secret had possibly just been revealed, Pariah Dark's sister was here, and she was complaining about a sex joke?

Well, it was probably just her way of coping.

"Tucker, can you see the school on your radar?" she asked. Wind tugged at her clothing, and she gripped the handles of her bike tightly. Now that she wasn't fighting, the night air seemed bitterly cold. I should've taken my gloves.

"Yes. Why?" Well, I can't exactly pull my own radar out when I'm speeding down the road at forty miles an hour.

"Are ghosts clustering around it? Or any place near it? That's where I'm going—I'll check on the evacuation and people inside."

"Er, it does look like there's a lot of ghosts nearby," Tucker said. "Do you need back-up?"

"You and Jazz should head to other clusters if there are any. Unless—how many ghosts are at Casper exactly?" she asked, scanning the street signs as she whipped past them. Dogwood Lane, Washington Avenue… To either side of her, ghosts ransacked buildings, destroying homes for seemingly no other reason than enjoyment. Sam wondered how many families would come back to their houses or apartments and find them completely ruined.

"Twenty—maybe thirty. And there are some other clusters. A big one, near your location, Jazz. There's at least fifty there. I'll come help," Tucker said.

"Copy that," Jazz agreed. The line went quiet. Sam noticed more and more ghosts as she got closer to the school—but not a lot of people. She stopped once or twice to catch the ghosts by surprise and trap them in her thermos. How I am going to catch twenty to thirty ghosts? They'd realize how competent she was after she took out a few of them—and there would be so many that they'd easily be able to gang up on her.

Maybe I can use the school's shield somehow—

Suddenly, the ground beneath her shook, and she was thrown from her motorcycle, skidding hard across the ground. It smashed onto its side, sending up sparks. In the sky above the shield, she could see lightning, and the wind suddenly picked up. There was a wretched noise—the way she imagined an erupting volcano might sound, only a thousand times worse. There was nothing she could do but lie there as the earth around her continued to move.

Buildings collapsed everywhere, debris and clouds of dust flying into the air. A pole crashed down next to her, crackles of electricity arcing from torn wires. Cars were crushed, their alarms blaring. Concrete and asphalt cracked, minute fissures opening up like a million hungry maws. Even the ghosts who'd been causing mayhem nearby stopped momentarily—looking… pleased.

The Empress did something, Sam knew. She caused this—whatever this is—somehow. It had to be her—this was no normal earthquake, and their reactions weren't normal, either. This had been planned; this was deliberate.

Oh, God. The shaking stopped, but Sam still felt like her world was falling apart. Danny would've done everything he could've to stop the Empress. He would've fought until he was bleeding—dying—what had she done to him? Had she simply been too fast, too efficient, or had something happened to him?

"Anyone there?" she asked into the Fenton phones, pulling herself to her feet. Her arms and legs, scraped raw, were bleeding, but she was in one piece—she was lucky she hadn't broken anything. She shuffled awkwardly over to her bike, wondering if it was still salvageable. "This is Sam."

"Tucker here." Her best friend coughed into the line, dry-sounding. Sam made it to her bike and heaved it up, grimacing. She wasn't sure it would survive. She looked past the rubble toward the school, which was still at least two miles away.

"I'm okay," Jazz said. The three of them paused a moment, waiting. The silence hung between them ominously.

"Danny?" Sam begged, desperate. "Are you there?" Nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the wetness building there. "Danny. Danny, please." He couldn't be dead. Please, don't be dead. She should've been there with him. Her and Tucker and Danny, all together, fighting the Empress.

Instead, she was here, and Tucker was across the city, and who knew where Danny was? She didn't know what shape he was in, whether he was okay—anything. He wouldn't have simply let this happen, though; she knew that much. But if he was still fighting, why wasn't he answering?

"He's not dead," Tucker said. His voice was higher than normal, almost hysterical. "He's not. He can't be. We'll find him—patch him up." Just like we did when he was in the parking garage, Sam thought. He wasn't dead. Danny was too—too stubborn to be killed by someone like the Empress, some crazy, world-hungry fuckwad.

"Oh, God…" Jazz whispered. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat, and it settled like a stone next to her heart, a lifeless, motionless thing. He wasn't dead. He wasn't. The thought spun around and around in her mind, and the world outside swayed. It wasn't real. She stumbled away from her bike, letting it crash back to the ground. She wasn't getting enough air. Nothing was real—this wasn't—wasn't real—

She gasped, wrenching off her helmet and breathing in cold air. It tasted odd—dust and ozone and ectoplasm mingling in the back of her mouth and stinging her nose. She coughed. He's not dead. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. He's not. He's not! She wouldn't believe it until she saw his body. And even then—

She'd seen his body before, and he hadn't truly died. Not then—and not now. He was alive. He had to be. There was no other option, no recourse. She'd only been friends with him for a scant five years, and yet he'd had more impact on her life than anyone else combined, except, perhaps Tucker and her grandma. He couldn't be dead. They were a unit, the three of them.

"What do you think happened?" she said into the lines. She couldn't think on it any longer—instead, she let it fester in the back of her mind, like an untreated sore. She dropped her helmet, letting it crash to the ground; she'd make her way to the school on foot. "That wasn't a normal earthquake." She forced herself into a slow jog—she could make it to the school faster if she ran, but she didn't want to tire herself.

"You're right. It wasn't," Tucker agreed, the words wobbly. She could tell he was breathing shakily, but he took the opportunity to discuss something other than—than the possibility of Danny's… She couldn't finish the thought. "It was the Empress—had to be."

Sam pulled out her radar, though she kept it on mute. She could see the group Tucker had been talking about hovering around the school, and she counted twenty-four ghosts, give or take. They showed up as tiny dots—red for ones with unknown signatures, blue for ones with known signatures. There was a way to select a red one and give the ghost's signature a name, just as there was a way to select a blue one to see the signature. All of the signatures currently on the screen were red. There were a few ghosts who were close by, but Sam knew people would still probably be trying to get to the shield, even after the whatever-it-had-been.

A haze settled over Sam's mind as she moved toward the school, sweat forming and cooling on her body in cycles. She focused entirely on the task in front of her: getting rid of the ghosts. Everything else blurred, like the background of a photograph. If she could just do this one thing, the world would keep turning. But if she couldn't—if she stopped now and dwelt on what might've happened, what could be happening—the world would stop, and she didn't know if she'd be able to get it turning again.

The Fenton phones in her ears emitted a low whine. What the hell? "Ghost child's friends and sister?" an obnoxious voice asked into her ear, far too loudly. No fucking way. What was he doing on their line? "Are you there?"

"Technus?" Tucker said, incredulous. "How are you even—"

"Hacking these communication devices was a simple matter," Technus told them dismissively. "Feel free to be impressed regardless." His ego grated in a way it usually didn't. Sam felt rubbed raw, emotionally, mentally, and physically. The last thing she needed was this ghost making it worse. For all that he claimed to be on Danny's side, she would never forget what he'd done: destroyed thousands of dollars in property damage, hurt innocent people, and exposed her best friend's deepest secret. The one she had sworn to herself, long ago, to protect by whatever means necessary.

Never mind that Danny may have gone and revealed himself to his parents anyway.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded coldly, beginning to move again. "We're kind of busy here." She jumped over a downed pole and dodged through the remains of buildings. Some still stood, but many had fallen. She wondered how many were trapped beneath, either dead or dying…

Technus made a low hissing noise. "I'm trying to help you, fool. Whatever the Empress wanted to accomplish, she has succeeded at—the earth-shaking signaled as much. And I am trapped in this city of yours—I can't pass through the shield. I will help you until the ghost child returns." Until the ghost child returns… Sam almost felt that dead lump next to heart rise again, almost felt the tears forming in her eyes—but then the haze was back, clouding her almost-grief and her almost-terror into something manageable.

"We could probably use it, technology ghost," Jazz said. "We—"

"The hospital," Tucker announced suddenly. "There's no way the electricity's working. They should have back-up generators, but I have no idea how long those last. Or how long until we get the power lines back up. And if part of the building is damaged, could you help repair it?"

Sam recognized the good idea at once. Technus's expertise was in technology, but he was highly skilled with telekinesis, too. Being able to go intangible and lift and remove debris would be invaluable. And the equipment that may have been destroyed he might be able to help repair. Amity had a few hospitals, but Sam had the feeling Tucker was talking about the largest one in the area—Multicare, she thought.

"I could," Technus said thoughtfully. "And I could defend the ailing humans and doctors from the Empress's soldiers." He seemed to like the idea, at least.

"Will they let him?" Jazz asked doubtfully. "He's not exactly known for being helpful. And what if they don't need his help? It might be in better shape than a lot of other places."

"Tell them your Phantom's ally," Sam instructed. "The other ghosts attack right away—there's no reason they shouldn't believe him, especially when he actually starts helping. And if the hospital doesn't need it, the university might. There's also the middle and primary schools."

"Precisely! Um—" Technus paused. "Where is this 'hospital'?"

"It's the Multicare hospital—on Hill Street," Tucker replied. "Do you need the other—"

"Perfect!" And with that, the ghost was gone, taking the whine with him, seemingly vanished from the line, as though he had never been. It had been a surreal moment, an odd break from this horrible night.

"That was so weird," Jazz muttered. The line went quiet again.

Sam kept moving, her boots and breathing the only noise except for the odd yell or ectoblast. She was so focused she almost didn't realize when she was coming up on the school. Once she did, she stopped jogging and dropped low into a crouch, ducking behind a bit of roof for cover. She pulled out her radar to see where all the ghosts were.

They had surrounded the school's shield and were doing their best to break it. When Sam peered out from behind her hiding spot, she couldn't see any people—and she was relieved to note that the school seemed to be structurally intact. She decided she'd take out the ghosts at the back—she'd draw them to her, leaving the front clear for people to get inside.

She noticed the bodies littering the ground, but she tried not to focus on them. Instead, carefully in place, she activated the Fenton thermos's beam and sucked three ghosts in simultaneously before the others realized what had happened.

Once they did, all hell broke loose.

They came for her, and her world narrowed as it transformed into a smear of ducking and hiding and shooting. She'd had the element of surprise, but that was gone now, and she felt outmatched. She couldn't fly or make shields or teleport or become invisible (though this power was easily thwarted with a look at the radar). Still, she wasn't helpless, and these ghosts were inexperienced. Perhaps, wherever they'd been while the Empress had been gone, their skills had rusted. Or maybe the Empress had recruited fresh ghosts with limited battle experience.

Regardless, Sam fought at the direction of her instincts, which had been taught to her by the hardest teacher of all: experience. She had to be careful not to let herself get surrounded—she spent her time hiding and weaving between covers. She saw people making it into the shield—she saw people watching her from inside the shield.

If they know me, they'll know who Danny is, she thought, but she didn't have the time or focus to care. Only the fighting mattered now, and fight she did. She lost count of how many ghosts she captured—they blended together, almost monotonous, repetitive. Every second passed quickly, but slowly at the same time, dragging out for an eternity.

Sometimes, to get at the ghosts flying high above her, she leapt across the tops of dented cars. Other times, she ducked below or behind them. Her arms and legs grew heavy as the fighting continued. Sweat glued her clothes to her skin and stung her eyes and the scrapes along her arms. Her ears rang from the sound of so many blasts, and all she could smell now was blood and decay and ectoplasm.

More ghosts showed up, perhaps drawn by the sounds of battle—Sam didn't know. She collected burns on all parts of her body, and her muscles ached. She saw Valerie swoop overhead once or twice, picking off a few of the ghosts, though the Huntress never came close enough to see Sam's face—she was probably busy with other ghosts up in the air. It was good to know she'd made it, even if Sam kind of hated her.

Eventually, Sam had captured so many ghosts that the thermos refused to take anymore. She clicked the button, but no beam shot out—she'd reached its limit. She had to throw herself to the side to avoid the ghost she'd been trying to trap, drawing her ectogun and firing.

Sam didn't believe in killing, but she believed in not-dying more. So she buried the part of herself that protested, the part of herself that said the ghosts were sentient, that they didn't deserve to be wiped from existence. It was the same part that had made her want to go vegan, the same part that had made her rescue the frogs freshman year.

And she buried it. Buried it deep, deep down, so deep she didn't know when it would surface again, submerged in violence and grim death—for that was what this was. They may have already been dead, but she couldn't lie to herself: she was killing them. But she saw the bodies littered on the ground, and she didn't stop, even as they proved themselves inexperienced and naïve in fighting the likes of her, who had had two years of close to constant fighting to perfect her skills.

The ghosts were on the wrong side. They might have killed Danny, something dark whispered deep inside her. Their leader might have killed Danny. She could not bear the thought, and she aimed for their cores. She burned their green and blue and purple skin, broke through their shields, and she hated herself for it but she could not stop. She believed in mercy, but they did not.

Days could have passed. Hours. Weeks. Years. Seconds. She didn't know—it was all jumbled in her head, like wires that shouldn't have been crossed. The light from the shields—one above and one next to her—bathed her and her surroundings in green—a toxic, pulsing green.

The color reminded her of Danny's eyes.

The anger was always there, sizzling below the surface of her skin. It was always, always there—it had been there as long as she remembered. Fury at her parents, at the world, at everyone. But right now—it was fury at the ghosts, fury at what they had done to her friends and her city. Sometimes she screamed as they fell to the ground, dissolving. She hardly noticed when they were all gone, either captured, dead at her hand, or fled, and she'd fallen to her knees, just outside the shield, staring at the ground, at nothing.

Slowly, she rose from her stupor, like a diver coming up from the sea, disoriented after so long in the water. She stood and tucked her ectogun back in its holster—it was nearly out of shots. She'd have to switch to the other one, she thought dully. A cut on her forehead bled into her eye, and she wiped the blood away.

Did I really just…

No time. They might have killed Danny. They supported a monster who tried to conquer not just their home but mine.

It might not have been right, but it was what they had deserved. Maybe.

She pulled out her radar and looked at it: there weren't many red dots, though she could see a blue one. Was it Technus? She could think of no other ghost inside the shield when it had gone up. But what was he doing so far from where he'd said he'd be? She selected it, and three words came onto the screen. Signature Registered: Phantom.

Thank fuck. "Guys." It took her a second to realize she was speaking too quietly for them to hear. She cleared her throat, feeling parched. "Guys. Danny's signature—he's inside Amity. Maybe a mile away." As quickly as it came, the blue dot disappeared. Sam sucked in a breath, making note of the direction, shoved the radar away. Even though the streetlights were all either out or knocked over, she could see by the light of the shield above.

She began to sprint.

"Jesus Christ," Tucker swore, but she could hear the bright relief in his voice. "He made it."

Over the line, Jazz laughed. "He's okay. He's okay!"

"Do you still have your car?" Sam panted. "If he's injured, I'm not going to be able to move him by myself."

"It's banged up, but it runs. Where?" Tucker asked.

"It looked like it was close to the museum." She pushed her aching, wounded body forward. It felt like she was moving a ton of bricks. "I'll let you know when I know for sure—he's disappeared off the radar."

"He must have turned human," Jazz surmised. None of them considered the other option, which wasn't an option. Sam had not spent hours fighting so many ghosts just for Danny to—to not be there. She hadn't.

He's alive.

Her breathing came harshly, terribly, in her chest—the cloudy air couldn't be good for her lungs. Still, she pushed herself, tripping a few times on debris or newly-formed cracks in the road, but she never fell. As the adrenaline faded, horror at what she'd done tried to cloud her mind, but she found herself shoving that down, too.

Get to Danny, she thought. Get to Danny. It was like a mantra, like her food and her water and her oxygen all at once. They depended on each other—she on him, him on her, and Tucker there too, somewhere in the middle. And Jazz, though she could never understand what had formed that night between the three of them, when Sam and Tucker had watched Danny go into the Portal and emerge—changed. She tried, but she couldn't.

Her body hurt. It hurt so bad she wanted to cry, but she didn't. She wouldn't. Get to Danny. She was nearing the museum, where she'd thought Danny's signature had been closest to. The museum itself—which focused mostly on an idealized version of the settlers who'd come to Amity, making no mention of its previous native residents—was in shambles. She could see no sign of Danny, and many of the other buildings were ruined.

No, he has to be here! Had he moved? Had she miss-judged the radar? She ran down the street until she got to the intersection—Lincoln Street, Maple Lane, the knocked-over sign read. And to her right—there was someone there. Danny? She almost called out, but then she saw that white, white suit, greenish in the light. Instead she ducked back out of sight.

An agent? What the fuck is he doing here? It couldn't be a coincidence. Had he been tracking Danny too? And he'd been bending over something—or someone? An injured ghost? An injured person?

Danny?

She didn't know, but the fury that she had felt before surged upward like a bonfire that had just had kerosene poured on it. The flames lapped at her heart and her throat and her head, unseen but not unfelt. She withdrew the fresh ectogun from its holster. If he makes a move, I'll burn his fucking face off. The thought should've disturbed her, but it didn't.

She'd had to make much worse decisions that night, after all.

How did he even manage to escape jail? She realized it was a stupid question; agents had been watching Danny's house up until the invasion. Only the higher-ups had been arrested, and technically the agency hadn't been disbanded, even though the president had talked about overhauling it entirely. Even if lower agents were being investigated, it was probably a lengthy process to figure out whether so many people had broken the law or simply been acting under their superior's direction.

She crept forward, keeping to the shadows created by the massive piles of debris. The agent was murmuring something, too softly for Sam to hear at this distance. She was careful of her boots as she snuck closer and closer, making certain not to shift anything. She wasn't as good at sneaking as she was at fighting, though, and it was slow going. Her mouth itched to tell the others what was happening, but she had to stay quiet.

When Sam accidently stepped on a piece of metal, it clanged, just audible. She froze, but whatever had the agent's attention kept him from noticing. As she approached, she was at last able to see what the agent was doing—and who he was doing it to.

Danny. She was elated—his chest was moving gently, and he twitched every so often. Alive. He was wounded, she could see: the angle of his right arm was wrong, cuts and bruises littered his exposed skin, blood pooled underneath him, and his abdomen looked oddly swollen.

But this elation turned swiftly to a dark rage. This agent—whoever he was—was scanning Danny with something. To the side, he had an open notebook and pen lying on the ground, as well as three vials filled with blood and an ectogun. Danny's blood. The tiny pinprick in his arm was bleeding.

She could hear what he was muttering, too. "Despite its weakness, its ectoplasmic signature fluctuates to higher levels before returning to normal. This phenomenon appears to be sustained." Is he talking into a fucking recorder or something? "It is unknown how badly the subject is injured or whether it survive. I have collected blood samples and will be collecting tissue samples before attempting to move it, in case it should expire while I do so. Once at the lab, I oversee the more invasive procedures, beginning with its tolerance to extreme conditions. From there, it will be partially-vivisected to determine its anatomy."

That's enough.

Convinced he wasn't going to be paying attention any time soon, she moved cautiously forward, careful to stay out of his line of sight. Steadily she gained ground—ten feet, five, three, two.

One.

She pressed her ectogun to the back of his head. He might be able to tell it wasn't an actual gun—ectoguns were warm and other guns were not. It whined softly in her hand, like the warning growl of a lioness before she struck. "You're going to do exactly as I say, you piece of fucking shit," she said lowly. He froze, and his muttering stopped. He tried to turn his head. Sam pressed the muzzle firmly into his skull. "And first thing is you're not going to move."

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was slick like oil. It made her skin crawl.

"None of your fucking business," she snarled.

"I am a government agent, operating under the law—"

"Don't lie to me, scumbag. And I don't care who you are—police, hunters, government officials, or fucking God himself—if you ever come after Danny again, I will personally make sure you are locked up for the rest of your fucking, miserable life. Are we clear?" she snarled. From behind, she could see him tense, though she couldn't see his face.

"So you're the half-ghost's friend. The girl one." Sam shuddered at the reminder that they'd been watching he. "Tell me, do you really thing something like that could ever really be human? It's all a front, a façade in order to—"

Sam raised the gun and hit him in the head once. He scrambled to get away, slumping sideways, but she didn't let him. Two-handed, she brought her gun down again on the disoriented man. Again. He fell over, bleeding. Sam was breathing heavily, the force of her rage coursing through her veins.

She kneeled next to her friend, remembering just in time to remove her specter deflector. He looked much worse close up: his cheeks were flushed, though the rest of his skin looked bloodless. She pressed her hand to his face; he was warm. Not good.

"I found him," she said into the Fenton phones. She could hear someone—maybe Jazz—gasp. "Some—some GIW agent got to him first, but I knocked him out. Danny's hurt badly." She felt his pulse, and it was ragged and weak. She placed her hand over his chest, to check his core, and frowned. The area was swollen and oddly balloon-like, as was the rest of his torso, and she couldn't feel any vibrations.

"Did the agent do anything to him? How badly is he hurt?" Jazz asked frantically. Sam pressed her ear to her friend's chest, and she could just barely make out a faint purring noise. Okay. His ghost half's okay. Not great, though.

"Bad. Worse than I've maybe ever seen him. There's a lot of blood, but I can't tell where it's coming from yet. And something's off about his core—it almost looks like internal bleeding. How close are you, Tucker?" She began to try and locate the source of the blood, which was easier said than done; Danny had a myriad of minor—well, minor for him—injuries, none of which could've bled this much. She found burns from where ectoblasts had hit him, along with bad bruising, and scrapes everywhere. Finally, as she tried to roll him onto his side, he whimpered, low in his throat. Sam shushed her friend.

"Close," Tucker said. She could see the wounds now—one on his back, made by some kind of blade, and another on his head. He probably had a concussion, too. She eased him onto his stomach, careful of his broken arm, and made sure he could breathe properly and was relatively comfortable before looking for something to apply to his wounds.

Sam's impromptu and undesired dive into the world of medicine had been haphazard and unorganized. She hadn't even realized that it would be needed at first, until Danny's fourth or fifth fight, when he was burned so badly Sam didn't think she could treat it. She hadn't known what to do—cover it so infection didn't get in? Clean it somehow? Did she use alcohol? Hydrogen peroxide? Warm water? Anything? His skin had been blackened and blistered and glistening and raw.

He'd laid down on his bed, in his room, his parents just down the hall. He was trying not to make any noise, though they'd locked the door. Tucker was at Danny's desk, unable to look and trying not to be sick—he'd gotten better since then, but he wasn't good with blood, hospitals, anything. It had been up to Sam.

She gave her friend the maximum dose of ibuprofen he was supposed to take, not having anything stronger, and had stood there, panicked. She'd retrieved gauze, warm water, a washcloth, alcohol wipes, burn ointment, hydrogen peroxide, but she didn't know how to use any of it. The Internet wasn't exactly helpful—she couldn't take Danny to a hospital, and the rest of the websites were filled with weird survival articles and she didn't know what to do. She'd done her best, first removing bits of debris embedded in the burn with a pair of tweezers she'd sterilized with alcohol. She decided against using the wipes and the peroxide, but she didn't know if using ointment on such a bad burn was okay—in the end, she decided against that, too.

She cleaned the area around it thoroughly and basically hoped for the best. In retrospect, if Danny hadn't been half-ghost who healed faster than a full human, he would've died. The burn had been large, second or third degree, and after doing more extensive research later, she knew, typically, he would've needed a skin graft, antibiotics, an IV, and a whole lot more. She had been inadequate.

So she'd asked her parents for classes in first-aid training—life-saving trauma, CPR, everything and anything. They'd been horrified, even as she'd covered her interest by expressing a desire to become a nurse or a doctor. They'd said, Those aren't skills a young lady like you needs to learn. That's what medical school is for.

So Sam had done odd jobs around the city—not in her neighborhood, which was too rich to want anything less than professional help. But she scored a gig as a baby-sitter, and she helped a few old couples mow their lawns, and with a hefty donation from her grandma, she'd paid for the classes herself. Her parents had been furious when they'd found out, but she hadn't cared. This was Danny's—and perhaps Tucker's and her own—life on the line.

She wrote down what the teachers taught in the classes religiously, far more attentive than she'd ever been in school. Some of the people she took the classes with thought it was cute a fourteen year old was taking them—and taking them so seriously, too. She shared what she learned with her friends, making it through despite Tucker's green face.

And so she'd splinted broken limbs, treated burns, lacerations, contusions, concussions. She'd learned, through practice, how to stitch a wound close (there were some pretty odd training tools out there for doctors). She knew what she could do to treat burns, and though she could never manage to get her hands on pain medicine, they figured out it didn't exactly work anyway—nothing seemed strong enough.

So now, faced with her friend's extensive injuries, she didn't panic, though she wanted to. He was hurt very badly. She didn't have any supplies with her, but she needed something to stop the bleeding. The wound continued to gush as she walked over to the agent. Kneeling next to him, she removed his suit jacked, which wasn't very clean now that he'd been lying in the dirt, and tore his shirt, which was much cleaner.

Moving back over to Danny, she used the shirt to staunch the bleeding, holding it firmly with both her hands. Then, she took a moment to examine the back of his head. It was swollen and, when she touched it, hot—definitely a concussion. But why was it so warm? Usually Danny's ghost-half kept everything a lot cooler than normal, even injuries. Swelling and inflammation were generally kept minimal, and bleeding stopped sooner rather than later, even for large wounds.

Does it have to do with whatever's wrong with his core? She wished Frostbite were available—the yetis were geniuses with advanced medical techniques, especially for ghosts. And Sam didn't think there was anything specific wrong with Danny's human half except for the obvious. But something was definitely wrong with his ghost half.

"Tucker," she said into the line, "where should we take him? We don't even know if—if—" Our houses are still standing. Were her parents okay? Her grandma? She felt guilty that she hadn't thought of them before, but in her defense she'd been rather busy. Besides, they have the basement. That thing's reinforced with steel. It might take a while to dig them out, but they'll be fine. I know Dad stocked that thing with enough food and water to last a month.

"I know, Sam," Tucker said softly. He was worried about his family, too—and he actually liked them, so possibly more worried.

"Fenton Works is still standing," Jazz interrupted. "I can see the lights from where I'm at. We could take him there."

"Lights?" Tucker asked. "Last I checked, there was no electricity." Sam went back to Danny. She looked at his broken arm, which was at a terrible angle, though thankfully the bone hadn't broken through the skin. She began examining things around she could use to immobilize it until they could get somewhere with more supplies.

"Mom and Dad installed back-up generators." Jazz sighed, a usual reaction to her parents. "And barring that, they have it so the Portal can generate energy from the Zone. Though I don't know if that will work, given that the Portal is still off." Blood, and a substantial amount of ectoplasm, more than normal, pushed between Sam's fingers.

I didn't find you just so you could die now, she thought, pressing firmly.

"We'll go there," Sam said decisively. "I'll start patching Danny up, and you can find your parents, Tucker. And you, Jazz." Her voice sounded more confident than she felt—inside, she was shaking, trembling. What if she couldn't just "patch Danny up"? What if this was beyond her capacity to fix? He'd never had internal bleeding before. Bad bruises, yes. Broken bones, yes. Cuts, yes.

"I can check up on yours, too, Sam," Tucker told her. "Though they might throw something at me." The last time her parents had seen Tucker, he'd been sneaking through her window at midnight. They'd gotten entirely the wrong idea.

"I'd appreciate that," Sam said distractedly. The bleeding just wouldn't stop—normally, even deep wounds like this had mostly stopped bleeding by now. But it wasn't even blood coming out; it was most ectoplasm. It was warmer than it should've been. Much warmer. Oh, God, what do I do? She didn't know how to treat a ghost, not really. Danny usually transformed so soon after an injury, and he healed so quickly because of his ghost half… "Jazz," she said urgently, "is there any way you can get to a car? And maybe another thermos?"

"I'm close to home now, so maybe. Why?" the girl responded. "Is Danny going to be okay?" Sam closed her eyes, bright green ectoplasm staining her hands. She held in a sob. What do I do? He'd fought the Empress, survived all that he had, for this?
"I don't know." It came out calmer than she was expecting. "I don't know. I think there's something—something really wrong with him." He's bleeding ectoplasm in human form, and the agent… Didn't he say something about a fluctuating ectoplasmic signature? What is wrong with his ghost half? "Dora's army should still be outside the shield, right?"

There was silence on the line for a brief moment, then Tucker spoke, "I don't see why they should've left already. They're probably tired—they might camp out there for a while. Sam, what is this about? Can you tell what's wrong with Danny?"

"Jazz, I need you to get a new thermos, get in your car, and find Dora's people. One of them has to know something about ghost anatomy. Find them, explain to them what's going on, and bring them to Fenton Works using the thermos. Whatever is wrong with Danny, I'm pretty sure it's his ghost half, and I have no idea how to treat it."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four: But He Couldn't Move

Sam had to resist the urge to stand between Danny and the unfamiliar ghost in Danny's room. The ghost was small and bald, and he wore blue robes trimmed with silver and wire-rimmed glasses. He'd set his satchel down on the bedside table, which Sam had originally cleared for her own supplies. Jazz was perched, coiled tighter than a spring, in Danny's desk chair, watching the ghost anxiously.

The ghost—his name is Allistor, Sam, she reminded herself—had said he was one of Dora's healers, and he'd told Jazz he was probably the best one to look at Danny, having studied recently in the Far Frozen. Jazz had found him just outside the shield, tending to the wounded soldiers from Dora's army. But though Sam trusted Dora, she couldn't trust him. She examined him closely as he moved toward Danny, as intently as bird stalking a rabbit. One wrong move…

"Hmm." He gently prodded Danny's chest, just above his core, and the half-ghost gasped in his sleep, grunting in pain. Sam's muscles tensed, and she only just stopped herself from drawing her ectogun. Danny's torso was naked except for the gauze, and Sam had awkwardly changed him out of his jeans and into some shorts so she could wrap up the burns, which were oddly circular, she'd noticed, on his legs.

She'd stitched up the stab wound on his back and splinted his arm. But unlike his other injuries, his abdomen remained as swollen as it was when she first saw it, like he'd swallowed a watermelon whole. The uncertainty of it all ate at Sam. He has to make it. He has to. Allistor poked Danny's stomach.

"Can you tell what's wrong with him?" Sam asked, trying to keep her tone un-demanding. He didn't have to come—I should probably say thank you. But she couldn't feel grateful: she was consumed by fear and dread and fatigue and pain. She still needed to tend to her own wounds. "Is it his core?"

Allistor nodded. "You were not incorrect in that assumption—something has indeed happened in his core." Sam waited for him to explain further, but he didn't. Instead, he withdrew a syringe from his bag, sterilizing it with his own ectoplasmic fire. The flame was orange, almost like normal fire. Again, Sam stopped her twitchy hand from drawing her gun. "I must take a sample of the ectoplasm around his core to confirm my suspicions. I trust you have a microscope?"

"In the lab," Jazz confirmed. "I can get it." She looked eager for something to do, and she lurched to her feet before heading out the door. Sam watched her go, wishing there was something she could do. All she could do was watch, wait, and trust that Allistor knew what he was doing. And if he can't figure it out… If Danny's core can't recover from this… He would die. He relied on his core now, as much as he relied on his heart. Sam blinked, willing herself not to cry. But she just wanted this to be over; she wanted him to be better, and she wanted everyone to be safe.

Tucker was out looking for his parents, and whenever Sam thought about it, she felt sick. What if he can't find them? What if the Empress… Had they gone straight for the school's shield? She didn't know how Tucker would cope if his parents had died. At least Sam could be fairly certain hers had lived, though she knew she would feel better once she'd received confirmation. If his parents aren't alive, he can stay with one of us. But his parents weren't dumb—Mr. Foley was a reporter, and Mrs. Foley was a top IT person at some company. They made it out. Please, for Tucker's sake…

Allistor swabbed just in between Danny's first and second left rib. He apparently knew the basics of human anatomy, too, because he'd known to clean Danny's skin beforehand. Unless that's standard practice in the Far Frozen. It wouldn't surprise her—the yetis' technology was very advanced.

"What if you hit his heart?" she asked, stepping forward in case she needed to stop him. The needle was long—certainly long enough to pierce at least six inches below Danny's skin. Allistor smiled at her gently.

"I will not be going deep enough for that, though I appreciate your concern for him. The ghost child is lucky to have such devoted friends." Sam didn't know what to say to that, so she crossed her arms uncomfortably over her chest and looked away. She was devoted to him, but having a stranger point it out made her feel vulnerable. She didn't like it. But he seems to like Danny. Still, she gritted her teeth as she watched him lower the needle.

Allistor broke through Danny's skin—shallowly, as he said—but as he did, Danny shrieked, writhing. Allistor jumped back, withdrawing the needle immediately, and Sam rushed forward. The half-ghost thrashed, his fist nearly hitting Sam as she tried to hold his arms down. What's happening? He doesn't move for an hour and now he won't stop. His skin was hot and sweaty.

"Danny! Danny, stop, it's okay. Relax." He gradually calmed as she continued to talk to him, trying to keep her voice low and soothing. "It's okay. I'm here. I won't let anything bad happen to, I promise. I'm here. Just relax." Where was that when Agent R was taking his samples? she wondered as she gently stroked his hair. She wanted to sit on the bed next to him, but her clothes were dirty. She looked up at Allistor. "Did you get anything?"

He shook his head, holding up the empty syringe. "He will have to be completely still. I would get a sample from somewhere else, but the fresher the better. In fact, it would be best if he were Phantom, but I don't think that's feasible." He capped the syringe and placed it on the bedside table, a contemplative look on his face.

"Yeah." Sam pushed Danny's sweaty hair back from his forehead. His skin's burning, she noticed. Her face crumpled as she looked at her friend. He was frowning slightly, his brow furrowed, and he twitched every so often. He hadn't been doing that before. The worry in Sam's chest expanded, threatening to consume her other emotions. "Should we try and wake him up?"

"I doubt we could," Allistor said. "And if we did, I don't believe he'd be lucid enough to do as we asked. But perhaps…" He eyed her hand, which was petting Danny's head, speculatively. "He seems to be aware of your presence. I don't think he is truly unconscious, though he's clearly not entirely conscious. We shall try again, and you must do your best to keep him calm. Yes?"

"Alright," Sam agreed. She wasn't sure it would work, but she was willing to try it. Danny was getting worse by the second, his breathing coming faster as though he were running—running from something none of the rest of them could see. She kneeled next to the bed, so her head was level with his, and she held his hand. It was grimy (she'd only had the chance to really clean his torso, legs, and head), though hers were clean.

Allistor re-prepped the syringe, leaning carefully over Danny's chest. "Are you prepared?" he asked. Sam nodded. As the ghost moved to insert the needle again, she leaned closer to Danny's face.

"You have to lie still, Danny," she said, squeezing his hand. "Can you do that? Try to slow your breathing." He almost seemed to hear her. Though his eyes remained closed, his body stopped twitching so much. Except for his panting, he could've been a corpse. No, don't think like that.

But he only gave a pained whine as Allistor stuck the needle in this time. "Yeah, that's good. Good job," Sam complimented, surer that he could hear her now. But if he can hear me, why isn't he opening his eyes? Or speaking? Or moving? Is he really conscious, or is something else going on? She frowned and gripped his hand only took a minute or so for Allistor to get the ectoplasm he needed. Watching the glowing substance come from Danny's human body was unnatural—as unnatural as it would've been for Phantom to bleed entirely red.

"He's done," she told Danny. "Can you move? Can you say something?" He let out a pained moan that could've been anything—even "Sam." She turned to Allistor. "I need to take his temperature. I really should've done it earlier." But it wasn't like there had been anyone else helping her; Tucker had already been out looking for his parents, and Jazz had been searching for a ghost to help. Not that she resented them, but it was hard to help Danny when she was the only one there. She felt like she was drowning, most of the time, struggling to keep her head above water—her head and Danny's.

"Very well," Allistor said. Sam stood and rummaged through Danny's desk drawers until she found the thermometer. She went back to Danny's side and wiped the thermometer off with a swab.

"Can you open your mouth, Danny?" she asked gently. His jaw seemed to twitch, but it did nothing else. She opened his mouth for him and stuck the thermometer under his tongue, holding it in place. It beeped. 101.2—fucking hell. His normal temperature was about 89-90 degrees—but this was as though he had a human fever. He'd had half-ghost fevers, where his temperature rose to 92 or 93, but it had never gone past that.

"Well, Danny, your temperature's a little high," she said, trying not to let panic seep into her voice. But it was already there, leaking into her tone like water from a broken pipe. Why is he so hot? Why isn't his body reacting to everything like it normally does? It had to have something to do with his core, and Sam wanted to crumple into a heap on the floor because she didn't know. Allistor glanced at her, and then he looked up as Jazz came through the door, carrying a microscope.

"Sorry," the redhead said. "Mom and Dad had it buried with some other junk." She set it on Danny's desk after clearing some papers, fiddling with the dials. "Do you know how to use one?" she asked Allistor.

"Not a human one," he said. "You will set it up, and I will look after you have made the ectoplasm visible. This is the sample." He handed it to her, and Jazz carefully ejected some of her brother's ectoplasm onto the slide. She peered into the microscope and adjusted it periodically, Allistor hovering, literally, over her shoulder.

"I'm going to get some cold wash clothes and some ice," Sam called. Jazz nodded and waved her hand. Sam couldn't remember if this was actually a good, safe way to bring someone's fever down, but it probably wouldn't hurt Danny—his core generated ice, after all. His body was far more used to the cold than most other people's. Or it usually is, anyway. What if she ended up hurting him? Could she give him something instead to bring it down?

No, she thought firmly as she opened the hallway's linen closet. It was filled with fresh towels and blankets, and she took a few washcloths. Medicine doesn't work as well on him, and I already gave him ibuprofen for the pain. I don't want to mix anything. She had to be confident in her decisions, otherwise she'd tear herself apart. I'll do my best, like I've always done, and it will be enough.

She retrieved a bowl of cold water with ice from the kitchen and went back up to Danny's bedroom. Allistor was looking in the microscope, and he didn't even glance up as Sam entered. Jazz was tapping her foot, up-down, up-down. Sam itched to ask Tucker on the Fenton phones how his search was going, but she didn't.

"Can I do anything to help?" Jazz asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, you can help me with this. But go wash your hands first." Jazz left to do so, and Sam began dipping the washcloths in the water. She laid one over Danny's neck, another on his chest, and one on his forehead. Jazz came back, hands freshly washed. "We need to keep them cool," Sam told her.

"Okay," Jazz said. She looked at Danny, her eyes deep wells of sadness. "Will he be alright?"

"I—" Sam found she couldn't lie. She looked down, wringing her hands, which were pink from the cold water. "I don't know. I'm not a doctor, and we don't even know what's wrong with him."

"That is no longer the case," Allistor announced. He straightened from his stooped position, adjusting his glasses back over his eyes.

"You figured it out?" Sam demanded. Relief and dread, joy and fear, all in equal parts flooded through her like a maelstrom. What if it's worse than I thought? What if Allistor can't do anything? What if it's too late?

Allistor nodded, moving to his satchel. "Yes, I have. I sensed something was wrong when I spoke with him originally—"

"What do you mean? You've met him before now?" Sam interrupted. Why didn't he mention that before? Suspicion swelled within her like an undercurrent, warring for its place among her other raging emotions.

"Only once." Allistor didn't seem irritated by her interjection, though he did look at her mildly. "Just after he defeated the Empress's beast, he approached. We spoke but briefly. His signature, I thought, was weaker than it should've been, though since I had not met him before, I regret that I spent no more time thinking on it. Regardless, I believe there are a number of things affecting him, not all bad."

Not all bad? Sam's mouth twitched as the urge to yell at him surged through her. Not all bad? Her friend was bleeding ectoplasm internally, had a broken arm, broken ribs, a stab wound, burns, cuts, and bruises. Sam didn't know what had even happened to him—were the injuries from the Empress? Someone else? She didn't know what had happened to the Empress, or why the earthquake had happened, or anything, it felt like. And it's not all bad? She was about to start shouting when Jazz touched her hand. Sam took the message for what it was: stay calm.

"I don't know what you understand about ghost signatures, so I will do my best to explain." Allistor rubbed his chin with one finger. "They are an indication of power level, first and foremost. When I sense a ghost, I can tell how strong they are, though unlike machines that sense signatures, I don't have a number for them. Signatures, after a core has reached maturity, are fixed."

"When does a core reach maturity?" Jazz asked. Although she was still clearly worried, an academic light had entered her eye.

"Generally, five to seven years after a ghost first forms, though there are things that can accelerate this. But I am digressing. The signatures do not change because they come from the core, which houses the most basic level of energy a ghost needs to remain 'alive,' so to speak. The more powerful the ghost, the more baseline energy they need to continue to survive. Yes?" He looked to them for understanding, adjusting his glasses.

"I think I understand," Jazz said. Sam merely nodded. Where the hell is he going with this? But it was sort of interesting. It would've been more interesting, though, had Danny's life not been on the line.

"Sometimes, when a ghost is in a dire situation, they can dip into this energy—their 'core' energy—for more power in order to survive. This can give them the edge they need to fight off their attacker and escape. It is similar, I think, when a human body uses so much energy and begins to digest itself. If the ghost only uses a small amount, they enter the deep slumber, and their energy will slowly regenerate back to their typical levels." He floated until he was hovering across from them, on the other side of Danny's bed.

Deep slumber? Oh—he means stasis. It made sense that there were different words for it, Sam supposed. Is that what the yetis call it? She didn't know—Danny had heard the word originally from Skulker.

"What if it's not a small amount?" Jazz said. Is that what happened? Sam thought. Was Danny so desperate he dipped into his "core" energy and took too much? Did he take too much to recover? Was that why it was "bleeding"? Would eventually too much be gone and he would just… die?

"If the ghost takes too much from their core energy source, they will not be able to regenerate it quickly enough. Their core will be incapable of performing its most basic functions, and the ghost quickly perishes. It is my belief that Sir Phantom took a large amount of energy from his core in order to battle the Empress and her minions. However—" He gave Sam a sharp look as she opened her mouth to protest that no, he's not about to die, he's not, he's okay, he's right there, please you were supposed to help him—"he clearly has not yet perished, as other ghosts would have. This, I believe, is because his human half—his heart, brain, and organs—overtook the responsibilities of the core. They work now as they did before he became half-ghost, looking after his body in their entirety, regulating it."

"That explains why his temperature is so high," Sam muttered. And why his smaller wounds haven't healed. Oh, God, he's probably more vulnerable to infection and disease right now. And what if his human body can't handle his injuries?

Allistor's pink-ish eyes seemed to glow more than usual. "It's really quite extraordinary. His human and ghost systems are entirely integrated, more so than I would've anticipated. Had he not been able to rely on his human half, he most certainly would've died. Unfortunately, however, his human half does not have the required 'settings,' so to speak, to properly regulate his half-ghost body without input from his core."

"So we just have to wait for his core to regenerate the energy he needs?" Sam asked. Jazz re-dipped the clothes into the cold water and replaced them on Danny's skin.

Allistor shook his head. "It is not that simple, I am afraid. I think his core is more than ready to begin regulating his body again, if the ectoplasm is any indication. His core has recovered rapidly, possibly drawing on his human reserves of energy and somehow converting them to something it can use. Tell me, does he consume human food to supplement ectoplasm?"

Jazz nodded. "He has to eat more because of his powers. He drinks some ectoplasm, but not a lot. I guess that means he does supplement it with food…" She blinked. "That's so interesting." Sam glared at her—could she try and stay focused on her brother?

She turned to Allistor. "But if his core has its 'baseline' level of energy or whatever it is, why is his temperature not going down? Why isn't he healing?"

The ghost sighed and rubbed his face. "This is where it becomes more complicated. His human half isn't reconnecting back to his core like it should, and I am uncertain as to why. But his core, even with its recovered levels, should not be producing that much ectoplasm."

Sam crossed her arms. "You mean his core isn't bleeding? It's pushing all that ectoplasm out on purpose?" Why hadn't Allistor mentioned that before? But he would've mentioned it if he'd known. Ghosts maybe can't have internal bleeding, then. That was bizarre. It's strange how little we know about them, sometimes… Even though she, Tucker, Jazz, and Danny probably knew the most about them, of any human.

Allistor raised his eyebrows, his expression incredulous. "'Bleeding'? Of course not. It's making ectoplasm to use to regulate his body the same way your body uses hormones. If I recall correctly what hormones are. But I am digressing. Even though his core cannot currently use the ectoplasm to regulate his body, there should certainly not be so much of it. His core is producing it at an unprecedented rate."

"But why?" Jazz asked. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does. His core is going through a RMS—a rapid maturation stage, the yetis call it. This happens when the core accelerates its own growth because of stress. If the ghost is fighting constantly or they have drawn into their core energy recently, their core knows its current level of power is not enough. It will try to mature more rapidly to make up for this, increasing the core's power levels in order to provide the needed ectoplasm," Allistor explained. "I believe that, as Sir Phantom meets these criteria, this is what is happening. He likely has gone through previous RMSs before, given his lifestyle."

"He has," Sam said. His ice powers coming in. But why didn't the yetis explain this to him then? Perhaps he'd been in too much of a hurry; she didn't know. Maybe this wasn't exactly common knowledge.

"Why don't all the ghosts fight more or take a little of their core energy, then?" Jazz asked. "When their core's immature, they could continually force it to expand, making themselves more and more powerful." Sam shivered at the thought. Skulker more powerful? Or Aragon?

"Many don't know of the phenomenon," Allistor replied. "And the maximum power level the ghost will achieve after their core has matured is not that flexible. It is most like human height, I think. Many factors influence height—nutrition, genetics—but a human can only grow so tall. RMS would be like a targeted growth spurt. For example, if a human couldn't reach a shelf, their body would grow more quickly to accommodate them."

What a fucking time to have a "targeted growth spurt," Danny, Sam thought. She wasn't angry with him, though; he had no control over that. Instead, she found herself furious with their situation, with all the unknowns swirling in her mind. It was terrible to try and care for someone whose anatomy she barely knew anything about. It was probably worse for him, though. What does it feel like to have a core, vibrating next to your heart?

"How do you know so much about human anatomy?" Sam wondered aloud as she re-wet Danny's cloths. He mumbled something and shifted but didn't wake. Jazz leaned forward, also interested.

"Because many sentient ghosts were human before they became a ghost, the yetis find it easier to explain ghost anatomy by comparing it to biology. At least to outsiders," Allistor said. "But yet again we find ourselves on a tangent. We must find a way to reconnect Sir Phantom's core to his human brain so his body can reach equilibrium." He peered down at Danny's limp form and rubbed his chin again.

"Do you have any ideas?" Jazz asked.

Allistor frowned. "Transforming would likely help, if not completely solve the issue." Sam felt her heart sink. "And he must do so quickly—his body will soon be overwhelmed by the excessive ectoplasm. He needs to wake up."

Tucker had to find them.

It was one or two in the morning now—he wasn't sure. He wasn't looking at the clock; he was looking outside. Searching. Please be there. Somewhere. The green light from the shield gave everything an eerie glow, but at least Tucker didn't have to worry about ghosts. He was certain the Fentons and Valerie were taking care of the ones he, Jazz, and Sam hadn't—he'd seen the GAV and the Huntress on her hover-board. There aren't that many left, anyway.

He heard sirens every so often. They must've been beginning the search and rescue operations. He knew that was good, but he couldn't help but wonder if his parents were lying in one of the hospitals, injured and dying. Or maybe they hadn't been found, and were injured and dying on some street.

No. They're here somewhere. I'll find them. His car—well, his dad's car—smelled of ectoplasm and blood. There was a stain in the backseat where Danny had lain. At least Tucker knew he was okay—and Sam. If either of them had died… He wouldn't have felt whole ever again, he knew. And he wouldn't feel whole without his parents, either. Where are you?

He'd checked his phone already, but it no longer had signal. He tried not to think about what that meant. He'd seen a couple texts from Mikey; he didn't exactly have the time to get chatty, however, and hadn't even bothered opening them.
He drove probably too fast down the center of the road, avoiding the debris. He'd check his house first, then the school, then his parents' work, and then the hospitals. If he couldn't find them any of those places… He didn't know what he'd do. But I don't have to worry about that because they're fine. His headlights—or headlight, seeing as one had been busted—didn't pierce the clouds of murky dust hanging over everything.

But Tucker knew his way around, and he found his house easily enough, a short five-minute drive from Danny's place. He sighed deeply in relief—it was still standing. He moved out of the car, shutting the door quietly. He brought out his ghost radar. Nothing. Good. He moved to the front door, bringing out his keys. He'd locked it before he left—more out of habit than anything else. It wouldn't have exactly stopped a ghost, and he doubted any criminal had seen the invasion and thought yes, this is the perfect time to rob Tucker's house.

He opened the door, though he didn't have hope that they'd been here; his mom's car hadn't been in the driveway. Still, he had to check. "Mom?" he called. "Dad?" No answer. The house was dark, but when he tried the lights, they didn't turn on. Eerie. The only light came from the windows, which just barely illuminated his furniture. It did allow him to avoid banging his shin on the coffee table, however.

He checked all the rooms—office, master bedroom, bathrooms, his bedroom, living room, kitchen, guest room. But he saw no one, heard nothing. Everything looked mostly untouched: his clothes, which he'd dropped on the floor in his haste to don his vest; the plates in the sink, which he was supposed to have done before his mom came home from work; the lawnmower in their backyard. A few things had fallen to the ground in the earthquake—a couple of their pictures looked cracked. He kept calling out.

It's okay. You knew your dad probably left. He went out, re-locking the door behind him before he even realized what he was doing. Okay. Next up, school time. He got back in his dad's car and rubbed his eyes. I'm going to sleep for a week after this. He started the car and backed up out of the driveway, trying to avoid the debris. It looked like most of his neighbor's houses had been fine, too. They'd been built more recently, so Tucker supposed that made sense.

I wonder how the older sections of the city fared. Probably not well. He drove off, careful to keep an eye for anyone—ghost, an injured human, or his parents. He found it unlikely he'd just discover them on the side of the road, however. He heard sirens as he approached the school. How do you pull over for emergency vehicles when there is no side to the road? Whatever. He parked near the back of the school; there was less debris.

Climbing out, he saw that his school had been turned into a make-shift refugee camp. Dozens—perhaps a hundred—people huddled inside the shield. Some were asleep on the cold ground—no blankets, just a jacket. Others sat or stood there. Some spoke but in hushed tones. It was odd, seeing so many people so quiet. Tucker entered the shield, and the ones who were awake stared as he passed.

He guessed it was warranted—he was bloodied, limping, a large ectogun slung over his back (the Fenton's rifle model, whatever that was supposed to mean), another at his hip, along with the radar and thermos. His vest had held up nicely, though, and he'd attached a weird strap to his glasses so they wouldn't fall off. He felt like an old lady, but they weren't lost, cracked, or broken, so he considered it a win.

He avoided looking at the people he recognized—they weren't his parents, and it was awkward knowing people were seeing him, like this, for the first time. Not exactly helpless. He didn't even have his beret (it was tucked safely on the nightstand in his room). He made his way to the front of the school, carefully scanning for his parents.

Nope, not them, that's an old lady, not him either. Dammit. Hardly anyone was at the front, and Tucker didn't blame them—the stench of blood was overwhelming, and smashed cars were littered everywhere. Oh. This is where the Empress… He felt sick, but he forced himself to look at the bodies. Thankfully, none were his parents. The entire street before him was decimated, the worst he'd seen. And these are some of the newer apartments, too.

He turned back; he'd have to look inside the school, now. If it's as crowded inside as it is outside, though… He still had to try. The front doors were open, and he went in. The lights were off—the electricity wasn't working, though someone had set up lanterns and candles against the walls. The lobby was crowded, shadowy with people, and Tucker knew he'd never find anyone in this mess. If they are here… He pushed his way through, walking down hallways lined with people. They gave him looks here, too—some even gaped. He saw Dash, but he wasn't exactly about to stop and chat.

Where—

Someone's hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped, nearly drawing his gun "Mr. Foley." Tucker looked up, and Mr. Lancer's face looked down. His face wasn't as stern as it usually was, and he held a flashlight in his other hand. "What are you doing here? Where are your parents?" Tucker frowned.

"I'm trying to find them. You haven't seen them?" he asked, not caring how desperate he sounded. "Tall black man, dressed nicely, big mustache—"

"I know what they look like, Tucker," Mr. Lancer interrupted gently, releasing his shoulder. He had dark bags under his eyes, and Tucker noticed that his dress shirt was un-tucked. "I've met them. And no, I haven't seen them." Tucker felt something claw its way up his throat. All that fighting—for what? He didn't know if his parents were okay, didn't know if Danny was okay. If he lost them… "Why don't you come sit? I can probably get you something to eat—"

"No!" Tucker backed up. People sitting against the lockers looked up at the noise. It sounded wonderful, actually—rest, food. He hadn't eaten in hours, had barely spared time to drink. His stomach was entirely empty, though it had stopped complaining a long time ago, having realized how futile it was. "I have to find them. Are you sure they're not here?" He glanced around, as if they'd suddenly materialize out of the air before him.

"I've been all over, helping coordinate the injured and distributing food. I don't think they're here," Lancer answered. He sounded like he was trying to calm a spooked animal, but Tucker wasn't spooked.

He was desperate.

"I have to find them," he repeated, turning to leave. Mr. Lancer grabbed his arm. I could stop you, Tucker thought. He was weak—weak from the fighting and his injuries—but he could easily break his teacher's hold and leave. "Let go," he said.

"I can't." Lancer gripped him tighter, though nowhere near hard enough to bruise. "It's too dangerous. What if you come across a ghost?"

Tucker wrenched his arm free, though he didn't turn to leave. Instead, he faced his teacher, determined. The need to see his parents alive and okay was overwhelming inside him. What if I come across a ghost? What if I come across a ghost? He laughed, the insane, hysterical noise bubbling up from somewhere dark and hurt. "Then the ghost better run the other way, Mr. Lancer."

His teacher looked at him, then, looked at him like he was a stranger, a person he'd never seen before. Those eyes pierced Tucker. "You never told me what you and Ms. Manson were really fighting over," he said, stepping closer. Tucker's fist clenched. "Some people outside said they saw a girl—a girl with dark hair fighting the ghosts."

No, no. Tucker looked, wide-eyed, up at Lancer. Was this it? Their secret lives—Danny's especially—exposed for the world to see? "What are you talking about?" he asked. His voice came out as little more than a whisper; he could barely think, let alone lie.

"You were distracting the agent, that day," Lancer said softly, his flashlight limp by his side. "You and Samantha." She hates that name. It was all Tucker could think, in the moment. He couldn't really think at all. "So Danny could take the scanner off him."

Oh, God, he knows. What would he do? This wasn't like Mikey or Abigail—Lancer was an adult. He had obligations. He wouldn't just let them run around fighting ghosts like they had been. He'd tell—tell the police or someone. Oh, God. "What would be the point?" Tucker asked, trying to stay calm. "Hypothetically speaking. Taking the scanner off him. There's—there's nothing we could've done with it, anyway." Well, nothing those unfamiliar with ghost technology could've done.

"I seem to recall," Lancer said carefully, "a certain student particularly gifted with technology. In fact, he once hacked in to the school's computer system at an assembly, though we couldn't prove it was him. Right before a certain other student disappeared, while I was distracted, and a ghost attacked." Tucker had almost forgotten he'd done that.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, unconvincingly. He took another step back, but he was almost at a wall. Cornered. "You have no proof."

"The tardies and absences, the weird behavior, the injuries," Lancer listed, seemingly far away. As though he could see the puzzle pieces falling into place. "The dip in grades—for all of you. Danny is Phantom, isn't he?"

"No, he's not," Tucker hissed. No one is supposed to know. But now Mikey and Abigail and Nathan knew—and Mr. Lancer. That is, if no one else has connected the dots. The thought was daunting. How many almost-strangers had seen them together, had seen Sam and Tucker fighting the ghosts, apparently missing a third of their trio?

"I have eyes, Mr. Foley." Lancer straightened, the far away look gone. "Look at yourself. The guns, the thermos. I'm not, contrary to what my students often assume, an idiot. Great Expectations, I was a fool not to see it before."

"You're wrong, Mr. Lancer," Tucker said. He felt cornered. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally. "You're wrong. And I—I have to go." He edged out, waiting for Lancer to make a grab for him again. The man didn't move.

"Okay," he said. Tucker's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I'm assuming you took out nearly half the ghosts that were invading anyway—I'll trust that you can keep yourself safe."

"I—I didn't," was all Tucker could think to say before he fled. Lancer just watched him go. Down, down the hallway, past people in the halls, lit by the glow of phone lights and candles. He nearly stepped on someone, but didn't stop to apologize. He hurried out the side door, nearly exploding into the cold night air.

He stood there, as the door swung shut behind him. Panting. He crouched, cradling his head. He knows. If Lancer told, would Tucker ever see his best friend again?

No, focus. Lancer didn't sound like he was going to blab to the whole world. And I have to find my parents. He stood upright and forced himself back to his dad's silver Chevrolet Impala. He started it and drove off. His next stop was further away—his mom's office building.

She was an IT manager at Texicon, a local tech company that specialized in security—and now anti-ghost—software. The streets were silent as Tucker drove them, the fallen buildings like tombs in the gloom. And for all he knew, they really were tombs.

Tucker was relieved to see that the office building was standing, though the one across from it had collapsed. He did his best to park the car out of the way.

The letters spelling out Texicon on the front were dark—the lights had gone out. He left the car and entered the building. The lobby was dark, too, the usually shiny floors dusty.

"Anyone here?" he called softly. No one answered. He peeked around the secretary's desk, the waiting area—nothing. He stepped over broken ceramic; it looked like a coffee mug. One of the potted plants had fallen, dirt spilling across the floor.

Tucker moved to the stairs. Third floor. His boots made clanging noises as he made his way up. He opened the door carefully. This feels like the Walking Dead. He half-expected to turn a corner and see someone lunging for him. But there was no one, not even a ghost. Just desks, lined with dark computers

"Hello?" he said.

"Who's there?" Tucker almost jumped out of his skin at the response. It was coming from under one of the desks. He peered down to look, and again almost jumped when he saw someone staring back at him from the darkness.

"Holy mother of God," he muttered. It was one of his mother's coworkers—Brian, he thought. Brian… Fisher, that's right. "Mr. Fisher? It's Tucker—Angela's son. Have you—do you know where she is?"

Fisher crawled out from underneath the desk. He was wearing slacks and a nice button down, now dirty. "How did you get here?" he asked, brushing himself off. "You should be at the school."

Wow, really helpful. "Look, that doesn't matter. Do you—"

"Tucker?" someone asked, and he turned behind him to look—and there were his parents. Both disheveled, haggard-looking, with scared eyes, but he'd never been happier to see them in his whole life. But he was lodged in place. They're here. They're here. They're fine.

"Tucker!" his dad shouted. Neither of his parents seemed to be under the same compulsion as he was, because they raced forward to hug him. He could smell his mom's lotion, his dad's subtle cologne—the soft fabric of their clothes against his cheek.

They stood like that, all three of them, hugging and basking in each other's presence. Tucker closed his eyes—he could feel tears building there. They're fine. It kept repeating in his head like the words of a lullaby. They're fine.

They broke apart as his mother stood back, her hands on his shoulders, to appraise him. Her sharp eyes took in the guns, the thermos, the radar—all of it. "Where have you been?" she asked. "We didn't know where you were—in the middle of a ghost invasion!" Tucker stood there, not knowing what to say, how to smooth-talk his way out of this one. He was just happy they were still alive to demand answers. "Well? We're waiting for you to explain."

"I—" If Mr. Lancer knows, and possibly Danny's parents know… Was it time for everyone to know? "I'm not sure how." That, at least, was more truth than he had given them in a long time.

His mom put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean you're 'not sure how'? Clearly you were somewhere."

"Just start at the invasion, Tucker. Why did you take my Impala?" his dad asked. "Why did you just—leave?"

I could lie. I could say I panicked, just left. Left him there, at the house. He looked at their anxious eyes, the determined tilt of their heads. They want an explanation, and I could get them to buy this. He could. But he didn't think he was going to.

"I needed transportation to get to the ghosts," he found himself saying. His mouth almost said it of its own accord. "To fight the ghosts. To—to put the shield up."

"You're not making sense," his mom said. "Why—why did you go out to fight the ghosts? Did the Fentons give you all this equipment?"

"No," he replied, meeting her gaze steadily. "Danny did." He couldn't come out and say it; his mouth wouldn't make the motions. It had been too long—the secrets had festered. They weren't so easy to draw out.

He could see the light dawning in his dad's eyes. He was a reporter, good at gathering information, interviewing people. Thinking critically and reading between the lines. His mustache twitched, the way it did when he was on the brink of discovery. I need to get back to Danny. They can use Mom's car to get home.

"Was he worried about you?" his mom asked. She wasn't getting it, and his dad simply stood behind her in stunned silence. "You're going to have to give me more information here, Tucker. You fought the ghosts? Are you crazy?"

Probably. "I don't know." He turned to his dad. "How did you get here, anyway?"

"Before you go asking questions you need to answer mine!" his mom said, raising her hands. "You can't—"

"I called Angela. She came and picked me up, but when we heard the shield wasn't working right…" His dad seemed faintly dazed. "Is he—is he really…"

"Yes," Tucker answered simply. His mom looked back and forth between them, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her earrings moved with the motion.

"What are you two talking about?" She faced her husband. "Maurice?"

"I have to check on Sam's parents," Tucker muttered. And then Danny. "You should go home. The house is fine—I checked."

"You're not going anywhere—"

But Tucker had already left, leaving his dazed, disbelieving, but entirely alive parents standing there.

Danny couldn't wake up. He was drifting on a bed of fiery coals, roasting slowly in the burning flames. He tried to move his arm, and he couldn't. He tried to open his eyes, and he couldn't. All he could do was breathe and lie. The world was only darkness—darkness and heat. I'm going to melt. I'm stuck in a volcano, and I'm going to melt.

That made sense. Agent R had tossed him in a volcano: a sacrifice to his gods. He must've stabbed Danny's core first; it throbbed, under the numbness and the heat. And now the magma was swirling around him, melting his skin. His last breath felt like hot, ashy smoke. Except his diaphragm kept moving. He must've been breathing in the magma. He could almost feel himself dissolving in it. That was what he was really drifting in. Not a bed of coals—a lake of hot, hot lava. He could hear Agent R distantly, talking.

…So weak… You can't even move… The things we have planned… You'll regret lying to me, you filthy half-ghost… When we're through, you won't know which way's up or down… He was praying over Danny, praying over him at the lip of the volcano he'd tossed him into, his bright white suit blinding in the sun. …We're going to cut you up… Just here… You'll beg for me to end your pain…

This doesn't make sense, Danny thought. I heard Sam. Sam—was Sam dead? Alive? Had Danny killed her through his failure? My failure—I failed. I failed and now I'm dying… He could feel it—he was still numb, he couldn't move… He had to be dying… I failed, and I can't even try to fix it. Died because of Agent R—or something else? He'd been dying before then. The Empress was right. She was right, and she'd 'd been smarter, stronger, better than Danny. I couldn't win. I failed.

It echoed in the heat, taunting him. I failed. I failed. She'd merged the realms—how long ago? An hour, two hours, a day, a week, a year—a year he had been trapped here, dying in this volcano, Agent R praying over him, praying for his pain and his despair. He could feel that pain distantly, through the heat—and that same numbness. How odd, to be numb and overly sensitive at the same time. I'm being punished for my failure. Maybe I'm already in hell, not just the volcano.

He could feel sweat running down his temples, pooling underneath his back and at his armpits. Was it sweat? Or was it tiny droplets of magma, burning him away piece by piece? He was dissolving, dying… Or already dead?

"—parents made it."

Sam again. He tried to move, to touch her, to see if she was real—she's just a ghost, a ghost in my head. She's dead. I killed her like I killed everyone… Everyone in the whole fucking world… They're dead because of me. But he couldn't move. He was trapped, entombed in stone. Hot, hot, stone, melting underneath him to the core of the earth.

He wanted the cold, ice and glaciers and frosty landscapes. The comforting chill from his core, next to the gentle warmth of his heart. But there was nothing. Nothing but this unending heat. Please, just end. Just be over. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't even do that. His tears evaporated before they even left his tear ducts. I failed, but just stop. Stop! He was burning burning burning burning burning burning burningburningburningburning!

No more. No more. Why wouldn't Agent R's gods just take him? Why was he still left drifting? Was he such a bad sacrifice? He could still hear the man praying, praying for his punishment. …I'm not an unfair man… We will not leave you broken, though you deserve to be… I've watched you… How painful it must've been, with your parents… Or did they know? Did you tell them, filthy fucking ghost…

He couldn't move. He couldn't move. I can't move!

"—not about to start blood-letting—" Was Sam real? Her voice sounded real. How could he know, if he couldn't move? If he couldn't breathe—even though he was breathing? If he couldn't feel, even though he felt the heat and the pain in his arm and his ribs and his back? Please be real. As real as the volcano where he burned…

Focus.

He tried to concentrate on her voice. Her voice, which had defended him and comforted him in turn—yelled at him and for him. He tried, but it was useless. He couldn't move. I'm useless, so useless. This must've been purgatory. The helplessness ate away at him, faster than the heat did. It cracked his bones and stole away his breath—except he could still feel himself breathing, breathing, breathing! The only thing I can do is breathe. Useless.

He was trapped, trapped forever.

"—tried to—" That was Tucker. His voice was deeper than Sam's. Is he alive, too? Or is this to punish me further, because they are both alive, right there, and I can't move! What a torment, the combination of the heat and their voices. He even thought he heard Jazz at one point, her tone worried. She's alive. Or she wasn't. Danny didn't know if anyone was real, or if he was dreaming from a cage in a GIW laboratory. Or I really am dead. But I should be a ghost, then. Unless it was different for half-ghosts. Did he not get to go to the Zone?

The Zone doesn't even exist anymore. The earth doesn't exist. How many people were dead because he had failed? Had everyone across the world felt that terrible earthquake? Had they noticed the sky? And I couldn't save them. I failed. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

"Once he changes—trying to reach equilibrium—sick for a few days, maybe longer—RMS is the most violent I've ever seen—care of him—must go—have his thermos?" This voice was familiar, but Danny couldn't place it. It's so hot; how can they be here with me? Did Agent R sacrifice them, too? He must've used Danny as bait, luring his still-alive friends to the lab where they were keeping him…

And he'd tossed them in after he'd stabbed Danny and thrown him in. They were all here in the volcano with him… That was nice—to die with his friends. I failed you, too. He tried to tell them, but if he opened his mouth, he knew the lava could come in. Except it's already in—I'm breathing. I've thought this before… It went round and round in circles in his head.

Round and round forever. It was endless, endless… he lasted eons here—whole eternities he would pass…

"—please—core again?" Jazz—for sure this time. Maybe they thought he could save them, using his ice powers. Escape the heat. I can't. I can't move, I can't use my powers, I can't do anything. Useless.

But there was—something. It hurt—it hurt so badly—but it was overcoming the numbness. He gasped. I can feel it—feel my body. I'm not dead. I'm not. But he still couldn't open his eyes. He tried to move. There was something hot on his ear—breath?

"You need to change, Danny? Do you understand? You have to transform," Sam said. It was the first time he caught the full breadth of what they were saying. On his other side, he could feel someone gripping his too-warm hand. Their hands were large and callused.

"Danny." It was Tucker. "If you can't turn into Phantom…" He sounded like he was trying to make a joke, but all Danny heard in his voice was tears.

Turn into Phantom. Right. He didn't know if he was hearing right—if this was all some kind of dream. Maybe he was in some government lab. Maybe he was dead. But when his friends asked him to do something, he did it.

Danny reached for his core—the numbness and the pain. It felt… swollen. Not swollen like a body part, but more saturated—the way a sponge soaked up water. He tugged at it, and it resisted. It was usually so easy—why wasn't it working? He pulled harder. Harder. He heard himself grunt. And this—whatever had been resisting him—gave in. It was the worst transformation he'd ever had—except for when he'd originally died.

The rings, normally so smooth and calming, were jagged and painful. The shift in his molecules felt like pins and needles—not just on his skin but in him—his stomach and intestines and kidneys and liver, as though every cell in his body had fallen asleep. He could move—he could see—his eyes were open, but the light from his rings was blinding. Nausea rose in him—the nausea of eating too much, too quickly. The terrible warmth didn't help.

He sat up—he was in his room, he realized belatedly, on his bed—how did I get here—and turned, already gagging. I'm going to vomit all over myself. But no—someone was there, with a bowl, under his head. People were talking, but he couldn't register what they were saying. He clutched the bowl as he heaved. And heaved. He was shivering all over, shaking, sweaty. So hot. He was vaguely alarmed to see that all he'd vomited in the bowl was ectoplasm. It didn't smell like bile, either—just the acrid scent of his ghostly blood.

He coughed and heaved again. So hot. God, I'm so hot. Without him willing it, he could feel ice forming on his arms, his chest, on his sheets, and he sighed, relaxing minutely. Better. The numbness was gone, as was the tingling. He blinked tiredly. How… how did I…

"—okay? Danny, are you okay? Can you hear me?" He looked up to meet his sister's anxious eyes. Her hair was up, and she was still dressed in her combat gear. She had a scrape on her face. He nodded slowly, clearing his throat. His mouth tasted like ectoplasm.

"H-how did I get here?" he croaked, his voice shot from his wails. "How did you find me? What—" He became frantic as he remembered all that had happened. "What happened to Agent R? Did the g-ghosts break through? How many people died—"

"Danny." Sam appeared next to him, almost out of thin air. How did she get there? Has she always been there? "Calm down. We'll explain everything in a moment. But first, how are you feeling?" She gently took the ectoplasm-filled bowl away. He felt someone pat his arm, and he looked to his right to see Tucker. They're all here, he thought, dazed. His hysteria left him in a torrent, all at once. None of them are dead… They're here. They're alive. How… how…

Were they okay? He tried to focus himself and properly look them over, but he couldn't concentrate. His head was stuffed with lead, too heavy to think. His arm hurt. His legs hurt. His back hurt. But he didn't mind because the numbness was completely gone—he could feel everything. He could move… He flexed his fingers slowly, amazed. I'm not trapped. And this was real—he was sure of it. His friends were here—Jazz was here. They were okay, and it was okay if he eyes drooped—he was tired, completely exhausted. Without meaning to, he transformed back into a human. That's fine. Probably better, actually.

"Danny!" Sam, Tucker, and Jazz yelled in synch, all moving toward him. That's—that's funny… His mind moved sluggishly. He began to sink back down to the bed. It stunk. Or maybe I stink… I probably need a shower…

"Hey, dude, you have to stay awake!" Tucker cried. Three stressed faces loomed over him. I wonder where Mom and Dad are. He yawned. He couldn't keep his eyes open, but it didn't matter if he slept now. He wasn't scared. They're here, they're right here. His core buzzed, more forcefully than normal, but he barely noticed. His hear beat slowly, ever so slowly, and he drifted off to the sounds of Jazz, Tucker, and Sam desperately trying to keep him awake.

"Your parents did end up throwing something at me."

"What was it?"

"Your mom's shoe. She wanted to know where you were. And it wasn't like I could tell them, but they thought you'd been with me the whole time. Your dad looked like he was about to hit me."

"Sorry. Thanks for checking. I… I don't know what I would've done, if they'd… Anyway, I'm glad your parents made it."

"Me too, Sam. Me too."

…

"How long has he been unconscious?"

"Hours now. We've been extracting the ectoplasm to relieve the pressure, but his core just keeps making more."

"What if we cut him, maybe? It'd be faster."

"Yes, Tucker, and then we could watch him bleed out and die. Thank you for your excellent suggestion."

"Do you have something better?"

"I would not recommend cutting Sir Phantom. He is already dealing with a myriad of issues, all of which will be exacerbated by further injury."

"See?"

"Look, I was just throwing out suggestions! Look at him, he's—he needs help. We have to be able to do something for him somehow."

"We're not about to start blood-letting like it's the fucking Middle Ages."

"Some of my fellow healers still blood-let. Ectoplasm-let, rather."

"That's not helpful."

…

"Once he changes, his body will be trying to reach equilibrium. It will be hindered by the fact that his core is expanding, and will be sick for a few days, maybe longer. This RMS is the most violent I've ever seen, and you will have to take care of him. He needs to have a lot of fluids and food, as well as small doses of ectoplasm every two hours. He will be tired—that's normal. You will have to wake him up."

"Why? Are you leaving?"

"It is unfortunate but I must go. Do you have his thermos? It should've been with him, I believe."

"Yes—it's over here. Why?"

"My Queen was gravely injured, and Sir Phantom captured her in his device to preserve her life. Please, I must have it. I believe, with this concentrated ectoplasm, I may yet save her—if you will allow me to keep it."

"Of course you can have the ecto-dejecto. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Sir Tucker. Sir Phantom is fortunate to have family like you."

"We're friends, but thanks."

"No. I do not think anyone could be as close as you are and not be family. Perhaps blood does not bind you, but there are things far more lasting. Far, far more lasting."

When Danny next resurfaced, it was to gentle hands and gentle words. Someone was tapping his cheek lightly with one finger.

"Danny… Wake up. You need to eat." Jazz? He opened his eyes, grunting—and sure enough, there was his sister, next to him. She had changed out of her dirty clothing, and her hair was wet from the shower. He could see the hint of medical tape on her shoulder—she must've been injured. She tap-tapped again.

"Stop that," he mumbled sleepily, trying to sit up. He looked around his room, but there was no one else. "How long have I been out?" He rubbed his face. His head felt clearer than it had before—less like it was filled with cotton and more like it was filled with his actual brain.

"Only an hour. We made you a sandwich," Jazz replied, gesturing to his side-table, where a sandwich rested. His sister leaned back. "Well, I made you a sandwich. Sam and Tucker are cleaning up. How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly okay," he muttered. Have I forgotten something? He yawned deeply; he already wanted to go back to sleep. "I'm not hungry." His eyes began to drift shut, and he slumped.

"Don't fall asleep!" Jazz yelped, poking him on the cheek again. "You need to stay awake and eat, okay? And you have to tell me what happened—we couldn't hear you over the phones after you left the shield. But I—I thought I heard Mom and Dad."

Oh. Right. Danny was shocked entirely awake. His parents. The Empress—the world. He had to do something to stop her. He straightened entirely, fighting off his sleepiness. "Do you know how many buildings were destroyed? How many people died?" he asked. He had to know—he needed to know the price of his failure. And he knew it wasn't just Amity paying; it was the entire world. Seven billion people, and he had failed them all.

I was supposed to protect them, but I lost. I lost, and I failed. I'm sorry.

Jazz pursed her lips and shook her head. "I don't. And don't avoid the question—what happened? Do you know what that earthquake was?" Danny's throat was dry. He couldn't confess to his failure, to his inability to protect the people he had sworn to. But he had to—he had to, and he had to try and fix it.

Haltingly, devoid of the emotion that would make him crack, he told the story, in between his meal, which Jazz insisted on. He told her about how he'd had to reveal himself to their parents, how he'd fought the Empress, how he had broken the crystal, how she had merged the Zone and the human world—somehow. Jazz didn't interrupt—not with questions, not with anything.

Her face was devoid of its usual curiosity; horror and fear had replaced the emotion poorly. She grew pale, drawn. Danny wanted to make himself stop, stop saying what had happened, but he couldn't. It just kept coming, coming like a flood out of his mouth until he was sure she would drown in it. It was cathartic, in a way, though Danny didn't let himself really feel it. How could he? If he felt it, he would be swept away by it, blinded by it.

"I…" he trailed off. There was nothing more to be said—nothing except for the emotions secured deep inside him. Failed. I failed. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. He couldn't meet her eyes, didn't want to see the disappointment there.

Jazz patted his arm and took his plate away. "Go to sleep, Danny. We'll figure it out in the morning." Her voice held no rejection, no malice—only a soft acceptance. Danny was glad she hadn't lied and said it would be okay. Not that he wouldn't have believed her anyway.

He laid down and let the odd tiredness carry him away. I forgot to ask her about how I got here…

It was Tucker who roused him next, nudging his shoulder. Danny blinked blearily up at his friend's form. He was missing his red beret, and he looked banged up: he had cuts on his arms and hands, and his face was swollen with bruises. He was wearing one of Danny's (few) clean shirts and pair of gym shorts. And my NASA socks. Those were his favorite. Why had he decided to stay with Danny instead of going home?

"Was your house destroyed?" he asked without preamble. Tucker raised an eyebrow, stepping back.

"Am I giving off a 'my house was just destroyed' vibe or something? It's fine," he said. He held up a cup of ecto-dejecto and waggled it around. "Dr. Tucker has your medicine." Danny didn't feel any desire to drink it, but he supposed he could probably use it with all of his injuries. It was odd—his core felt fine, now. But how? How did it get better so quickly? His injuries still ached, though. And while he was no longer burning up, he felt slightly too warm.

"Thanks." Danny accepted the cup and took a sip. The ectoplasm was lukewarm, and he could feel it pooling in his stomach. He recalled, suddenly, the questions he'd forgotten to ask Jazz. "How did I get here?"

"Sam followed your signature on her radar and rescued you from Agent R. You're starting to become a bit of a damsel in distress, Danny. You need to step up your game," Tucker replied, sitting on the edge of Danny's bed. "You, um—you weren't okay, at first." He didn't sound normal—not as cheerful. Not that Danny blamed him.

Danny laughed—a dark sound. "Yeah, I remember. Is—is everyone else alright? Your parents…" Was that the reason Tucker was here, instead of at home? Were they okay? What about Danny's parents—and Sam's?

"Yes." Tucker smiled at him, an odd fondness in his face. "Everyone's fine. My family, your family, Sam's family. In fact, your parents are still out rounding up the last ghosts. We missed a couple. Though I'm not sure how they have the energy; sometimes your parents are a little scary, Danny."

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighed, taking another sip. Fatigue lingered in his muscles, and he already wanted to curl up and fall back asleep. Why am I so tired? It was probably just his injuries, but it felt like it was more than that. "Did Jazz tell you everything?" Tucker nodded, fiddling with his glasses.

"It's insane." He rubbed his face. "This has all been insane."

Danny nodded; what else could he do? If he broke down now, he didn't know if he'd be able to put himself together again. They couldn't stand still, couldn't stop. If they did, they would be crushed by the weight of their own despair. The Empress had merged the worlds. How were they supposed to fix that? How were they supposed to do anything?

He remembered the oppressive, crushing power of her telekinesis, her grating laughter as she slaughter human beings, the hatred, the callousness. The strength. She had been unlike any other villain Danny had ever faced, and the memories of her lurked in the back of his mind, accompanied by pain and terror. He pushed them down, feeling sick.

How are we supposed to fix this? If only he hadn't failed in the first place, if only her plan to distract him hadn't worked so well, if only he had been smarter, faster, stronger, better. But I was weak—I am weak. I couldn't beat her. And who knew how many had died because of it? What did it even mean—the worlds being "merged"?

The uncertainty tried to claw its way up his throat, but he pushed it down. Does this mean the world is over? Because I couldn't stop her?

"—anny. Danny," Tucker called. "Earth to Danny." The half-ghost looked up, breathing deeply. I can't break. I can't break. At least he wasn't in some government lab, locked up with Agent R. The things the agent had promised to do to him… The things he had done to him. He shuddered. Tucker waved his hand, obnoxiously, in front of his face.

"Okay, you can stop," Danny muttered.

"I don't know—you still look a little space-y. Maybe I should keep doing it, just for good measure. They say there's no such thing as too much medicine, after all." Tucker started waving his hand again, and Danny's mouth twitched in spite of himself.

"I'm pretty sure doctors would disagree with you there," he said, looking down at his cup. It was half-full, and he tried to conceal his yawn. "Did Sam head home?" If she has a home to head to.

"Definitely not." Tucker pointed to Danny's left, and when the half-ghost looked, he saw his other best friend curled up on his bedroom floor, cocooned in blankets. Her hair was damp, and she snored softly. I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost them. His profound sense of relief was belated, but it burst within him, almost unexpectedly, expanding and rippling through him. He wouldn't have been able to go on; he was sure of that, at least.

"I—"

He froze. He could hear the door downstairs opening, the voice of his dad. The answering voice of his mom. He trembled—this would be the first time he had seen them—properly seen them—since they'd found out. But they accepted me. I have nothing to worry about.

"What is it?" Tucker asked. Could he not hear it?

"My parents are home," Danny choked out, and Tucker stood up, as though preparing for a threat. My parents. They aren't a threat. Are they?

"How did they take it?" he asked.

"They didn't shoot me," the half-ghost said. "But it wasn't like we had a lot of time to chat about it." The hand holding his ectoplasm was shaking. They reacted fine. They consider you their son; they love you. But what if they had changed their minds?
Tucker walked around and crouched next to Sam. "Wait, you don't need to…" Danny said, but Tucker was already doing it.

"Sam, Sam, wake up. Danny's parents are home," Tucker said.

"…wake her up," Danny finished lamely. Sam made a hrr noise and sat up, yawning. The sight made Danny want to go back to sleep, too. Her hair was mussed, and she wore some of Jazz's clothes, he noticed (which fit infinitely better than Danny's. And were cleaner, too).

"His parents?" she asked, sitting up. That was as far as she got before Danny's door creaked up, and there stood his mom and dad.

They were filthy, but though they had scrapes on their limbs, they looked okay. They looked surprised to see him there, lying in his bed, Sam and Tucker sitting—or crouching—on his floor. They both scrambled to their feet, awkwardly, but Danny's dad lumbered past them to his son. He hugged Danny, who froze in the embrace, his broken ribs, bruises, and hurt back protesting. Ouch.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Dann-o," he said, sounding close to tears. Oh. They really do love me.

"Me too," Danny said, and his dad pulled back to look at him. His mom approached, too, cautiously, the way one might approach a wild animal. His friends were like statues in the background, clearly torn between staying and going. Danny smiled at them, and they seemed to realize he wanted them to stay.

"You're hurt," his mom said. She reached out to touch the gauze, and then pulled her hand back. "We have to take you to the hospital—your arm was broken, and God knows how many other injuries you have."

"No!" Danny, Sam, and Tucker yelled in unison. "No hospitals," Danny said, more quietly. "What Sam did is fine."

"Danny," his mom sat on his bed, her hazmat suit getting dust on his covers. Her guns and other equipment clanked as she moved. "Your friends are great, but I think this is beyond Sam's capabilities. I know you're used to taking care of things on your own, but we're here now. You can—you can rely on us, honey. Your friends—" She turned to look at Sam and Tucker. "I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you. You both need to go home. Jack or I can drive you."

And that was it. Were they going to let him continue to ghost hunt? The world was ending, and here his parents were acting as though everything were normal. They were trying to take control of the situation. Will they make Sam and Tucker go home? Will they make me go to a hospital? They had to see the problem with it; he couldn't just go to a hospital as a half-ghost.

"Sorry, Mrs. Fenton, but we're not going anywhere," Sam said, crossing her arms. "We stay as long as Danny wants us to." He wanted to smile at her, but his mouth wouldn't move. Sam glanced at him briefly before going back to staring at his mom—not quite glaring, but close.

His dad sighed. "Kids, we know these past few years have probably been as hard for you as they've been for Danny—"

"But you don't know, do you?" Danny interrupted quietly. "You don't know what it's been like."

"So tell us," his mom said, gripping his hand. In the other, he still held the ectoplasm. He didn't grip back; his hand was limp, like a dead fish. "Please, Danny. You're injured. You need to get professional help. Doctors are confidential; they won't tell anyone."

"And the people who actually need their help?" Danny asked. "I'm not going." He pulled his hand free. His tiredness was tugging him down, begging him to sleep. "I'll be fine, I promise. Everything—" He yawned. "Everything will heal." You can't fall asleep. You have to stay awake; you have to deal with this. With all of this…

He had managed to fight off the portion of the Empress's army that she had brought with her, but his multitude of problems wasn't over. Nothing was over. The worlds had merged; his parents knew. The Empress was still out there. Somewhere.

His friends moved closer, clearly recognizing the signs of his looming tiredness.

"You can't know that—you can't know anything about—about this!" his mom exclaimed, throwing her hands up. Resentment flared in Danny's gut, but it was smothered by his exhaustion. It was demanding, unrelenting. "You are sixteen, Danny. You will go to the hospital, so help me—are you falling asleep?"

"No," Danny denied, shaking his head to clear the fog. "And I know everything about 'this'—I've been living it for two years, okay? I don't need a hospital; I'll be fine. Okay?" He said the word forcefully. He just wanted them to agree, to leave him in peace. They could discuss this when they all weren't exhausted. He looked down at his cup of ectoplasm, realizing in his gestures he had nearly spilled it.

"What is that?" his mom demanded, taking it from him. She gave him no chance to respond. "Danny, this is poison. Have you really been drinking it?"

"It's not exactly poison for me, is it?" he said. "And I need to finish it, so if you could just—" He reached for it, and his mom stood.

"No, this has gone on long enough. We're proud of you, Danny—so proud of what you've done, but this isn't good for you," she said. Danny's eyes widened. No… She couldn't seriously… They had seemed to accept him. He'd realized they would need time adjusting, but… But he was still there son—they loved him. They'd proved it, when they came to get him, when he'd saved them. They had let him go fight—they had, for once, listened to him. They cared for him—him, not the son they'd thought they had. They hadn't seemed disappointed.

But his mom's words weren't matching her emotions. Proud, she said, but her eyes—her eyes said afraid. For him? Of him? Danny didn't know.

"What—what do you mean?" he asked. He was far away—he was tired. Did they have to do this now?

…We're so proud of you…

…They want to fix me…

"Don't worry, Dann-o," his dad said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find a way to make you better, just like we said we would. You being our son doesn't change that."

No. No. No. No. It was just the same as before. Just the same. They hadn't changed—they didn't love him. They wanted to fix him. Cure him. They wanted him to be human, not some half-ghost freak. They didn't accept Phantom, and they never would. He'd forever be half a son in their eyes. Half a person. A diseased person. And they were going to try and get out the disease—the ghost.

Half of him.

"—why you need to go to the hospital," his mom was saying. She wasn't yelling, but her voice seemed to boom in his ears, louder than any bomb. "We need to understand what exactly has happened to you in order to reverse it."

He was strapped to a table, his parents above him, pulling out scalpels to carve the ghost out of him. He was begging them not to but they weren't listening because they knew they knew he was their son and they didn't care they didn't care. He was part ghost, an evil ghost—diseased. Sick. In need of a cure, in need of being fixed.

No. His worst nightmare wasn't coming true. I thought they loved me. It wasn't happening. The world had ended, and now his world was ending. Please, please. Phantom is your son as much as Fenton is. Born from a creation they had made. His chest was tight, and he felt like he might up-chuck the ectoplasm and sandwich. They'll never accept me. He could see them with Agent R, all three trying to figure out how to cure him.

We're going to cut you up… Just here…

His dad was talking. "—physical symptoms. And we should start documenting the other ones, too. Have you experienced any uncharacteristic urges? I suppose consuming ectoplasm could be considered one…"

Uncharacteristic urges… He tried to take in a deep breath, but he couldn't. His mom put her hand to his forehead, and he wanted to move, but he couldn't. He was as helpless as he'd been when Agent R had—when he'd—I have to move.

"—temperature is too cold—"

Her hand felt fake, like a mannequin's plastic mimic. Move, Danny! She was the same. She was going to do the same. She was standing over him, holding a knife. His dad was there, ready with another. His friends were shouting, moving closer—Jazz was there, in the doorway—she must've heard the talking—

…Just here…

They were going to kill him in the name of saving him, and they would never realize the difference. He had to move. He had to save himself. He wanted to vomit. His mom was saying something, her lips were moving, he didn't understand, her brows were furrowed, tone concerned, leaning forward, her hand still on his forehead.

Finally, his body responded to his movements. He threw himself from his bed—his legs were weak, refusing to take his weight—away from them—tangled in his sheets—get them off—he was intangible, going through his sheets. He crawled backward until his back hit his wall, just beneath the window. His stab wound smarted and burned terribly. His breath came in pants. His parents moved closer, and all he could do was look up at them, body aching from his movements.

And then Sam and Tucker were there, standing in front of him, blocking them. Jazz was tugging on them, they were shouting. What are they saying? He couldn't tell—he couldn't hear. He wasn't in his room—he was in a lab, somewhere. He wasn't here. His sister was in their faces, gesturing and pointing and shouting. I can't tell what she's saying.

Tucker crouched down next to him, and Danny only realized he'd been gripping his hair with his hands when his friend gently removed them. Don't touch me. No one touch me. He was helpless again—he couldn't move. The Empress was tearing out his tooth, breaking his arm, he couldn't move.

"—can't stay here," Sam was saying. Oh. I can hear again. "I don't trust them not to try and pull something. And they definitely won't let us give him ectoplasm. Or check his core."

"Should we go to your place?" Tucker asked, but Sam was already shaking her head. Danny could barely keep up, both of them speaking on either side of him, squatting on the floor.

"No. My parents might be worse. I was thinking yours," she said. "If you think they'll be better."

"I think," Tucker said slowly, "with a bar this low, they'll have to be."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five: Danny Just Can't Stay Awake

Danny fell asleep on the car ride there, slumping over in the backseat. Sam didn't bother to try and wake him, and Tucker continued the short drive to his house.

He kept re-playing in his mind what had happened at Fenton Works, the blank look of fear on Danny's face, the way Tucker and Sam hadn't known how to stop it at first—until Danny had moved, scrambling away from his parents as though they'd burned him. Jazz pleading with her parents to just give him—them—some space—Can't you see you're scaring him? Look, I'll—I'll explain everything, but not here. He'll be fine for a few minutes; you can take him to the hospital then. She'd forced them out reluctantly, though they could see that their presence was making Danny afraid.

Sam and Tucker had taken the opportunity for what it was: a diversion. They'd gathered a few things and had hurried into Tucker's dad's car, as quietly as they could, while Jazz and the Fentons yelled in the other room.

Was there anything we could've done differently? To stop that look of fear, that odd stoniness Danny had gained as his parents revealed their feelings to him. Could they have tried to stop them earlier? But Tucker had barely registered his own horror before Danny had finally managed to flee from what he perceived as a threat.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" he asked, looking at Sam through his rearview mirror.

"I don't know," Sam said. Her voice was trembling. "It was almost worse than them flat-out rejecting him." Danny's head leaned on her shoulder, and she let it stay there, trying not to jostle him. "I don't think we can afford for him not to be okay, though, as callous as that is."

She was right, Tucker realized. Danny might have lost this fight, but he certainly hadn't lost the war. He sighed, pulling into his house's drive. How exactly am I supposed to get Mom and Dad to go for this? Especially after leaving like he had, forcing his dad to explain what little he'd managed to piece together to his mom. Well, I've probably done worse things. Maybe. It might take him a while to remember something worse, though.

"Should we carry him?" Tucker said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Unless you want to leave him in your dad's car, yes. How did he take that, by the way?" Sam said. Tucker stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him. He went around to the side and opened the back door. Together, he and Sam maneuvered Danny between them, him holding underneath his arms (wary of the broken one), she his legs.

"The car? I didn't really stick around long enough to find out," Tucker muttered.

They shuffled awkwardly to the front door, and Tucker realized he would have to open it somehow. "Er—"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Which pocket?" she said, lowering Danny's legs carefully to the ground. They were wrapped in bandages, but Tucker could see part of an oddly circular burn, as though someone had taken the heated rim of a cup and pressed it into his friend's skin. Definitely not from an ectoblast. Tucker took most of Danny's weight, trying not to put any pressure on his injuries.

"Front left," he replied, and as she was reaching into his pocket to get them (which was awkward but not the most awkward thing they'd ever done together), the front door began to open.

"—heard his voice, Maurice. I'm not—Tucker!" His mom's eyes widened as she turned to face them from where she'd been talking to her husband. "Where in the world have you been?" She seemed to register the fact that Sam—who'd leapt back from Tucker's pocket immediately, coughing—and Danny—who was asleep in Tucker's arms—were also there.

"The, um, the Fentons didn't take it well," Tucker said softly, staring at his mom. She'd cleaned herself up, and she was wearing pajamas, now. Her eyes looked red—from crying? Or is she tired? "Can he—they—stay here?"

His dad came up behind her, and he regarded the whole situation with only a modicum more calmness than his wife had. Tucker wondered what he was thinking; he was usually good about reading his parents, but… Now, they didn't seem as though they were looking at their son and his friends. They seemed as though they were looking at strangers.

Is that what we are now? Strangers to the people who are supposed to know us best?

"I—I don't…" His mom trailed off. She stared at Danny, at the gauze on his torso and legs and arms. Her gaze turned to her son's bandages, the deep cut Sam had stitched up on his arm, the bruises littering his body.

"We can let them stay one night," his dad murmured to her, also examining Danny. "Just one. We owe him that, at least."

"Alright," his mom conceded. She jabbed a finger at Tucker's chest. "But you're not disappearing again, young man. Danny can use your room, and Sam can use the guest room. We're going to have a talk."

They carried Danny to Tucker's bed, laying him down carefully. Tucker's parents watched from the doorway, as though they thought their son was going to go flying out of the window the minute they had their backs turned. He and Sam carefully tucked their best friend in (and if this wasn't what bros looked like, Tucker didn't know what bros were).

"You want back-up?" Sam asked, the words just barely louder than air.

"I'm not about to go for a round of fisticuffs with them, Sam. I don't need 'back-up'," Tucker murmured back, just as quiet. He could hear the tap-tap of his mom's nails on the wall.

"Yeah, you won't," Sam said, checking Danny's temperature with the back of her hand. "Your parents are actually reasonable—I'd almost forgotten, after the Fentons." She sighed. "I'll stay here with him. He might be disoriented when he wakes up." And the last thing we need is for him to start blasting, Tucker thought. That would really convince his parents to let Danny stay here.

"Okay," Tucker agreed, turning back to his parents. They seemed to take the hint, and he followed them out into the kitchen, which was lit with candles. It looked as though they were about to do a séance. I guess we could summon Technus. His leg, which had a long gash, ached, though Sam had cleaned and wrapped it (him closing his eyes the whole time).

He slid into the seat across from his parents; he debated, briefly, changing into his own clothes, but he thought his mom might explode if he delayed any further. In the light of the flames, his parents seemed even more uncertain, even more unlike themselves. I'm still your son, Tucker wanted to explain. There's just more to me than you thought.

"What have you, uh, managed to piece together so far?" Tucker asked. Do they know, now, why my grades dropped? Why I kept having "disciplinary" problems? Do they think I did the right thing?

"That Danny—the Danny you've known since you were both twelve years old—is somehow Phantom," his mom said. "Not that you bothered to stay around and explain it to us!"

Tucker scraped his fingernail lightly on the tablecloth. He got whiffs of the smoke every so often—pine and soap and cinnamon. We're lucky Dad likes candles so much. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just… left like that," he admitted. But what else was he supposed to have done? Danny needed me. He'd needed Tucker far more than his parents had, in that moment.

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," his dad said. "It dawned on me, and then you were gone. And neither of us knew where! And Danny… Do you realize how dangerous this sort of thing is, Tucker? You three were playing with your lives."

Playing with our lives… They did a lot of things, but not that. Two years of fighting had taught them how hazardous their new lifestyle was, better than any sort of lecture. The three didn't take risks unless they had to. "I…"

"We thought you were just going through a phase," his mom admitted, sounding close to tears. "Your grades dipped, but they went back up. We thought you'd started being more responsible… How could we have missed this? Why didn't you tell us, baby?"

Tucker swallowed. They thought he'd been more responsible… How could he explain, watching his best friend nearly die in the portal? How Danny had been so afraid, how he'd rejected the hospital, rejected his parents—and with good reason, it turned out. Tucker had been as terrified. Sometimes he'd sat in the hallway, just outside his parents' room, his body bruised, his muscles aching, debating going in, telling them everything. But he hadn't been able to.

"I don't think I knew how to," he said, finally looking up at them. "I'm still not sure I know how to. Once you start keeping the secrets… It's hard to let go." Especially when exposing only a part of the secret had led to Danny's confrontation with Valerie, the GIW, Agent R, and his parents. Its disclosure had brought them so much pain… Not to mention, it had all been a distraction to merge the worlds. The thought was still so foreign to him—he didn't know what to do with it. What did it mean, exactly? Could it be reversed?

"I think it's time to stop keeping them," his dad said. "We can start with something easy. Where did you go, exactly, when you took my car? You said to fight ghosts and to the shield, but you never really stayed long enough to properly explain." Technically, I said to "put up the shield." But clearly they'd been so shocked they hadn't really even been taking it what he'd been saying. Not that Tucker blamed them.

"To the mainstay," he replied. At their blank looks, he elaborated, "There were four we had to activate to get the shield up—the one over the city."

"That was you?" his mom said. There was an odd sort of wonder in her tone, and a fare bit of fear. "We thought—the police and the Fentons had coordinated it somehow. Without the public's knowledge. But you and—and Danny…"

"And Sam and Jazz," Tucker added. "Yeah. It was us. We didn't tell the police or the Fentons; they might've tried to stop us. Not everyone likes or trusts Phantom, and someone might have used it to steal the Fentons' tech. Who were we supposed to tell?"

"So you got the shield up—and then?" his dad prodded. Tucker wondered if this was how he treated the people he interviewed.

"I fought the ghosts inside the shield," Tucker said. "Like I said. And I'm sorry I took your car; I wouldn't have made it in time if I had walked." And then that "beast" or whatever would've rampaged through the city, causing worse damage than the earthquake did by itself.

But it didn't stop the Empress from "merging the worlds" or whatever. He shoved the thought down—the idea was too large to even really comprehend, much less experience.

"You fought them?" his mom demanded. "How many? And I saw you were hurt—and those bandages…"

"I'm fine," Tucker said. "I just have some cuts and bruises. The ghosts I was fighting were foot soldiers—cannon fodder type." Okay, so he was maybe downplaying it a tad. Sue him. He wasn't about to try and scare them further, especially because he knew he was going to have to convince them, at some point, to let him continue to do this. It's not over yet. The Empress was still out there, somewhere.

"And how did this all happen, exactly?" his dad asked. "With… with Danny?"

Tucker could see, in his mind's eye, his friend walking into the Portal. Screaming as it turned on, smoking as he came out, dazed, sick. His heart had been so slow at first—if they hadn't seen him moving, they would've thought he was dead. The odd vibrations in his chest, him suddenly falling through the floor.

Sam and Tucker hadn't known what to do except catch him.

"The…" He watched it again. "The Portal… I don't remember if I told you this already, but originally, when the Fentons turned it on, it didn't work. And—and we were being stupid…" They should've known better than to go messing with that stuff. But they'd been young, and Danny had been eager to show off, after so long of being ridiculed for his parents' professions. "It turned on. With him inside."

"And you didn't think to tell someone?" his mom demanded. "What if he'd been seriously hurt?"

He was. He was. We just didn't know then… How terrible it was. It had all seemed like some grand adventure at first, something out of a comic book. But Tucker knew they all carried scars—Danny's worst of all. "He kept falling through the floor," Tucker said, distantly. Was he talking to them or to himself? "Turning invisible… He couldn't control it. And then his parents wouldn't stop talking about—about dissecting him, Phantom. And the GIW showed up…" What were we supposed to do?

He hadn't known then, and he didn't know now. Had keeping it a secret been the right choice? Would it all have gone better if they'd just… just told someone? He'd thought about it—he knew they all had. They'd talked about it, for hours. But, ultimately, it had been Danny's decision. And his parents had… They've hurt him so badly, and they don't even know it.

"Oh, Tucker." His mom reached across the table and took his hand. "You're not alone now. You don't have to deal with—with any of that by yourself…" It sounded so much like what Danny's mom had said…

…You can rely on us, honey…

But his parents weren't like that. They weren't blinded by years of prejudice against something they didn't even understand. "I—I know," he choked out.

"And it's over now," his dad said. "You—you did an amazing job, stopping the invasion, and you don't have to—"

Tucker laughed, that same dark laugh he'd used with Lancer. Stopping the invasion? They hadn't stopped anything. Any of the people they might've managed to save from the ghosts had probably already died in the earthquake. The Empress merged the worlds, and everything—everything—outside of Amity is hers. The only reason the shield held is because we weren't her primary targets. He couldn't keep the thoughts at bay, any longer. His mind was beginning to process them, process the new, terrible reality around him.

Tucker had always coped with humor—much like Danny, or at least the Danny that had existed before all of this. Tucker had kept Sam and Danny distracted; they could both be so dark, so pessimistic sometimes—so, so harsh. Brittle. But there was no one here to pull him back from his own darkness, no one to distract him. His friends had already gone over the edge, and here he was, looking into the abyss and toppling and there was no one here to stop him.

And so he laughed—because if he didn't laugh, he would cry.

Nothing. Nothing is over. And we don't know how to make it right. He wanted to summon the optimism he usually had, but… It seemed hopeless.

"Tucker!" his mom cried as he leaned on the table, head in his hands, giggling because he couldn't stop. His shoulders shook; his diaphragm ached. Both of them watched, frozen in horror, at their son who had seemingly lost his mind.

Footsteps, the creak of a door. "What did you say to him?" Sam. When had she gotten here? She must've heard him—he tried to stop—

"Nothing! Just—that it's over, that everything's fine now!" his dad said, sounding almost as hysterical. Only one of us can be hysterical at a time, Dad, Tucker thought, trying to get himself under control.

"Pull it together, Tucker," Sam said harshly into his ear. She grasped his shoulders, and as much as he wanted to push her off, her grip was firm. Unyielding. Her eyes were shards of purple glass, sharp and fragile all at once. "Look at me. Look at me." He tried, taking gasping, hiccupping breaths. "We don't lie to each other," she hissed lowly, and that much was true, "so believe me when I tell you—we are going to win this, you get me? We'll stop her, no matter what. Okay?" When he didn't respond, she shook him, almost gently. "Okay?"

"Y-yeah. Okay." He shuddered. Satisfied he wasn't about to keel over again, Sam released him.

Good God, I'm almost as bad as Danny, Tucker thought, his racing thoughts finally calming. Next thing you know, I'll start blaming myself instead of the Empress for all this. The Empress. Right. They had faced terrible odds before, and they wouldn't be alone, this time. They had Dora and the other ghosts. And his parents, even if they were just moral support. We can win this—we have to.

"Tucker…" His dad couldn't bring himself to finish. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"It's fine," Tucker said, voice stronger. His breathing had almost entirely cleared. He rubbed his eyes, which had filled with tears. "But it's not over, and it won't be for a long time. We were—we thought the Empress, the ghost leading the invasion, was like Pariah. We thought she'd start with Amity before—before everywhere else." His voice faltered. How could he admit what had happened? What the Empress had really done while they were all distracted?

Sam continued for him. "We were wrong," she said simply. "The Empress somehow managed to merge Earth and the Ghost Zone together. We didn't win—we failed."

Danny's dreams enveloped him in a haze of shadow and fear. He couldn't move in most of them, trapped as his parents or Agent R cut into him. In one, his mom fed him blood blossoms until he keeled over and died. In another, he saw his own funeral, where his dad gave a speech as he was lowered into the ground: Our son died long ago. We were lucky we were able to purge the ghost from him before we buried him.

Sam or Tucker woke Danny up periodically, and he was dazed when they did. His core burned, at a low simmer, in his chest, but it was bearable. Why does it hurt? It had felt fine before. Every time he woke, his friends made sure to give him more ectoplasm, water, and food before he fell back asleep. He blearily recognized that he was in Tucker's room, but his mind could barely fit the pieces together, barely seemed to comprehend anything.

Sam had explained, briefly, that they'd brought him here. But what did my parents think? They were so set on me going to the hospital… So set on curing me… Would they have cut him open to cure him? Cut him open like Agent R had threatened to? He pushed away these half-formed thoughts, which lingered in the back of his mind as he drifted in and out of sleep.

I will not think about them. But it was clear he was thinking about them; he couldn't seem to escape them. When he closed his eyes, they were always there, waiting.

After Danny woke the fourth time, he didn't want to fall back asleep, didn't want to descend into the land of nightmares again. He forced himself up, looking at his surroundings. Sam was perched on the edge of Tucker's bed, having brought him an apple and a glass of milk.

Around him, Tucker's room was lit by the sun outside—it had to have been seven or eight o'clock. Good to know the sun still shines, even with the merging. The room was clean—impeccably so. No dirty clothes or dirty dishes, no stacks of paper, no half-hidden first aid supplies. Danny knew there was a guest room, so he couldn't be more thankful that both Sam and Tucker had elected to sleep on the floor in here, though he did feel bad for taking Tucker's bed.

He deserves to sleep in his own bed.

"Talk to me," Danny murmured sleepily to Sam as he sipped the milk. I won't fall asleep again. I won't. Why was he so tired in the first place? He almost felt worse now than he had been—and he'd slept, genuinely slept, for hours.

"What about?" Sam sounded amused. That's good. He didn't want to irritate her; she was tired, too, he knew. But he just… he knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake on his own. Why am I so tired?

"I don't know." He sighed, struggling to keep his eyes open. I won't go back to sleep. "Anything."

He didn't want to see their faces again. He didn't want to hear about them curing him, fixing him. He couldn't take it—was he really so defective, such a bad son? What was so wrong with him, that they couldn't just… accept him? Why was their hatred for ghosts so much stronger than their love for him? He shoved the thoughts away, forcefully. If I feel them, I won't be able to function.

"If you're trying to stay awake, it might be a better idea for you to talk," Sam said, taking the glass as it almost slipped from his fingers. I will stay awake… The apple sat, uneaten, on Tucker's nightstand, though Sam didn't seem inclined to force him.

"What…" His thoughts were mired in a thick, white fog. He tried to find the words. "What should I talk about?"

"Actually, I just remembered," Sam said. She scooted closer. "Open your mouth—I wanted to check on your tooth. Jazz told me you lost it."

Lost it? My tooth? Why… Oh, right. That was an oddly delicate sort of wording. Feeling slow, he opened his mouth. He wasn't sure how she could see in the still-dim light, but shedidn't get any light out or ask him to move. He could barely feel anymore where the Empress had torn out his tooth. He heard her threats to tear out his tongue echo in his head. They mingled with Agent R's.

…cut you up…

"Holy shit," she muttered, leaning forward. Danny leaned back, closing his mouth.

"What?" he asked, tentatively poking at the hole with his tongue. Only, there wasn't a hole—there was a tooth. His eyes widened. I can… Grow back my teeth? He'd never done that before, though he supposed he'd never lost a tooth before—or not that he'd noticed, anyway. That shouldn't be possible. He'd thought his powers only expedited healing; he hadn't thought that they were able to completely regenerate bits he'd lost. Did this mean he could lose an arm, and it would grow back?

"It must be because of your core," Sam muttered to herself. She moved backward, seemingly realizing that she had been encroaching on his personal space. "Did Jazz or Tucker get the chance to tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Danny rubbed his chest, though it did nothing to lessen the heat there.

"We, well…" And Sam went on to explain how they had found Allistor, and how the ghost had told them what was wrong with him. How Danny's core had been close to giving out—because he'd been using the "baseline amount of energy he needed to survive," or whatever. How his human half had begun regulating everything, without input from his core. How that had led to dangerous overheating, until he had "jump-started" his core again by turning back into Phantom. How his near-death experience had triggered his core into a RMS.

He received little pleasure from the thought that his core was growing. Would he have to somehow find time to master a new power, on top of everything else? Everything else… It weighed on the back of his mind—the Empress, the world, the merging, his parents. There were so many things left undone… So many people the Empress had killed—was killing… And Danny didn't know where—where were the other portals she had created?

And how was he meant to fix what he'd created? This all happened because I failed. I failed. He only found comfort in the fact that he had managed to save Amity, for all the good it had done. Crushed under debris… And I can't even help with the rescue effort. I'm sorry.

Danny wasn't even sure he had managed to understand all that Sam had said. His brain was thick, so thick, like moving through sludge. It sounded so bizarre to him. How had he known so little about his own anatomy? It was baffling. I should've asked the yetis more questions. But why hadn't Frostbite told him? I guess I was more focused on mastering my ice powers to defeat Undergrowth more than anything else. Still. The yeti definitely could've spared five minutes to go over basic ghost anatomy.

Maybe he thought I already knew. It sounds like it's common knowledge in the Far Frozen. He yawned.

"You should go back to sleep," Sam said gently, moving to go back to her pallet on the floor.

"No!" Danny protested, before lowering his voice. "No." He felt vulnerable, suddenly. Like a child asking his parent to stay until he fell asleep. "I can't…" This was Sam—Sam who had seen him injured, seen him die. It's okay, he tried to tell himself. She'll understand.

"Nightmares?" she guessed, standing. He should've known she had already determined why he didn't want to sleep. She didn't wait for confirmation—she'd seen his nightmares first-hand. "Alright. Budge up." It took him a moment to realize what she wanted, but once he did, Danny moved to the center of the bed. Sam sat next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, though she sounded more cursory, as though she didn't expect him to. Danny relaxed. She doesn't want anything from me. It was a nice feeling; she didn't need him to put up any sort of front.

"Not really," he said, pausing. Something had been itching at him, just slightly, since Jazz had brought it up. "I have been curious though. I know you, uh, got me away from Agent R, but—how?" The memory of it all haunted him, almost worse than his parents. To be forced to lie helplessly, barely conscious, as Agent R threatened to torture him, to hurt him... He hadn't been able to do anything. He'd been worse than worthless. Just one agent, and I couldn't even save myself from him. The Empress had been right—he was weak.

"I snuck up behind him and knocked him out," Sam answered. She didn't seem self-satisfied, as he would've expected. Instead, she seemed… upset. Almost scared. "We left him there. How much do you remember about—about what happened? Do you know how he found you?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't want to talk about this. But I started the conversation, he reminded himself. And she deserves to know. She'd rescued him from… from…

…When we're through, you won't know which way's up or down…

He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to remember the way Agent R's voice had trembled with—with delight. He didn't want to remember how the warm barrel had felt, pressed to his head. He didn't want to remember lying uselessly on the ground, paralyzed.

"I think—" His throat was dry. "He must've found me the same way you did—my ecto-signature. I fell through the shield from above, like I—like I told Jazz. He found me, but I was… I was so weak, Sam." Weak. He'd been too weak to defeat the Empress, too weak to stop Agent R. "He was so pleased. He told me to change back at first—to make sure I was Phantom. But I—I couldn't… The barrel of the ectogun was—he dialed it up, and you know how warm the tip of it gets. He…" Danny rubbed the marks on his thigh.

…Such a unique specimen… I don't want to damage you further… Just change, you disgusting piece of shit…

He had been nearly past pain, at that point. He hadn't really been there, in the moment. And Agent R was nothing compared to the Empress. But it had been Danny's own uselessness that had paralyzed him, not telekinesis. That was worse, somehow. He had failed again.

"You don't have to talk about it anymore," Sam said. But Danny—Danny wanted her to know what she had saved him from.

"I couldn't move," he whispered. "I heard you, when you brought me back. Well, sort of. And I couldn't move then, either. I just… couldn't do anything." He looked down at his hands; they were shaking. He clenched them around Tucker's sheets.

"We won't leave you like that again," Sam told him. She doesn't get it. She thought if—if they were there, with him, it wouldn't matter if he faltered; they would pick up the slack. But the thought of them with him when he faced down the Empress, the image of her tearing them apart, in front of him…

"You might have to." He hunched into himself. "And I can't fail, next time."

"You didn't fail," Sam said. "We didn't understand the scope of everything."

Danny faced her. "And what can you call that except failure? I failed, Sam, and people died because of it… Died right in front of me. And that's—that's my fault." She had to understand. I failed. I'm sorry.

"It is not your fault!" Sam hissed. There was that same rage in her eyes, the one she always had when they talked about this. "Why do you always blame yourself? The only person you should be blaming is the Empress."

It was kind of her to say the words—but kindness didn't make them true. "No. No. We should've been more prepared. I should've prepared us better, prepared the whole town better." He should've done so many things. He should've saved them, saved the world. Thousands had to be dead by now—if not millions. And even knowing this, he was too tired—too weak—to leave the damn bed.

"It's not your fault!" Sam insisted.

"I tried to stop her from merging the Zone and the Earth, and I failed. And people died.I tried to fight her, defeat her, and I failed. And more people died.I tried to move, and I failed. I couldn't—I couldn't even move…" He trailed off, staring at the blanket in front of him. If he'd only been more conservative with his powers, if he'd only understood. If he'd only known more…

"None of those deaths are yours," Sam said. "They're not. It's not your fault."

He didn't want to argue. His eyes were drooping again, and he wanted it to all be normal. The sunlight outside the window was a watery green, but Danny didn't know if it was from the shield or the merging. He didn't know, and he was helpless. Still.

"If you two get any louder, my parents might just kick you out," a voice said from the floor. Danny and Sam turned to look at Tucker, who sat up, still wearing Danny's clothes. "And I might help them." He looked up at them. "Are we having some kind of intervention?"

"No," Danny said.

"Yes," Sam said at the same time. They eyed each other.

"Ah, yes. That clears it up, thanks. Well, 'clears it up' like when you put mud in a plastic cup and try to use it as an eyeglass." He stood, his blankets wrapped around him like a shroud, and, without regard for Danny's personal space, sat on the other side of the bed. I guess it is his room.

"What has Dr. Sam diagnosed you with today?" Tucker questioned, peering at Sam over mimed glasses (he'd left his somewhere on the floor).

"An overactive guilt complex," Sam practically growled. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Tucker."

"What would you call it then?" Danny asked, tired. "If it's not 'failure.' Any way you look at it, people are dead. And they're dead when I could've stopped it. I'm so useless I can't even go intangible to help dig people out, Sam." To his horror, he felt pressure building behind his eyes—and in his core. I'm not about to cry. I can handle it.

"But if it hadn't been for you—for us—would anyone still be alive?" Sam demanded. If it hadn't been for me, everyone wouldn't have been so distracted in the first place. The logic didn't fit with his emotions; how could he feel so bad about it all if it wasn't his fault? I failed. I failed.

"She's right, dude—you did your best. You saved Amity," Tucker said.

Amity? Amity? What did Amity matter in the scheme of things? The whole fucking world had been taken over. He had "saved" Amity—for all that it had been decimated by the force of the merging—but he'd left the rest of the earth for the Empress to destroy far more thoroughly. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so weak.

"My best wasn't good enough!" He shuddered, his core vibrating almost painfully in his chest, overreacting to his emotions. "I couldn't move…" Was he talking about Agent R or the Empress? Or his parents? Did it matter? He had been useless regardless of the situation—he had been helpless, powerless. He had always managed to do something—a quick comeback, a stupid pun. He hadn't been able to do anything.

The power in his core thrummed and swelled, and he coughed. He flickered in and out of vision, his powers reacting to his distress, and he could feel his eyes changing, glowing. Frost gathered on his arms and face and stiffened his clothes. I haven't lost control like this in ages, he thought, panicking. It didn't help.

"Danny, Danny, it's okay. Calm down!" Sam was saying. On his other side, Tucker gave him similar platitudes, but Danny didn't want them. He wanted to get away.

But seemingly, his core didn't agree. The vibrating slowed as they touched his arms and shoulders, trying to calm him. It felt like—like safety. Like his core knew—somehow—there was no danger here. Eventually, the terrible thrumming stopped completely, and Danny found himself oddly relaxed. The heat in his core was gone.

He fell asleep with his best friends on either side of him, pleading, once again, for him to stay awake.

Valerie's exhaustion was bone-deep. It saturated her muscles and skin and eyes. She had tracked down every last damn ghost inside the shield, blasting until she'd ran out of charge. Then, she'd had to use her fists, sometimes using her intangible-proof gauntlets to grab hold of the ghosts and hold them against the shield until they dissolved. The Fentons had really come through, repairing her armor. She was just thankful her dad—who'd been at work when the earthquake had hit—was safe.

Her radar beeped, and she looked down. I could've sworn… But it was a known ecto-signature—in fact, it was… No way… Valerie noted the direction and took off, flying toward the signature. It can't be her. How did she even get here? Valerie flew higher when she heard the sirens—she'd been hearing them for the past few hours, and they were as haunting as they were relieving.

Valerie realized where she was nearing and slowed. Why would she come here, of all places? She finally saw her as she rounded the corner, flying steadily through the air. She'd changed, since Valerie had last seen her. Her hair was longer, pulled into a braid, though her bangs were a messy as they'd ever been. She wore the same suit, but a spear—something Valerie had never seen her carry before—was strapped to her back.

"Hey, Dani!" she shouted, going faster to pull up to the half-ghost girl. She turned, her face lighting up as she saw Valerie. She'd visited occasionally, but she said it was never as often as she liked.

"Val!" She threw her arms around the Huntress. Valerie hugged her back. "I'm so glad you're okay! I wasn't sure, with everything… I tried to come sooner, to help, but the Zone is—or was, I guess—a mess. It wasn't safe to travel."

"You were in the Zone?" Valerie asked, concern leaking into her voice. The place was filled with dangerous, barbaric ghosts—no place for anyone, much less a fourteen-year-old. "Why?"

"Well, mostly to learn. The yetis let me stay to teach me—said it would be 'remiss' of them if they let me 'wander about' without knowing basic math and stuff," Dani replied. "And I go by El now. It just gets too confusing, with—well."

Yetis? Who the hell are the 'yetis'? And to 'learn'? If she'd wanted to learn, she had to know she could've enrolled in public school—a human public school. But maybe she didn't want to—she can't have many places to go. Her human clothes always looked old and ragged, and she was always just slightly too thin. The effect was exaggerated by her height; she'd grown since her last visit.

"Yetis?" Valerie asked.

"Oh, right. It's like a—country, maybe? Society? In the Zone… Except maybe not in the Zone, anymore. It's called the Far Frozen, inhabited by a group of ghosts that call themselves 'yetis.' They're sort of… well, like yetis. Except ghosts," Dani—El, right—explained. That literally clears nothing up. What was she doing, hanging out with a whole society of ghosts? Ghosts were a violent, brutal bunch. And while Valerie knew the girl was capable, there were always limits.

"What do you mean—not in the Zone?" She wasn't making any sense—and how had she known Amity was in danger? How had she known to come? Had these—these "yetis" known about the invasion?

"Haven't you seen the sky?" El asked. Valerie immediately looked up. It was green, sure, but that was because of the shield. She had been so thankful when it had gone up around the city, though she wondered why the Fentons—because it had to have been the Fentons—hadn't told anyone about building it. And why hadn't they activated it before? "Or the islands? Or the—the water?"

"What are you talking about?" Valerie demanded. The girl regarded her with serious eyes.

"Let me ride your board," she said. "Fly up through the shield—I'll show you." At first, Valerie didn't understand—why did she need to ride on her board? But she realized—she can't pass through the shield in her ghost form. She nodded.

Dani—El—hugged her close, standing behind her on the board. She was still shorter than Valerie, though not by much, and she changed into her human form. Valerie flew slowly up through the shield, not wanting to accidentally throw El off—even if she could fly by herself.

Valerie gasped as they made it up through the shield: the sky was wrong. It had a greenish tinge—the green of the Zone. And, far above—were those clouds? No. They had the wrong shape, the wrong color…

"They're islands," El said. "The islands from the Zone—they float here, now. The Far Frozen is way north of here—somewhere in Canada, maybe. It's hard to tell. I flew as fast as I could after it happened, but I wasn't fast enough."

What did it mean? The islands from the Ghost Zone in the earth's sky. Impossible, she would've said, if she hadn't been seeing it with her own eyes. Her radar beeped, sensing an array of ghosts now that the shield wasn't blocking their signatures. Are all of the ghosts from the Zone here, too? The thought filled her with horror. So many people were out there, ignorant about ghosts. Normal weapons would be useless; a ghost could simply go intangible to evade them.

"How—" Her voice cracked painfully. It was too much to take in. Those filthy ghosts are probably out there, terrorizing innocent people already. She longed to go after them all, but it would be suicide, especially given how tired she was.

"That earthquake—I'm sure you felt it? It happened in the Zone, too, and the next thing we knew… It had to have been the Empress. But I need to find—" She cut herself off, glancing at Valerie as though unsure.

"You mean—that earthquake—it wasn't natural? The Zone felt it?" And probably the whole world, too, then. A worldwide catastrophe. There were places, she knew, that probably didn't have enough earthquakes to be truly prepared for them. She'd thought it had simply been an unlucky coincidence that an earthquake had struck Amity at the same time as an invasion.

"Of course we did. Our world was being moved just as much as yours was," El replied. She sighed. "It's been nice seeing you, but I really have to go. We can meet up again later."

"What do you have to get to that's so important?" Valerie asked. "And what did she do? I don't—I don't understand." How was it possible that the Zone's islands were here? Would she find floating doors somewhere, too?

"She merged Earth and the Zone," El said. "Please—I need to go, and my signature might attract ghosts. Can we go back through the shield?" Valerie hovered just above the shield, craning her neck awkwardly to get a good look at the younger girl. She had filled out slightly, but Valerie still thought she was too thin. She had an ugly beanie jammed on her head, and she wore tattered tennis shoes and baggy, old clothes. The spear was still strapped to her back.

"She merged them?" But the half-ghost didn't look like she was joking; her lips were set into a thin line. The Empress—the ghost Phantom had mentioned on the rooftop? Was this why he had sounded so desperate? Because he'd known just how powerful his enemy was? "And you didn't answer my first question."

El scowled further. "It's none of your damn business, Valerie. We can talk more later. Now go back down through the shield."

"Not until you answer," Valerie said, defiant. "Why were you headed toward Fenton Works? What do you have to find?" There was no reason for the girl to fly toward the people who'd either shoot her on sight or capture her. She'd been to Amity enough times to know to be wary of the Fentons, and she had to know about their high-tech detection equipment. Their aim may not have been the greatest sometimes (particularly Mr. Fenton's), but they were persistent. That, at least, the Huntress and the Fentons had in common.

"I told you: none of your damn business. And I don't need your help to get through the shield." With a furious glare, she let go of Valerie and stepped off the board. Valerie shouted, swooping to catch her, but as soon as Dani—El—was through the shield, she changed back, catching herself mid-air. Valerie flew low as she began to make her way toward the Fenton household again.

"I'm just worried about your safety," she said, flying next to the half-ghost girl, who was determinedly ignoring her. "If you need some kind of equipment, let me get it for you."

"I'm not looking for equipment," El said curtly. "You can go away and sleep—I know you're tired." That was true. Valerie could feel the ache in her muscles, though her suit had protected her from anything worse than bruising.

"I won't let you put yourself in danger—"

"I'm not going as a ghost!" El exclaimed, whirling. Valerie stopped far less gracefully. "I'll transform back. I'm not stupid."

"But if they sense you—"

"They won't." She crossed her arms.

"But I don't see why you have to go in the first place," Valerie said. "There should be no reason to go to the Fentons if you're not looking for equipment." Was it the Fentons themselves? Their expertise was considered very valuable across the city, but El probably knew more about ghosts than they did, all things considered. Was it to see Jazz? That didn't make sense. Or Danny?

No. That's not… But the Zone and the earth had merged—could Valerie really say with certainty what was possible and impossible anymore? We dated! Briefly, true, but she had thought they were friends—could he really be… Phantom had run his hand through his hair. I knew I'd recognized the gesture somewhere. And the face, the build—Danny was shorter than her, too.

Not to mention the tardies. The absences. Danny had been smart in ninth grade, driven—things like that didn't just go away. And Phantom had been good at coming up with plans—so determined. But he'd been cocky, while Danny was shy and modest. There were too many similarities to deny, though. Too many to be a coincidence.

Phantom was Danny.

"No way…" she breathed. Had she really been so stupid? He always raised his hand seconds before a ghost showed up on her radar. He had bruises, sometimes—she'd thought they'd been from Dash. She felt like she needed to sit down. Anger swelled, but Valerie had thought about everything Phantom had told her on the rooftop two weeks ago.

Why would he have told me? She knew she had been hunting her classmate, in some distant part of her mind—but it had been for a good cause. It had been for her dad. He'd been a criminal anyway, at least at first. And she hadn't thought "classmate" translated to "sort of ex-boyfriend." But he isn't a criminal, and there never was any reward. Shame, hot and piercing, swept through her, dousing her anger easily.

"You know, then?" Valerie asked, looking at El. That was the reason she was going to Fenton Works. To see Danny. The half-ghost girl looked nervous, though she hid it well.

"Know what?" she said. "Look—I really need to go." She started to fly away.

"I figured it out, El. I know Danny is Phantom."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six: An Expansion

Excerpt from An Overview of the Merge, by Jane Graham, 2038:

…The physics of the Ghost Zone are very different from the physics of our dimension. In some ways, they are entirely incompatible. By combining them, Idolum set off chain reactions that we are just now truly beginning to understand. For example, the way water behaved during this period is still something of a mystery, though many theories have been posited.

One of these theories is that Earth's gravity was somehow lessened because of the Merge. However, due to the lack of…

"Did you hit your head or something? What the hell are you talking about?" El asked, crossing her arms and hovering mid-air. She raised her chin defiantly. And Valerie had to give it to her; if she hadn't been totally convinced, she might've believed the act.

"I'm not stupid," Valerie said. "It fits—actually, it explains a lot. His weird behavior, why you're going to Fenton Works... Everything." It was bizarre, how many of the puzzle pieces slotted into place, how much was explained. She really had been an idiot; it was so clear, now.

"Yeah, believe whatever crazy theory you want," El said, flying forward. She was trying to play it off, pretend everything was fine. "I don't care. But shouldn't you go home? Your dad's probably worried." Probably. But he would just have to wait a while—Valerie knew he would understand. This was important.

"I'm not falling for a ploy that obvious. I'm coming with you," Valerie decided.

"No, you're not because that's not why I'm going to Fenton Works. Whoever this—this 'Danny' is, he's not Phantom," El insisted. She'd stopped flying again, and Valerie could see an odd sort of desperation in her eyes, needing the Huntress to drop this, to believe her.

But Valerie knew she was right, and she wouldn't drop it. "You're not a good a liar as you think you are. He's my friend, Dani—El. I'm not going to… do anything, if that's what you're worried about." And it was true; she had made peace with Phantom, and she had never disliked Danny. Neither were in any danger from her, but she wanted to see them—him. She wanted to… get answers. Apologize, maybe. She had wanted to ask him more questions on the roof-top, after all, before he'd ran off. And those questions had only grown in number, sprouting within her like weeds that were just asking for herbicide.

"Your friend, huh?" El put her hands on her hips. She had dropped all pretenses. "And when was the last time you spoke to him?"

"Well, I—" When was the last time she'd spoken to him? She had to have said hello, had a passing conversation in the halls… But she couldn't think of a single, recent incident. So that left… "Two weeks ago," she admitted. "But I swear I just want to talk."

"You're not coming with me," El insisted. "He'll just get panicked—let me talk to him first; you don't even know if he wants to see you. And with everything else happening right now, he probably doesn't need the stress."

Right. The worlds merging. He probably already knows about that. Phantom was always in the thick of things. For the first time, the thought didn't make Valerie pleased; Danny, the sweet, innocent boy she'd liked, didn't deserve to be in the thick of things. Phantom and Fenton were still separate in her mind. She wondered how could they be the same, even though she knew they were. She needed to talk with him.

"How did you figure it out, anyway?" El asked. "You didn't know before now, I'm sure of it."

"It just… made sense, suddenly." Valerie answered. She decided to try a new tactic. "What if you need help? What if the Fentons try to hurt you?"

"They won't. And Jazz will be there, too. Really, Valerie, it's better if you go home. Okay?" So Jazz knows, then. El's green eyes—which looked so much like Phantom's—were wide and earnest.

Valerie shook her head. "I'll just follow you. You might as well take me along willingly." El pursed her lips, muttering something about "stubborn" and "ridiculous."

But she gave in regardless of her feelings. "Fine. But you're not going to jump him, alright?" Valerie was almost offended—she wasn't going to do anything to him. But you shot him, even after you knew he wasn't a criminal. You shot him even after you knew he was human. Her actions were shameful now, almost painful. Had she really been so blind? But she knew the answer—yes, she had been.

"Okay," Valerie agreed.

They flew together to Fenton Works, touching down just a few buildings away. El changed forms, the bright white rings washing over her. Valerie imagined those same rings washing over Phantom, transforming him into Danny. The image didn't work in her mind, fizzling out. She knew, logically, that Danny was Phantom, but the idea still didn't fit.

As they approached the house, Valerie could hear yelling inside.

"—no right to tell him what he has to do! You have no right, and I wouldn't be surprised if he never wants to see you again, after what you did!" That was Jazz, Danny's older sister. She sounded angrier than Valerie had ever heard her. Furious, even. Valerie had always seen the girl as calm and collected, so to hear her sound so out of control…

"What we did? We're trying to help him! He's diseased, Jasmine—it's not 'who he is'! It's a sickness! It's not natural, for someone to be both human and ghost at the same time. He is ill, and you're stopping him from receiving treatment! We are his parents—not you!" Mrs. Fenton. Valerie went cold, and she shared a wide-eyed look with El, who seemed alarmed. They were talking about Danny—they had to be.

"Just tell us where he is, Jazz." Mr. Fenton. He seemed marginally more in control than Jazz or Mrs. Fenton, but his voice was still loud. Valerie and El hovered just outside the door. Do we knock? Or wait? But it didn't seem like they were going to be stopping anytime soon. "We have to go get him! He could be dying, for all we know."

"He's not." Jazz's tone was derisive, mocking. Valerie had never heard that tone before. "Which you would know if you had bothered to actually ask him instead of deciding, like always, that you know everything WITHOUT ALL THE EVIDENCE! What kind of scientists are you! You hunted him like he was an animal, and instead of supporting him and SAYING YOU'RE FUCKING SORRY, YOU GO AND TELL HIM HE'S DISEASED! HE HAS ENOUGH FUCKING PROBLEMS WITHOUT YOU THERE MAKING THEM WORSE!"Valerie had never heard Jazz cuss before. And at her parents, too. She winced.

"You are not allowed to talk to us like that; we are your parents—" Mrs. Fenton sounded pissed, not that Valerie blamed her. Danny's parents must've found out then. Recently, the same as her.

"I'm a legal adult, and I'll DO WHAT I LIKE! Not that you were ever even there to parent me—I'm eighteen, now—"

"Jazz, that's enough." Mr. Fenton's voice was cold. "Please. Maddie, come on. I'm sure he's at Sam's or Tucker's house—we'll check there first—"

"You're not leaving! You won't listen to him—you won't listen to me—you don't give a damn about any sort of evidence—that much is clear! I won't let you hurt him anymore!" Jazz sounded close to hysterical. El looked pale and upset, and Valerie put one gauntleted hand on her shoulder. She had thought the Fentons would be asleep or still out rounding up ghosts, though with little to no ghosts left, she supposed they didn't need to. She worried, briefly, about revealing her identity, but she supposed if Danny knew, then Jazz probably knew… They'd kept it a secret. And the Fentons liked the Huntress.

"We're not going to hurt him; we're going to take him to a hospital and cure him—"

"Not going to hurt him? Did you even see the look on his face when you said he was sick? YOU ALREADY HURT HIM! And haven't you been listening? We have bigger problems—like the Zone and Earth being merged, for one—"

"We already told you that's not possible, Jazz. The Empress was lying—"

"The Empress? What about the FUCKING EARTHQUAKE? Why are the two of you so blind? God, I can't stand it—Danny doesn't deserve this!" Valerie felt like she was intruding. This was an intimate family argument, definitely not meant for her ears. Or El's, probably. Though, they were cousins… Except she'd thought Danny didn't have any cousins—just a lone aunt in Arkansas.

Danny's parents thought he was diseased… Valerie had never thought of it that way before, though she supposed they had a point, even though it sounded like they'd gone about it the wrong way. To be half-ghost, forced to be human and at the same time something as vile and violent as a ghost… But Jazz was right in pointing out they had bigger things to worry about. Danny had survived being half-ghost for two years; Valerie was certain he'd be okay for at least a few more days.

A cure, though… She looked down at Dani—El. Was it possible to free her from her ghost half? Make her normal again, reverse whatever had happened to make her half-ghost?

"Maybe we should go," Valerie said quietly. "I don't think we should be listening to this."

"If they weren't his parents, I'd pound them," El said, her hands clenching. She looked serious, but... She wouldn't really hurt a human, would she? And they were her aunt and uncle—supposedly. Valerie had never thought about it before, but El was… rather violent. Was it an influence from her ghost half?

"—blast the GAV to pieces before I let you have another chance to hurt him!" Jazz was saying. "Why don't you just go to the lab like you always do and invent some NEW WAY TO KILL HIM? Some new way to TORTURE HIM? OH, I'M SORRY, I FORGOT—HE'S A GHOST, SO HE CAN'T DIE, RIGHT? HE CAN'T EVEN FEEL PAIN, RIGHT?" Valerie flinched, though the words weren't directed at her. She had thought that about Phantom—about Danny.

"I really think we should go," Valerie said. She felt dirty, just standing there and listening. It wasn't any of her business, really. And it sounded like Danny wasn't even at Fenton Works.

"No," El said, straightening her shoulders. "I want to talk to Jazz—figure out what happened—"

"Is it any of your business?" Valerie asked. El leveled a glare at her.

"Like following me was your business? I'm knocking." And without further ado, she raised her fist and gave the door three sharp raps.

The house fell silent. Valerie heard footsteps before the door opened to reveal a red-eyed Jazz. Her hair was mussed, and there were scrapes and bruises visible on her face. She fought, too? It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was.

"Dani?" she asked, landing on the blue-eyed, black-haired girl. "How did you get here? I thought you were in the—" Her eyes landed on Valerie, still in her Red Huntress suit, and her jaw shut audibly. "V—Huntress." Her tone had turned cool, not that Valerie blamed her. She had shot her brother, after all…

"Who is it, Jazz?" Mrs. Fenton called from inside the house. Jazz scowled darkly, the expression alien on her normally cheerful face.

"No one of your concern!" she called back, stepping outside and shutting the door behind her. She was shoeless, Valerie noticed. Jazz regarded her coolly. "Why are you here? Did some of your equipment break again?"

"It's okay, Jazz—she knows," El broke in. "I came just after the Zone and the earth merged. I'm sorry I was late."

"What do you mean 'she knows'? And she's just fine with it?" Jazz demanded, looking back and forth between El and Valerie.

"I know Danny is Phantom," Valerie said. "And I am 'fine' with it." Well, more fine than her parents, anyway.

"She just figured it out," El said, looking down. "She saw me coming here, and it clicked into place. I'm sorry."

Jazz sighed, rubbing her arms; it was cold outside. "It's okay. But you're sure she's safe?" she asked, looking directly into El's eyes. Irritation flared in Valerie's gut.

"She is right here. And I only wanted to talk to him," Valerie said, crossing her arms. So she had made some mistakes—while she could understand a cold attitude, there was no reason to be outright rude.

"Jazz, what happened?" El stepped closer. "We heard some of the argument. Did they—are they really…"

Tears welled in Jazz's eyes, and she looked down, wiping them away. Her breath hitched. "They—they think he's sick, that he needs to be cured. I think they told him before—he was acting so strange, avoiding them more than usual. I think he knew—knew they'd never be able to—to—" She sobbed, and El hugged her, patting her back.

Valerie stood there awkwardly. She felt bad for Jazz, and Danny, but the Fentons… They kind of had a point. It wasn't natural for someone to be both human and ghost. She would never say it so—so harshly, though. And it wasn't like it was Danny's—or El's—fault. The "condition" or whatever might not even be reversible. How could something un-die, after all?

"What happened?" El pressed gently. "Is Danny okay? They didn't hurt him, or—" Jazz was shaking her head into El's shoulder, pulling back and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"No, they didn't hurt him. Not physically, at least. They found out during the invasion—Danny had to cross the shield." Jazz seemed to have forgotten Valerie was there, not that Valerie minded. She didn't want to be accused again. "And he was hurt badly, Dani. So bad, we thought… But he made it, and we brought him here, and then they came, and—and he looked so hopeful." She sniffled, wiping her eyes again. "I distracted them while Sam and Tucker got him out."

"He's okay, though?" El asked. Jazz nodded.

"He's fine." She smiled wanly. "Or as fine as he can be, anyway. We still have to figure out this whole 'worlds merging' thing. Honestly I just want to go to sleep." Her voice sounded hoarse—how long had she been arguing?

"Should we be worried about your parents driving off?" El asked, but Jazz shook her head.

"I took both pairs of keys and hid them," she said. "They haven't figured out they're missing yet." They stood in silence for a moment.

"Where did Sam and Tucker take Danny?" Valerie said. Talking to him now no longer felt appropriate, but maybe in the morning… Jazz startled—she really had forgotten about Valerie.

"You're not talking to him," Jazz told her firmly. "Not for a while, anyway. At least a week, probably. We'll tell him you wanted to."

"Look, I'm not going to hurt him," Valerie said. "I promise, okay? I won't try anything—"

"The last thing Danny needs is to see another person he doesn't trust," Jazz all but growled. "Especially someone who shot him and revealed that he had a secret identity to the whole city."

"What?" El cried, looking at Valerie, who felt as though she'd been doused in ice. She had done those things, hadn't she? She had hurt Danny… Did she deserve to talk with him? If I'm ever going to make up for those things, I'll have to. It would be a difficult, drawn-out conversation, but Valerie needed to make it right.

"I don't know how much information got to you, in the Zone," Jazz said grimly, eyes still trained on Valerie. The Huntress swallowed. How would El take what she'd done? Not well, she thought. Not well. "But Technus broadcasted to Amity that Phantom was half-human, and he made up some reward for the person to expose him. Only no one really knew what they were even looking for, until Valerie shot him and exposed the fact that he had a living, breathing human form!"

Valerie pressed her lips together. What could she say to defend herself? She'd needed the reward money—needed it for her and her dad, for a better life. And she'd thought Phantom was a criminal. But now those justifications seemed flimsy, like using a cardboard box for shelter during a hurricane.

"Tell me you didn't do that, Valerie," Dani—El—said, eyes pleading. "Tell me you didn't do that. You knew he was human, and you shot him anyway?" Valerie remembered how weak Phantom had looked, trapped in the net between all the ghost hunters. How hurt. The burn on his chest—the burn she'd given him.

She felt sick.

"I…" There was nothing she could say to make it better. The truth was, she had shot Phantom, knowing he was human. There was no excuse, no recourse. Perhaps Danny's own forgiveness could absolve her, but… Valerie couldn't go asking now, not when he was—by the sound of it—very hurt.

"And you wanted to talk?" El demanded. Her blue eyes—the exact same shade as Danny's, Valerie noticed—were brimming with hurt and anger. Wild, like a blizzard. "Get out of here, Valerie."

"Please, I didn't—"

"GET OUT OF HERE! I—I can't believe you!"

"I'm sor—"

"FLY HOME!" El bellowed, charging forward to make her do just that.

Valerie flew off on her board before El could reach her, the terrible, guilty nausea still churning low in her gut.

Danny's eyes throbbed. It was a bizarre, terrible sensation. It wasn't a headache, not a traditional one; the pain didn't come from within his skull. Instead, his very eyeballs seemed to pulse. He kept them covered with his arms, though his fingertips seemed to hurt, too. As did his nose. Not the tip of it—the ache went deeper than that, radiating from almost behind it. And his ears hurt. The feelings were so strange Danny had been afraid something was very, very wrong with him, but Sam and Tucker assured him the ghost—Allistor—had told them he might experience odd, phantom pains. Ha. Phantom pains.

Jazz had used the Fenton phones to contact them the afternoon after… everything. Their normal phones didn't get signal any more, and it would only be a matter of time before Sam and Tucker's went dead. Her voice had been full of tears as she'd told them that Danny's parents weren't any closer to accepting him. She'd told them that Dani had shown up—though apparently she went by El now—with Valerie of all people.

The Huntress had figured it out. The thought filled Danny with dread, deep and coiling, wrapping around him like the body of a snake. She had accepted a truce with Phantom, but would she end up like—like his parents had? Would she reject him? He kept waiting for her to show up, though his friends assured him that if she did, they'd drive her off.

His failure itched in the back of his mind, along with his parents' rejections. If he focused on it, he knew he'd crumble again, and his friends seemed to know it, too. Neither brought up his breakdown, and neither spoke of his parents, either. It was as irritating as it was relieving. Staying here at Tucker's house (he'd moved to the guest bedroom, giving Tucker back his bed), it felt like Danny was in limbo. He slept, only waking to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom.

He had no plan to stop the Empress; he didn't yet know what she had really done to the world. He didn't know how she'd done it, either. He didn't know how to reverse it. He didn't… He didn't know anything, it felt like. And all he could do was lie there.

Tucker's parents treated Danny with an awkwardness born of ignorance, the tentativeness of interacting with a stranger. They had agreed to let Danny stay longer; Danny was pretty sure Tucker had told them what had happened (exactly) at his house. They looked at him with pity, sometimes, though Danny supposed he would probably be pathetic anyway, besides how his parents treated him.

Sam went home a few times, though she always came back, looking angrier and in a worse mood. Danny didn't ask how the conversations with her parents had gone; the answer was written in the angles of her face: the tightness of her jaw, her eyebrows.

And so days passed like this—close to a week of lying uselessly in bed, doing nothing, being tip-toed around, an intermittent pain in his core. He wanted to see El, but Jazz had apparently told the girl that Danny was still recovering and not really up for visitors. Which was true, but he still wanted to see her.

The only break in the monotony came when Tucker's parents decided they wanted to speak with him—privately. For once, he was awake; Tucker was asleep, probably tired after feeding him all night (and he felt bad about taking so much of the Foleys' food, especially given they had no idea about the state of the world outside), and Sam was away at her house.

Someone knocked on the guest-room door.

"Um, come in," Danny said. Neither of his friends really knocked, though he supposed they should, given the chance that they might walk in on him doing something embarrassing.

The door opened to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Foley. They were dressed more casually than he was used to, as neither of them currently had to go to work. It seemed as though the rest of Amity was also in limbo.

"Good morning, Daniel," Mr. Foley said. Danny could count on one hand the times Mr. Foley had called him "Daniel." He and Tucker had known each other for what felt like forever, and there had never really been a time when he'd gone by his full name.

"Good morning," he responded. He felt awkward, lying there, half-naked, knowing it was their son taking care of him. How much more awkward was it for them? "Did you—er—need something?"

"Yes, actually. We know you're… unwell, but we wanted to have a discussion with you," Mrs. Foley said. A discussion. That didn't sound… great. But at least they hadn't outright told him he had overstayed his welcome. Were they planning on finally kicking him out?

"Okay," Danny said. Really, they had been very kind, letting him stay as long as he had. It had been five days already—especially with everything outside being what it was. His mind whirled, trying to figure out where he'd be able to stay next. Not his house; while Jazz reported that his parents had decided that perhaps taking him to a hospital hadn't been their best plan, they still apparently had every intention of curing him.

No. He definitely couldn't go to his house.

"Did you ever think about—telling anyone, these past two years?" Mr. Foley asked. They stood by the wall; they weren't close enough to sit on his bed, and they clearly didn't want to loom over him. And he wasn't exactly well enough to stand or move anywhere. His muscles were wobbly and weak, and he had pains everywhere, almost like he'd aged a five decades instead of five days.

"I…" Yes. But every time he had, his parents or the GIW or Valerie or Vlad would do something, and he figured it had better stay between him, Sam, Jazz, and Tucker. It was better that way. "I did." He had never truly considered telling the Foleys, however; that had always been Tucker's choice. All three of them had ultimately decided to keep quiet. The other two might have followed his lead, but they had made their choices in originally not telling anyone, the two weeks he was bedridden because of the accident.

"How close have you three come to hurting yourselves? In the fights? We've seen video footage, Danny, and it doesn't look pretty," Mr. Foley said. "And please, don't down play it. We need to know—Tucker hasn't exactly been forthcoming with his answers, despite our best efforts."

And you think I'll be more forthcoming? Was it his place—to reveal Tucker's secret life to his parents? Technically, it was Danny's secret life, too, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable revealing Tucker's part to them. At least they hadn't brought up him leaving—yet. Were they going to kick him out after he told him how much danger he'd put Tucker in? How much danger he'd put their son in?

But they did have a right to know, he supposed. Could he tell them, though? Would they end his and Tucker's friendship because of what he revealed?

"I tried keep them away from the really dangerous stuff," he said. He could hear Tucker's snores faintly through the door. The dim light from the window hurt his eyes. "But I think we've all been hurt, at some point or another." He looked into their eyes, but he couldn't read them. Were they disappointed he'd dragged Tucker into this hazardous lifestyle?

"How badly?" Mrs. Foley asked, her mouth set in a grim line.

Danny remembered a burn Tucker had received once—a horrible burn on his side. It had taken months to heal, though for Danny it would've been days, perhaps a week. Danny recalled being so worried, so anxious, wishing it had been him hurt, and not his fragile, fully-human friend. "Badly," Danny said. "But—we did get better." It was the worst injury Tucker had gotten, three months into their ghost-hunting ventures. "We got hurt less." Though his current state exemplified that the statement was a generalization and not genuine fact.

"Why didn't you leave it to your parents? Or the Huntress?" Mr. Foley asked, scratching at his mustache. "Why did you insist on doing it yourselves?"

Danny had only told Sam and Tucker the way his core thrummed when he was fighting, the mantra that played in his head. His Obsession was too personal, too intimate, to share with Tucker's parents. But the fact that they were asking at all, instead of simply presuming, like his parents had… They were at least taking the time to figure everything out before kicking him out.

"I don't know how much you know about the number of ghosts that regularly come into Amity," Danny said, "but the number is a lot higher than the official report. My parents, the Huntress… They're good, but they're only human. There's no way they'd be able to handle the load."

"And you believe you can?" Mrs. Foley asked. "I'm not trying to devalue what you and Sam and Tucker did, but you're only kids. That's a… lot of responsibility. And a lot of danger." It was odd to have adults who seemed to be taking him seriously, who seemed to be listening to him. He had almost forgotten what it was like, after two years stuck in a house with people who could never just respectfully acknowledge his opinion. That almost sounds too bitter.

"If we hadn't done what we did, Pariah's invasion—and Overgrowth's, and Ember's, and tons of other ghosts'—would've succeeded. My parents didn't stop them. And the Huntress…" Valerie's secret wasn't his to tell, though the worry that she might tell someone his lingered, a lead weight in his stomach. "Well, she's not exactly an adult, either."

Mr. Foley raised an eyebrow. "You know her identity?"

"Yes." Danny nodded. "All I can tell you is that she's not as old as most people assume she is."

"Just how many secret ghost hunters are under the age of eighteen?" Mrs. Foley asked, sounding oddly tired. The corners of her mouth pulled down to the floor. "Is your whole class fighting ghosts in their spare time?"

"Only four, I think, since Jazz is over eighteen now," Danny said, smiling slightly. In his daydreams, the Foleys had always been replaced with his parents, asking patient questions, concerned over his safety. Only in his nightmares had they acted as they had in reality: taking control, demanding he go to a hospital, vowing to fix him. He pushed the memory forcefully from his mind.

"Jazz knew?" Mr. Foley clarified. "How many others knew?"

"Jazz, me, Tucker, Sam…" El and Vlad. And the ghosts. But should he reveal them? The Foleys were looking at him so earnestly, genuine curiosity in their eyes. They actually… seemed to care. But no—revealing the whole Vlad situation, especially since he was missing, and Danny suspected… something—it didn't sit right. "Mikey, Abigail, and Nathan found out toward the end. So did Mr. Lancer." Tucker had told him that, but he'd reassured Danny that the teacher hadn't seemed inclined to give him up. "Apparently the Huntress found out, a few days ago. And, well, most of the ghosts know."

"The ghosts knew?" Mrs. Foley frowned, confusion marring her face. "But why didn't they expose you? You're enemies with most of them, aren't you?"

"And how did they find out?" Mr. Foley added.

Hadn't they asked Tucker these questions? But maybe Tucker had told them it wasn't his place to say, not without Danny's consent. And with Danny slipping in and out of sleep… The Foleys had probably been waiting days for an opportunity to speak with him. He wondered how many times they'd tried only to find him asleep.

But still, he thought they deserved to know. For letting him stay here, for Tucker's involvement in the whole affair…

"Ghosts…" How to word this? "They aren't like humans. Most of them—we're not serious enemies. A lot of them think coming here, messing around… It's a game. And they'd be sore losers if they exposed me—it's, uh, bad etiquette, maybe. They sort of… respect me, I guess. And they can always tell I'm half-human, half-ghost." He grimaced. "The sensitive ones can feel my core when I'm in my human form, sense my signature."

"A core?" Mr. Foley asked. His eyes held the same light Tucker's did when he was solving some kind of problem and was on the brink of finding an answer. And he was a journalist—he probably enjoyed finding the truth of things. For a brief moment, Danny wondered nervously if he'd go and publish the information. But that was a stupid thought.

"Yes. It's like a... ghost heart. It's the thing that emits an ectoplasmic signature," Danny explained. Neither looked repulsed by the idea, as he knew his parents would've been. So eager to remove his core, to rip the ghost part of him out… His heart sped up at the thought.

"So you really are like a hybrid, then? Not just a human with ghost powers?" Mrs. Foley said. Then her eyes widened. "Sorry—that sounds—"

Danny laughed, which was maybe a tad rude, but she—she cared. It was so nice. They didn't worship him like Mikey, Nathan, and Abigail had, and they weren't rejecting him like his parents. They cared. And maybe it was just because he was Tucker's friend, but… It was nice. "It's okay, Mrs. Foley. I don't mind. And I am a hybrid." Though the word sounded a little clinical for his tastes. Like something his parents or the GIW might say.

"And the Empress—she really did…" Mr. Foley trailed off. Danny's mood clouded over. Right—the Empress. The merging.

His failure.

"Yes." He couldn't meet their eyes. At least Tucker and Sam and Jazz had lived. He'd been so afraid, when he hadn't been able to reach them on the Fenton phones (they had discovered that his had shorted out, though none of them knew why, exactly. The things were supposed to be nearly indestructible. Perhaps if his parents…). "And I—I know you probably don't like the idea of Tucker fighting, but… I don't think I can do this without him."

"Do what without him?" Mrs. Foley asked. "You don't have to do anything, Danny."

"Yes, I do. I have to—to—" He almost said fix my mistake, but they would insist it wasn't his fault when it was. It was. "To stop the Empress. Un-merge the worlds, somehow."

"That's not your responsibility," Mr. Foley said immediately. "Not yours—or Tucker's. We don't know the state of everything yet beyond the shield, but the world isn't helpless."

They didn't understand. Ghosts couldn't be stopped by normal weapons—at all. They could simply go intangible. Blades, bullets, bombs—none of that would affect them. And the world had no idea what they were up against. As far as Danny knew, only Amity had experience with ghosts. A single city, semi-prepared, while the rest of the world floundered in the aftermath of a deadly, devastating earthquake.

And… "But it is. I don't think… I'm not sure anyone else can." He didn't want to sound conceited or arrogant, but he still remembered what Technus had said. "The Empress… She set up the whole 'reveal my identity' thing as a distraction. Because she knew I was a threat to her—she knows I can stop her." Well, Aevum had seen it, but Danny didn't want to go into time-travel just yet. That was a lot to take in. And the question of Clockwork… Danny feared the worst for his friend.

"But that doesn't mean you're the only one who can stop her," Mrs. Foley insisted.

I'm the only one Aevum saw—as far as we know, anyway. "I'm not chancing it, Mrs. Foley," Danny said. "I'm sorry. I understand if—if you want me to leave. I know you don't want Tucker—"

"Leave?" Mr. Foley exclaimed. "What do you mean 'leave'?"

Danny's hand twisted in the blankets. "I—I'm the one who dragged Tucker into all this. And you've been really good to me, letting me stay here when…" He couldn't finish it.

"Danny," Mrs. Foley said, "we're not going to make you leave. We're not comfortable with Tucker fighting—or you or Sam, for that matter, but we're not blind. We know what you've done for Amity, and we've… discussed things. We'll let you stay as long as you need to."

"I… Thank you." A lump formed in Danny's throat, and he could feel his core vibrating from the force of his emotion. It seemed more volatile, which he supposed was to be expected. A thin layer of ice began to coat his skin as pressure built behind his eyes. He wiped them, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Are you okay, Danny?" Mr. Foley asked, coming closer. "What's—what's happening?"

Danny finally got his emotions under control. The weird pain in his eyes and fingertips had spiked, and he exhaled shakily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… My core is acting weird right now because of the fight. I'm sorry." He didn't really want to go into the whole "RMS" thing. And even just admitting what was wrong, being able to honestly explain… It was freeing. He'd never been able to legitimately tell people why he was acting so strangely.

And now—now he could.

"It's alright, Danny," Mrs. Foley said, smiling at him. Both of them seemed a lot less… uncertain than they'd been originally. A lot less overwhelmed, too. Five days ago, they'd been dropped in the deep end, and they hadn't known how to swim. Now, they were paddling over to the shore. "We should probably let you get your rest."

And I can stay as long as I need to. Danny almost started crying again, but instead he closed his eyes as they left the room.

The next day, Danny woke up to almost an entirely different world. His weird pains were gone, but they had been replaced by even something even weirder.

Danny found that his vision was—off. Everything was too bright, and the colors he saw were deeper, somehow, more vibrant than he was used to. Things that had been entirely black before were suddenly tinted with greens or blues or purples. He saw shades of colors he had never seen before; the objects in the guest room had almost transformed entirely.

That wasn't even mentioning his sense of smell or his hearing. He'd been able to hear faint sounds before, but he could tell where everyone in the house was from their breathing alone, and if he concentrated, he could hear the faint thump-thump of their hearts and the swoosh of their lungs. It was as though he'd been deaf before, deaf and blind. He could smell the laundry detergent strongly on the sheets and the smoke from all the candles, though he knew that none were currently lit.

The sheets felt scratchy and rough, though he knew, logically, that their texture hadn't changed since he'd been here. He had been the one to change. He moved too quickly, faster than what he was used to.

It was all wrong. Was this because of his core? He'd been expecting a new power maybe, or simply an expansion on his old ones. He supposed this could fall into the latter category, but it was so strange. Before, he'd been able to see better in the dark, and maybe hear better than a normal person, but this…

It was overwhelming. He ripped the blankets off of him, unable to stand the sensation, and curled up as tightly as he could, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to see the weird colors, how everything had transformed. God, why couldn't it have been a new power? He had been dreading it, but this was somehow worse. He seemed to be changing fundamentally, and all at once. A new power wouldn't have messed with his senses. But maybe this would've happened anyway—only more gradually—had he not triggered a RMS.

He laid like that for a while, shutting the world out and trying not to think about exactly what it meant. Someone approached his room; he could hear their heartbeat, their breathing. They opened the door.

"Hi, Danny, I brought—are you okay? What are you doing?" It was Tucker. His heartbeat was slightly slower than either of his parents' heartbeats. Danny could smell him, the scent of mouthwash and deodorant and—safety. His voice seemed to thunder in Danny's newly sensitive ears.

"Not—not so loud, please," he muttered, unwilling to deafen himself by raising his voice to normal levels.

"Um, didn't quite catch that, dude," Tucker said. The fabric of his pants and shirt swished together as he moved closer. "Er—something happened, didn't it?"

"You could say that," Danny said, cracking one eyelid. Tucker looked mostly the same, though his skin and clothes and eyes and hair looked far more vibrant than they had the day before. Danny could clearly see the pores in his skin. He was carrying food—some kind of sweet cereal, from the smell of it. "I think I figured out what my core expanding means."

Tucker set down the tray. "You didn't break anything, did you? My parents were already freaked out by the ice thing yesterday—"

"No, I didn't break anything." Danny sat up, still moving oddly fast. Had he been changed at every level? Was he more ghost now than he had been because of it? "Could you keep it down?"

"I guess," Tucker said, lowering his voice. It didn't seem low enough, though Danny knew it was just barely above a whisper. "Did you get super hearing or something?"

"And super eyesight, and super smell, and super sensation," Danny listed off, groaning. He'd have to get used to all this—and now, of all times. Defeat the Empress, un-merge the worlds, figure out his parents, make sure Valerie wasn't about to expose him further, save everyone, and now learn to control his enhanced senses… His list of things he had to do was growing exponentially. "Nothing is right. It all feels… off."

"But this is good, right? You should be almost fully recovered in like a day," Tucker said. "And then we can start coming up with a plan."

A plan… It still seemed hopeless. Everything, in fact, seemed hopeless in the face of Danny's failure, but he couldn't afford to let it overwhelm him anymore. It weighed on him, restricted him like unseen shackles. He felt it every time he moved or thought, the clinks audible only to his ears. Even in his dreams… He was glad he would be sleeping less.

He had been useless and helpless—and he was still useless and helpless, lying for days in bed—but if he dwelt on it anymore he would fracture and be too broken to help the ones he could. And what he'd told the Foleys was true: he didn't know if anyone else had a chance of defeating the Empress. If the ghosts worked together, perhaps… But the ghosts had spent too long regarding themselves as independent or competing with each other for territory. It was up to Danny to defeat the Empress. Danny and whoever he could get to help him.

He stared at Tucker, taking in the new depths to him. Will his parents let him help? He didn't think they'd have a choice; he knew Tucker would help regardless of what they said. But was it right? Tucker, at least, would regret the damaging effect it would have on his relationship with his parents, unlike Sam or Danny, whose relationships were already so damaged it didn't matter.

Danny wondered if Tucker's parents would rescind their offer of letting him stay when they knew neither him, Tucker, or Sam would back down from fighting.

"Yeah," Danny said. "A plan. Right." He wasn't a scientist—how could he figure out how to un-merge the worlds? He still didn't know exactly what it meant, though apparently Jazz had learned some from talking to El. The sky was greener, now, and the islands from the Zone floated high above the earth's surface. But what else had changed, and how to fix it…

Danny was taken by the urge to do something. He had been sick for days, and it was clear his core was coming out of the RMS. He couldn't stand lying there for another moment; he didn't want to be helpless anymore. He didn't want to be useless—he wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that he wasn't.

"Let's go see Dora," he said, swinging his legs out of the bed. His head spun with the action as his vision and other senses tried to adjust to the new angle. "And I want to talk to El."

"Okay, hold up." Tucker stepped forward, his hands coming up nervously, as though ready to grab him should he do anything drastic. "Why don't we figure out exactly what's changed with your core, first? And we don't even know where Dora is, much less whether she's… okay."

"She's okay enough to have a signature," Danny said without thinking. He realized it was true—he could sense her signature near the north of the city, close to a different signature. And he could feel Technus's, by the elementary school. He couldn't sense El's—she must've been in human form, or she had left the shield. I'll have to ask Jazz.

He had never had such range or precision before. His ghost sense had grown with time, but he'd never just been able to… pick up on signatures like he was now able to. He hadn't even noticed it before, it was so subtle. He just—searched for the signatures, and they were there. His eyes widened, and he looked at Tucker. "I can sense her from here."

"Really?" Tucker's surprised made his voice louder, and Danny winced. "Sorry—that's crazy." Danny's original range had been small, and he hadn't really been able to differentiate between different signatures. His ghost-sensing ability had grown steadily since then, but this was on an entirely new level. "I still don't think you should go out, though. You're not one-hundred percent yet. And we don't know what other powers were effected."

All good points, but Danny knew he couldn't stay another day in this room, trying desperately not to think of the Empress or Agent R or his parents or Valerie or his failure. He had to do something, or he would break. He had to help. He was well enough to go intangible, maybe help clear some debris. And he really did want to check up on Dora. Her signature was strong, but Danny knew how injured she'd been.

"Tucker, I can't stay here anymore," Danny said, looking his friend in the eye. Tucker's lips pressed into a line; he had watched his friend nearly fall apart at the seams, here in his house. Sam had told Danny Tucker had nearly fallen apart.

Maybe this would help both of them.

"Fine." Tucker sighed. "But we're waiting for Sam. And we're going to do a checklist of your powers—just to make sure."

The glow from Danny's rings as he changed into Phantom was brighter than it normally was, and he nearly ended up blinding himself. But other than that, his ghost form seemed unchanged. His hazmat suit was whole again (something he didn't necessarily like to dwell on, because he knew somehow he was repairing it, and did that make the suit clothes or his skin?).

"How do your injuries feel?" Sam asked, stepping forward to examine him. She smelled like burn ointment and candle smoke. They'd decided to do this in Tucker's room, the door closed. Tucker's parents hadn't batted an eye, though they did check up on them periodically. Danny could hear their heartbeats from within the room.

"Fine." Danny flexed his formerly broken arm, marveling at how painlessly it moved. "My healing factor must've been expanded, too. Usually it would've taken a little longer for such a bad break."

"Mm-hmm." Sam nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. She kept track of all his powers—and other things—to make sure they had a record of what his "normal" was. "And your tooth re-grew."

"Wait, really?" Tucker exclaimed. Danny twitched, but he was making an effort to get used to the new noise input. "That's insane."

"Yeah. I don't exactly want to test what else might re-grow, though," the half-ghost said. He reveled in the feeling of being awake for so long; he didn't feel at all tired.

"I disagree. I think this is the perfect time to chop off your arm and see what happens," Tucker replied, poking said arm. To Danny's newly sensitive nerves, it felt oddly sharp. "Then, if it happens in a fight, we'll know what to expect."

Sam snorted. "A lot of pain and blood, maybe?"

Tucker stroked his chin, nodding thoughtfully. "An excellent hypothesis, Dr. Sam. You should write that down." He pointed to the notebook.

"I don't take orders from you," she muttered.

"What's next?" Danny asked. Now that the idea had taken hold, he wanted to hurry up and do it, though he couldn't deny he was a little curious as to what other changes had happened to his ghost powers.

"The basics. Intangibility, flight, invisibility," Sam said, looking back up at him from the notebook. It was stained with blood and ectoplasm.

Danny hovered up off the ground and went invisible, not feeling anything very different. But when he turned intangible, he turned much of the ground around him intangible, too, which he had never done on accident before. Tucker, who was closest to him, yelped as he sunk into the floor.

Danny caught him before he could sink completely through, grunting as he pulled him up and willed the ground back to tangibility.

"Well," Tucker said, dusting himself off, "that was a terrible experience. It was like a mouth opened up underneath me and tried to eat me. Please never do that again."

"Er, sorry," Danny said. What would've happened if he hadn't reacted in time? "I didn't mean to."

"I know, man," Tucker said. "I guess that's a check for intangibility, Dr. Sam."

"I swear to God, if you don't stop calling me that…" Sam muttered, but she made a mark on the page anyway. "Let's not test your wail. Cloning, shields, ice, and teleportation are left."

"I don't know—I kind of want Danny to blow my house down. Like the big bad wolf," Tucker said.

"First my arm, now this," Danny muttered, but he obligingly refrained from destroying Tucker's house. "I can't tell if you're a sadist or a masochist." It felt good—normal—to be bantering with them. He hadn't really been up for, the past few days, and part of him still didn't up for it. They hadn't exactly been top form either, but… Now that he was capable of spending more than an hour or two awake at a time—and now that he had a goal, even a short-term one—he felt… better.

Not good. He could still feel his failures, chaining him to dread and anxiety and looming, ever-present uncertainty. But this was pleasant. This was normal.

"We can figure out Tucker's kinks later, Danny," Sam said lightly, ignoring Tucker's noise of protest. "Clones?"

Danny willed one more of himself, and this power came easily. So did his shield, though it was brighter and a tad larger than the one he'd meant to conjure. His ice materialized almost instantly from the ground, the time taken to grow it far less than it would've been before his RMS.

"All that's left is teleportation," Sam said. "Though with how it's all been going, I'm kind of worried you'll teleport into a wall or something on accident."

"It hasn't been that bad," Danny said. And it hadn't—in fact, although he was still overwhelmed by his new senses, he'd been wrong in his assessment that it had been worse than a new power. Maybe this meant he wasn't going to get any more new powers—just expansions of old ones. "I'm just not used to the power level."

"What is that meme? Nine-thousand power or something?" Tucker said. "I can't remember."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Teleport, would you? I can't listen to any more of this nonsense."

"Too plebian for your higher tastes, Dr. Sam?" Tucker asked. "Do you even know what a 'meme' is?"

"Are we telling your parents?" Danny said seriously, facing Tucker. It ruined the mood instantly, the reminder that this wasn't like old times—their parents knew, the worlds were merged, everything was backwards. They were standing in the sky, looking up at a world where people hung upside down from the ground. "About where we're going?"

"Do you think they'd let me?" Tucker said, rubbing his forehead. The smile was gone from his face, and though Danny felt bad about being the one to make it leave, they had to discuss this. "They haven't been exactly warm to the idea of me fighting anymore. They basically told me I'm under house arrest, and I don't think they'd lift it just for me to see some ghost."

"I know the feeling. Mine keep threatening to lock me up," Sam muttered. Danny didn't say anything about his—both had seen his parents' responses. They'd all known this would be part of the deal if they told their parents. The restriction on their freedom was to be expected. And Danny felt they would've abided by it—even Sam—had something bigger not been at stake.

They had never expected the end of the world to come with the reveal of their secret lives, after all.

"So we have three options then," Danny said, holding up three fingers. "We don't tell them and leave. We tell them and go anyway. We tell them and do what they say." He lowered one finger with each option, until all that was left was a fist.

Tucker frowned. "You're not leaving me behind," he said.

"So we go, then—but do we tell them or not?" Danny asked.

"You're forgetting the fourth option: we tell them, and they let Tucker go anyway," Sam said. "Your parents are a lot more understanding of this whole thing than Danny's or mine have been."

Tucker shook his head, crossing his arms. "That's true, but they won't let me. I think they've come to terms with what I've done—or helped do—but they won't let me continue. They've told me they'll 'think about it'—which is definitely a no. As much as I hate doing it, we should just go."

"Okay," Danny said. It was Tucker's decision. "Give me your hands." He held his out.

"Why?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to teleport us there. With any luck, they won't even notice we're gone." Though he doubted it; they'd probably check on them in a few minutes and find them missing.

"No offense, but I'm not sure I trust you to teleport us," Tucker said. His actions belied his words, though, as he took Danny's hand gamely.

"I've teleported other people before," Danny assured. "It'll be fine." Sam tucked her notebook away before also taking his hand. He could feel their pulses through their fingertips, hear their hearts and breathing. "I am told it can be a bit jarring though, so brace yourselves."

"Now, wait just a—"

But Tucker was cut off as Danny teleported them, expanding into the world outside and re-consolidating in the north of the city, just outside the Nasty Burger. Or, rather, what had been the Nasty Burger—all that remained were ruins. Danny kept his friends upright as they sagged. Sam's face looked green, and Tucker coughed awkwardly, trying not to gag.

He let them regain their breath, standing there looking out over the destruction. He could see a lot clearer than he would've been able to a week ago, and he could make out individual dust particles in the air. The greenish light from the sun was blinding. We need to make sure the shield doesn't go down. This one was only set up to last a week or two. He wanted to ask his—but no. He could talk to Technus, maybe.

Tucker panted, straightening. "Warn a guy next time, would you?"

Danny cocked a brow, feeling better than he had in days. Dora and the unknown ghost's—probably Allistor's—signatures were just down the street. The level of destruction the Empress had brought on his city was terrifying, but now, at least, he was out. He could start doing something about it, though the memories of his helplessness haunted and horrified him.

"I thought that's what I did," he said, letting go of his friends' hands. The stench of plaster and brick and wood was heavy in the air, and he could smell the lingering scent of smoke and ectoplasm and even blood.

"'Jarring' is a bit of an understatement," Sam muttered. "That was worse than the apparating in Harry Potter." She also rose, glancing at the Nasty Burger. Her lips thinned and she looked away.

"Well, none of us have actually apparated before, so—"

"Shut up, Tucker," Sam said. "Apparition isn't real, so by definition this has to be worse."

"I don't think that's how that works," Danny said, but to stem further argument, he pointed down the street. "That way—her signature's coming from there."

The three of them walked down the debris-covered street. He could see markings on the outside of the buildings—probably signs from rescue teams left to say whether the building had been cleared or not. Sometimes, he caught the whiff of death, and he tried not to think about it. It's your fault they died. If you hadn't fallen for her trap…

They found Dora and Allistor in an abandoned McDonald's, which by some miracle had remained standing. They were sitting at one of the booths, Dora looking much better. There were bandages wrapped around her head and arms, but her skin looked bright and her aura healthy.

"Sir Phantom!" she cried as they entered. Tables had been knocked down, and bits of the ceiling still flaked down. Danny wondered if the building was safe, and then decided that Dora and Allistor, having the ability to go intangible, wouldn't necessarily care.

Dora stood and flew over, embracing Danny. They were nearly the same height, though she was a little taller. Danny wondered when his human "targeted growth-spurt" would kick in.

"Hi, Dora," he said, patting her back. "I'm glad you're alright." He could feel her core's vibration, and she smelt differently than his friends did—more like ectoplasm, which he supposed was to be expected.

"If I am, it is only due to your efforts," she said, grinning broadly. "And Allistor's, of course."

"I am happy to be of service, your Highness," the ghosts said, dipping his head. He was exactly as he'd been on the battlefield, his glasses shining in the glow of their auras.

"Thanks for fixing me up." Danny disengaged from Dora and stuck his hand out to the approaching ghost. But instead of taking it, the healer bowed low.

"The honor was mine, Sir Phantom. I am pleased that you have made such a swift recovery. And greetings to you, Sir Tucker, Lady Sam," Allistor said, nodding to each of Danny's friends.

"Hey, Allistor." Sam waved. "I guess the ecto-dejecto helped, then?"

"Ah, yes—it was instrumental in healing Queen Dora." Allistor pushed his glasses up his nose. "She would not be here, much less nearly completely healed, had it not been for those injections of ectoplasm. Tell me, how exactly did you come across its formula?"

"Er." Tucker floundered, looking at Danny—like if I mention his dad, will he have another breakdown?

Danny sighed, grimacing. "We didn't. My dad created it, trying to find something to hurt ghosts. It was an accident."

"A most fortunate accident," Dora said. "You look pained, Sir Phantom—has something terrible befallen your father?" Danny rubbed his forehead. He had decided to see her to avoid thinking about his parents.

"No. He's fine. They just… found out." And decided I was diseased, and needed to be cured. And maybe they were right… Maybe he was unnatural. But all he knew was how comfortable, how right, it was to have his core thrumming next to his heart, how right it felt to breathe and use his powers.

Dora frowned, her eyes sympathetic. "And they reacted poorly, I gather. I knew something had to be—"

Someone opened the door. In a flash, Danny, Sam, and Tucker were ready to fight, their hands lighting with ectoplasm or trailing to their guns. The person had a heartbeat—clearly human. Had a hunter found them? Only, was that a signature he could feel, faint beneath their skin?

"Danny!" It was El. She smiled broadly, running across the room to give him his second hug of the day. She smelled—much like he did, he noted. That made sense. Tucker and Sam relaxed, taking their hands off their weapons. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still sick or whatever."

Danny ruffled her hair, noting the spear on her back. "I could ask you the same question. I was checking up on Queen Dora." She ducked out of his reach, patting her hair back down with a glare.

"Lady El has been instrumental in bringing supplies and messages, as Volant and our other messenger birds can no longer enter Amity," Dora supplied, offering the ghost girl a smile.

"Why didn't you just use the thermos to have her bring you back over?" Tucker asked. "And hi, El." They bumped fists, the action eerily reminiscent of what Danny and Tucker used to do (and still did, occasionally). Sam grinned at El.

"It is easier for supplies. Lady El ferried them from your Fenton Works to here—things Allistor needed to heal me. Today, I was deemed well enough to cross the shield in your thermos," Dora replied. "I am anxious to see my people and my soldiers."

"Thanks for that, by the way," Danny said softly. "For helping us." Dora gripped his arm and nodded.

"I imagine I will do so again, in the coming weeks. The Empress is not yet finished," she said. "We must do everything we can to stop her, and reverse the damage she has done."

"I know." Danny couldn't help but think of his failure, of how he hadn't been able to prevent the merging. His uselessness. He shoved it from his mind, blinking. "In fact, that's what I'm going to do. Start helping clear debris."

"Um, no." Sam put her hands on her hips. "This is your first day up and about—you are not gallivanting off. Five days ago you couldn't even move!" Danny tried not to flinch at the reminder, and he saw regret pass in Sam's eyes as she realized her poor word choice. But she plowed on, "Your powers are still off—now isn't a good time to do this."

But if I wait, I won't be able to help as much. His core hummed, protect, protect, protect whispering inside him. Helping was much like protecting, he'd found. And it wasn't just his ghost half; his human half wanted to do everything to help and protect, too. "I'm going to regardless, Sam," he told her. "The Empress won't wait until I'm better to start hurting people—and I'm sure she already has. We've already wasted five days because of this. I'm well enough now."

"He's not wrong," Tucker put in. "Maybe not right, though. If you overexert yourself, that's not exactly helpful either." The three of them had forgotten that the others were even there.

"I can help, too," El said. "Now that Dora won't need me. And we can bring over a few ghosts to help. And, well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about Valerie."

Danny looked away from his friends into eyes that were carbon copies of his own. "Yeah, me too. But it's not your fault. And we had a truce—though that wasn't exactly helpful last time, either."

El seemed to hunch in on herself, and Danny was reminded of how young she really was—only two years old, technically. Physically the same age he had been when he'd first gotten his ghost powers. God, had he ever really looked that innocent?

He wondered if it was the additional two years that had jaded him, or simply the past weeks. He had never felt more exhausted, more bone-weary. And worst of all, the end wasn't even in sight. If he failed again, it might drift out of his reach entirely, the worlds left stuck together, the Empress intent on ruling the newly-merged world. But he couldn't let that happen, and that started here and now in undoing the damage she had done in Amity.

He worried about the rest of the world, but this was all he could do. For now.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Danny, Sam, and Tucker Take Turns Feeling Awkward as their Friends Confront their Parents

Danny worked himself to the bone. He went intangible, moving through thick debris. He lifted up broken stones or pipes or wood, casting the rubble into piles as directed. El worked in a different section of the city; Danny had chosen the most damaged to help with. Sam and Tucker cleared rubble only a few buildings down, equipped with hard-hats, gloves, goggles, and masks, courtesy of the man managing the cleanup in this section of the city.

Danny wore only a mask. Even through the fabric, the smell of sweat and dust was overpowering—and underneath it all the sour, rotting stench of death. When he got close, it made him gag, but he fought through it. He'd discovered two people, a man and a woman, ribcages and skulls crushed. He'd taken them from the debris, giving them to the people who were loading similar corpses into a truck, hoping that loved ones may be able to identify them.

If there were any loved ones left.

It was a type of catharsis for him—and also a type of penance. Trickles of sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes. His muscles began to ache. He could see every minute divot and dip in the debris he hauled; he could feel the textures intimately, even through his gloves. The sun overhead—watered-down into a greenish yellow—stung his eyes almost worse than the sweat.

But he had to do this. Ultimately, he was responsible for these people—for this city. And he'd failed. He'd failed so badly, and people had died for it. Likely, people were still dying, paying the price of his failure with blood. It felt good to release the tension, the helplessness, in the working of his limbs, the tandem of his heart and core.

He was doing something to help, even if it didn't feel like enough.

People came to watch; Danny had never helped clean up before after any of his other fights. He'd always had school or he'd been too injured or he hadn't wanted to stick around for fear of hunters.

But now his parents and Valerie knew. There was the GIW, maybe, but Danny didn't care. He wouldn't just lie uselessly for days on end, not now that he was better. He had to help, and if he couldn't figure out how to un-merge the worlds… If he couldn't figure out how to beat the Empress… This was as good as it got.

This was his best, even if it felt infinitely lacking.

The workers had gawked a lot at the beginning, before the man overseeing the area—the one who'd given Danny, Sam, and Tucker the equipment—had told them to get back to work. They still gawked, but it was subtler: quick peeks taken from the brim of a hardhat, eyes that lingered too long. They watched Sam and Tucker, too, wondering who the teenagers were that had come with their hero Phantom. None had dared to ask—yet. And none had asked about the Empress, or why the sky was green. Perhaps they hadn't left the shield.

Danny was only thankful Amity was as prepared as it had been. The overseer of this area—Jacob Livingston—had told him, casually, that without the warning, they likely wouldn't have had enough equipment to handle such large-scale destruction. Danny was pleased that he'd done something right, even if all the decisions he'd made afterwards were wrong.

Sometimes, he broke apart the larger debris so that it would be easier for the machines to carry, expanding ice into the debris' crevices until it fell apart. The cracks echoed on an otherwise silent landscape, Amity once again picking up the pieces after an attack. The citizens were accustomed to destruction—and there were even specialized construction teams, now, as well as a city commission focused on minimizing the destruction and rebuilding as quickly as possible.

Or there had been, anyway.

Danny took a break, chest heaving from what he'd lifted. He wiped his brow, smearing dust all over his face. It rose as clouds in front of him—and he could make out each particle, even the smallest among them.

"You good?" Tucker asked, relaxing his own shovel.

Danny nodded. "Yeah, I am." They'd taken Dora and Allistor back over the shield to reunite with her people. Danny had been reminded that the shield would last another week max before it went down. He would have to ask his parents about that. His parents who thought he was diseased, who wanted to cure him—

Don't go there.

He sighed and got back to work, his muscles contracting as he lifted and set down, lifted and set down. He smelled more bodies before he found them—three, all in the same room—or what had once been a room. He picked them up as respectfully as he could, thankful he hadn't yet found anyone familiar. But how many had died? How many people had he indirectly killed?

Slowly, the sun grew dimmer, and Sam stopped beside him, offering him a bottle of water silently. They must've been handing them out. Danny took it.

"Do you still have enough energy to fly us to Tucker's house? Or teleport us?" she asked. The half-ghost drank deeply. He felt physically tired, but his core was stronger than ever, vibrating encouragingly.

"Yes," he replied as Tucker came up next to them, looking weary. Danny gave him the bottle next, and after drinking from it, he used the excess to wash his glasses, which had become clouded with dust. "I have more than enough to teleport us."

"Teleportation was devised as a method to torture us full-humans," Tucker said. "Would you do that to us again, Danny?"

The half-ghost shrugged. "It's the fastest. Should we really be out later than we have to be? Your parents are probably—"

But Danny couldn't finish—because he heard the sound of a car approaching. A rather familiar-sounding car, the only one he knew that made that odd whining noise, except it was so much louder in his ears than it had ever been before. Like a herald, announcing the presence of someone important. Or someones.

"My—my parents—" he managed to say before Maddie and Jack Fenton drove up in the GAV, parking a few buildings down due to the debris. He froze, watching them, and the other workers paused their clearing, watching with barely-disguised interest. His parents climbed out, followed by Jazz, who looked harried.

"Should we go?" Sam hissed, taking his arm. "Do you want to leave?"

Danny couldn't respond—he was moving slowly, traveling through the air like it was molasses. Stay? Go? Flee his parents—or confront them? In the end, his indecision made the decision for him as his parents charged forward—fortunately, no ecto-weapons in sight.

Some of the workers were openly staring, now. Stupid—I should've known they'd track my signature, find me here. He had known, though. He just hadn't cared; nothing had seemed as important as helping clear the mess he'd made, the mistake he'd made.

Well, he'd pay for it now.

"Danny!" his mom shouted. The workers were staring openly, but if Danny's parents already knew… What was the point in keeping it a secret, especially with all that had happened? "Where have you been, young man? How dare you go rushing off like that?" Still, it was uncomfortable to know so many eyes were looking in this direction.

His parents smelled like sour ectoplasm and rubber and chemicals and danger. It made his nose wrinkle. Sam and Tucker stepped forward until they were in front of him, shielding him—if only barely—from his parents.

"You can't just run off like that," his dad said. They stopped abruptly, a few feet in front of him, as though realizing his friends were there for the first time. "It's irresponsible."

"And unfair to us as your parents! We were worried sick—Jazz hid the GAV's keys, sabotaged our equipment!" His mom threw her hands in the air. "You're coming back with us—this instant." She reached out to grab his arm, but Sam moved to block her, and Danny stepped backward.

"I'm not," Danny said softly.

"Damn right you're not," Jazz agreed, cutting between him and his parents. Danny blinked—he hadn't heard his sister cuss in a long time. She sounded exhausted, weary—and her scent was that of someone beaten, someone tired. Like sweat and a drifting numbness. "You're not taking him home and experimenting on him like he's some lab rat!"

His mom nearly growled, a low, foreign sound. Usually she was poised, in control. But she seemed close to snapping, a band stretched so thin it would break any second. "He is my son," she snarled. Danny noted that some of the workers' eyes widened, but he couldn't bring himself to care except distantly. "And he is sick. I am tired of arguing with you about this. Yes, Danny has done good things with his powers, but they aren't natural. End of discussion."

Don't I get a say? It was his life—or his half-life, rather. Did he not get to tell them about it? They'd listened to him, once. But only once, in a long line of instances where they'd refused to, regardless of whether he was ghost or human. Would they listen? He remembered the Foleys, asking questions and treating him gently. The contrast couldn't have been starker.

He couldn't struggle with his parents anymore. He felt heavy, so heavy, like tons were pressing down on him, so forcefully he'd crack the ground if he took even a single step. He couldn't. He couldn't. They had hunted him, and they were sorry—but only barely. They wanted to cure him, without regard for whether he could be cured. Maybe there was something wrong with him—maybe he was unnatural. But he knew, without a doubt, that if they had the capability to take his powers from him, and they did so, the Empress would win. The worlds would stay merged.

And deeper still, he found he had grown used to the once-alien vibrations in his chest, like the thrum of a guitar next to the thumping base of his heart, ectoplasm and blood singing as one in his veins. Unnatural, wrong—abomination. But he couldn't, couldn't, couldn't give it up. It was him, now.

"I'm not going with you," he said to his parents, looking up at them. "Okay? I—I can't."

"What do you mean?" his dad asked. "Of course you can. Don't you want to be cured? We want you to be healthy. And safe—and you're not either of those things like this."

Healthy. Safe. Danny barely knew what was healthy for a half-ghost, and he knew with certainty his parents didn't even know what was healthy for a full-ghost. And safe? He hadn't been safe since he stepped into the Portal.

The bitterness and resentment that had been building inside him for two years—almost three, now—rose to a crescendo. Wrong, wrong, wrong… Did he need to be cured? Was it unnatural? Some small, insignificant part of him hated them for making him doubt himself this way, for leaving him useless and helpless. He always felt like a bug under a microscope when it came to them—they dissected Danny the same as they dissected Phantom, probing for weakness. Why were you out late? You're failing all your classes—you can't skip anymore! This type of behavior is unacceptable, young man.

He was trying to protect people.

…cure him…

"You don't get it." Danny laughed harshly, side-stepping his friends and sister. "I'm not going with you. You're not curing me. Look around—even if you could, that's not the most important thing happening right now. You should be helping—not, not this."

"That's not your choice to make!" his mom yelled. Some part of Danny wanted to tell them that now wasn't the time, that this wasn't the place; the workers were there, in their hardhats—they knew now. They knew and the world had basically ended and his parents knew, too, and they didn't love him. It wouldn't be long before the whole city knew, and the thought made him weak at the knees.

But he couldn't afford to spiral.

"It is," he said, voice monotone. If the emotion seeped in, it would only widen the cracks, and he would break, shatter before everyone's eyes. "It is my choice, and I can't choose this, Mom."

"You can, and you will," she muttered, reaching into her belt to pull out a thermos, drawing it lightning-fast—but not fast enough. Danny lurched to the side, landing hard on the ground as the beam swept past. One of the workers yelled.

His sister wrenched the thermos from his mom's hand, screaming. "What is wrong with you? Get away from him!"Danny laid there, stunned—they'd wanted to cure him, yes, but he hadn't thought… She'd tried to capture him, knowing he was her son. Tucker and Sam helped him up.

"Because he needs help!" his mom screamed back. "He needs help!"

"Both of you need to calm down," his dad interjected. "Mads—we just need to, to explain it to him." He looked at Danny, but his hands made no motion toward his ecto-guns or thermos. He raised them, placating. "Look, Dann-o, we think that your ghostly attributes could be impacting you negatively. Your mood, your thought processes. Just let us run a few tests to check—at least let us do that. Please."

Danny shook his head. The mere idea of letting them poke and prod him, the same way the GIW might, that Vlad might… It made him ache. "I told you: I can't." There were other, more important things for his parents to focus on, aside from their "sick" son. Vital things. If only they would listen. "The shield—it's going to give out in less than a week. Could you make sure it doesn't?"

"Only if you come in and let us run a couple of tests," his dad said. Didn't he realize that Danny couldn't? That letting them do so was his biggest fear, had haunted him for months? He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fight them off and the GIW and the Empress. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't do it all at once.

You have to. A second failure was not an option—there wouldn't be a third chance to get it right.

"No. No." Danny's head went rapidly back and forth. You're doing it wrong. You're moving it too many times. Control. Control! But he was rapidly losing his grip on what dregs of self he had left. His mind was turning to mush inside his head. "No. We have bigger things to worry about. The shield. The Empress." His head kept shaking, and Sam put her arm on his shoulder.

"Dude, stop moving your head so much. You look like a bobble-head—and who listens to a bobble-head?" Tucker hissed, helpfully. The out-of-touch comment and Sam's hand grounded him. He was here, with his friends, even if the world was falling apart. Even if his world was falling apart.

"What the Empress claims to have done is impossible!" his mom cried. "Impossible! She's a ghost. Ghosts lie." Lie. Ghosts lie. Did Danny lie? He did—he lied about everything. Where were you last night? Why did you skip class? What is that bruise on your face from?

"The sky is green, Maddie," Sam said, furious. "Or hadn't you noticed?" She faced Danny and held his arm. "Let's go," she urged. And then, in a whisper, "I don't think they're going to start listening anytime soon—bobble-head or no."

Danny nodded, though he felt bad about leaving Jazz here. But they're not trying to "cure" her. She'll be fine. Tucker grabbed his other arm.

Danny's mom gripped her hair, and Danny heard her words, so quiet his ears just five days before wouldn't have been able to pick them up.

"I'm so sorry, Danny. We'll find a way to fix you—we'll find a way to reverse the damage we did."

And then they teleported away.

It hurt less than Mikey thought it should. Not to say it didn't hurt—it did, but the pain was like a campfire compared to the raging inferno it should've been. He laid in the darkness, his arms and torso and legs smarting vaguely. Why is everything dark? His eyes were closed—right. Straining, he opened them.

He was in a small hospital room. No sign of his parents. What had happened? Had it been a ghost attack? No—he remembered. Running after Nathan, seeing that strange ghost on the other side of the shield. Being crushed under a car. The room was blurry; he didn't have his glasses. They must've broken.

"You're awake," a voice said from his right. Mikey turned to see Abigail, sitting in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs with her arm in a sling. She was okay, then. She was here.

Mikey grunted, his mouth dry. How eloquent. He tried again. "How's Nathan? What's happened? How long have I been asleep?"

Abigail made an odd whimpering noise, the kind he'd never heard from her before. He squinted—was she crying? He couldn't tell—without his glasses, the world was blurry.

"Abigail?" he asked.

"Nathan died yesterday," she said, drawing in a hiccupping, gasping breath. "His injuries were just too much. He didn't even wake up, before—" She choked on her own tears, her own grief, that much Mikey could tell. He didn't have much experience with grief—an only child to two healthy parents.

His parents. Nathan.

Nathan was dead. Mikey's brain struggled to connect the idea that the boy he'd ran after, the boy he'd tried to stop from leaving the safety of the shield, was dead. Gone—just like that. Like he'd never been.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, his voice cold and far away. Was it really him, with that voice? He felt like he was bursting with emotion, falling apart at the seams that held him whole. He'd fall into little pieces: Mikey's head here, Mikey's feet there, his hands in a different place.

"A couple days," Abigail whispered. Mikey watched as she wiped her eyes. "It didn't fix anything, you know."

"What didn't fix anything?" That same voice. Mikey could feel himself cracking. Nathan—the boy who'd made obnoxious but loveable D&D characters, the boy who had played videogames with him—that boy was dead? No. Mikey had seen him… Seen him just a few days ago…

"The texts. The ghosts—whatever they were trying to do, they did it. The world's ended."

"It can't have ended," Mikey pointed out, still feeling fuzzy. They must've had him on some strong painkillers. "We're all still here."

"The sky is green." Abigail sobbed. "The sky is green," she repeated, "and the city has been destroyed. Nothing is right." Gone was the cool, level-headed friend Mikey knew. Grief does strange things to people… "Hundreds if not thousands are dead, Mikey. What could you call this, except the end?"

The end. Apocalypse. Like something out of a movie—only it was very real. Thousands dead. "That's—Phantom would've…" The half-ghost hadn't showed up to stop that ghost outside from killing people—he had failed. And he apparently hadn't checked his phone, either. Or maybe he had, but he hadn't been able to stop it anyway.

And Nathan was dead. What if Danny had let them help, instead of ignoring them? What if he'd encouraged Nathan, instead of putting him down? (What if you'd done that, Mikey?) Would he still be around? Grief does strange things to people…

The rational of Mikey knew he was looking for someone to blame for Nathan's death, someone other than himself. This wasn't something unheard of. But still… He had a point, didn't he?

"Is your family okay?" he questioned.

"My siblings are," Abigail said. She had three older siblings—two brothers and a sister. "I don't know about my parents. None of us have seen them."

None of us have seen them. What about Mikey's own parents? Had they gotten his message? Had they escaped the end of days? Was it only a matter of time before they all died? I thought Phantom could save us. But he hadn't. His hero hadn't come to rescue him. No one had come. No one had cared for Mikey and Nathan and Abigail.

You're being irrational, he told himself, but that didn't keep the spite from coming up. Danny didn't deserve it; he'd clearly been pushed past the brink, when Mikey had seen him last. Those blood-shot eyes, that tired mouth… Still. He was the hero. Wasn't it his job to save people like Nathan?

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. Have you seen…"

Even as blurry as she was, he could tell she'd shaken her head.

"No," she replied. "I haven't seen your parents. None of the phones can get service, wifi doesn't work—there's no way to get ahold of them"

"Right," he said. "They probably think I'm dead."

If they weren't dead themselves. Abigail had made the invasion sound devastating. Destruction in Amity wasn't uncommon, but it wasn't usually on such a large scale. He wondered how the city was coping, how the cleanup was going. And the phones being down…

You're distracting yourself.

"The sky is green?" he asked. He wouldn't think about his parents—or about Nathan. Nathan… The boy had been so upset, so angry and hurt. Had Mikey done that to him? Had he made his friend feel unheard? Was it his fault? No, it's the fault of the people who were supposed to protect him. He ignored how childish the thought was.

"Yes," Abigail said. "And apparently there was some kind of earthquake. No one really understands what happened. But the hospitals are overflowing, strained to the breaking point." Her voice was still shaky. Sad.

Usually, Mikey would've been curious to be faced with such a puzzle—a green sky, an earthquake. But now all he felt was apathy. Nathan was dead. His parents might be dead, too. Amity had been destroyed—and who knew what the rest of the world looked like?

Phantom had failed. He'd probably resent Mikey's texts, as angry at this interference as he'd been with Mary Yang's interview. He knew he was being ridiculous, that Danny had had perfectly valid reasons for being upset.

But Mikey had to blame someone, or he would blame himself.

"You can't just do that, Tucker!" Mrs. Foley shouted. "You can't just leave! We thought you knew better than that; we thought you understood that you were not to leave the house!"

The three of them sat on the Foleys' couch, candles providing illumination. They smelled sweet—maybe maple? All three had dried sweat on their foreheads, dust sticking there. Both Sam and Tucker had taken off their hardhats and their gloves. Their masks were pulled down around their necks. Danny had transformed as soon as he arrived, not keen on letting his parents follow him.

His mother drawing the thermos, trying to capture him, played over and over in his mind, how angry and desperate she'd been, how oddly devoid of exuberance his dad had been. They'd both been so wrong.

The Foleys' couch smelled like fabric and the faint hint of something chemical; they liked to keep a clean house. Even in the low lighting, he could see the individual threads making up the pattern. Absently, he ran his finger across them, and it felt rough to him—too rough. He'd sat on the couch before and had never had a problem.

Mrs. and Mr. Foley stood in front of them, sometimes pacing back and forth. Mr. Foley alternated from looking stern and smoothing his mustache. Mrs. Foley kept crossing her arms or putting them on her hips.

"Do you understand how worried we were? We went out looking for you, and we couldn't find you anywhere! We didn't know when—or if—you'd come home! You can't just leave. The world's in the middle of a crisis!" Mrs. Foley cried.

"Leaving without telling us was very irresponsible," Mr. Foley added. "Of all of you." He let his eyes move over the three of them, his mustache twitching. It's irresponsible, Danny heard in his mind. The Foleys aren't my parents—they understand better.

Even if they didn't understand completely.

"Would you have let us go if we'd told you?" Tucker asked.

"Don't take that tone with us," Mrs. Foley warned. "We understand that you three are used to doing things on your own, but you cannot just leave."

"From now on," Mr. Foley added, "you're not to leave the house. Sam, I'm sorry, but now that Danny's better, you need to stay with your own folks. And so long as you're staying with us, Danny, the no leaving rule applies to you, too."

No leaving. How was he supposed to stop the Empress if he couldn't leave Tucker's house? He'd be stuck again. Useless again. The Foleys had been more than understanding, by Danny's estimation, and he felt like he understood. Danny had endangered their only son—over and over and over. And if the situation hadn't been so dire, he would've agreed.

But he had to fight the Empress. He had to help. It had been him who'd failed. He wouldn't let himself just sit here; he needed a plan. And he'd need Sam and Tucker for that. They'd been by his side through it all, and they were capable of coming up with plans on their own. Along with him, they understood ghosts more than anyone.

And the ghosts knew them better than they knew most humans.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Foley, but I can't do that. Danny being better means I have to come around more often," Sam said, her voice firm. Danny could tell she was restraining herself; had this been any other adult, she probably would've torn into them. But this was her friend's dad, and a good man in his own right. So she'd be respectful.

"No, Sam," Mrs. Foley said. Her eyes were sharp, focused. They almost glowed, though Danny knew that was just his weird vision. "I know your family hasn't been letting you come here. They deserve to have you home, safe."

"But the world needs us," Sam said. "Or Danny, at least—but we're a package deal."

"You've done important work," Mr. Foley acknowledged. "And we couldn't be prouder of that—you've saved lives—" And my failure took lives. "We understand that. But this is bigger than you three. And I'm sorry, but your safety is very important. You may think you're adults, but you're only sixteen. The world isn't your responsibility. You need to go home, Sam."

Almost seventeen. And not their responsibility? If they didn't do it, who would? The ghosts, who could barely speak to one another without violence breaking out? Some of them had even sided with the Empress. Could the GIW, who wanted to wipe ghosts out of existence, be relied on to save the world? They were more likely to destroy it. His parents? They didn't even believe the Zone and Earth had been merged.

And they were so focused on curing him… Danny saw his mom whip out the thermos in his head again, and again, and again. He saw them telling him they'd cure him, even if he was their son. They'd fix him. The guilt in his mom's face as she clutched her head, whispering that she'd undo the damage they'd done to him. His heart constricted painfully, as though a hand was squeezing the blood from it, bit by bit.

Danny didn't know that anyone outside of Amity even knew about ghosts, or knew enough, or had the resources to do something. Maybe Danny didn't either, but he knew he had the best shot. It wasn't arrogance, he didn't think—he knew he couldn't do it on his own, and if he managed to stop the Empress and unmerge the worlds, it would be by the skin of his teeth. It would take every ounce of his strength and intelligence he had.

But he had to try. He had to try. He had to save them—save the innocent people the Empress was killing even now, slaughtering them after a devastating earthquake.

"Dad, please," Tucker said. "We fought off most of the ghosts—can't you show a little trust that we know what we're doing?"

Mr. Foley shook his head. "You've been hurt before. Danny almost died fighting off the invasion; we saw enough to know that, don't deny it. You have to be safe."

"And if that safety comes at the expense of everyone else?" Danny asked softly, meeting his eyes. "Mr. Foley, we know the dangers ghosts pose probably better than anyone else. Please—you have to let us do what we do best, what we've been doing for the last two years."

"It's lunacy!" Mrs. Foley exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "You are children. We are not sending you out there to die, do you understand? Saving the world can't be done by three teenagers, I'm sorry."

"But we already have," Sam said. "There was Freakshow."

"Pariah sort of counts, right?" Tucker muttered.

"And Dan," Danny added.

Mr. Foley sighed. "What do you mean, you 'already have'? The ghosts have never posed a danger to the entire world."

Sam couldn't stop herself from scoffing, though she did mutter a sorry when Mrs. Foley stared at her. Danny wished she were better at reigning in her anger. But she seemed… darker. So did Tucker. And he probably did, too. They had all changed. And not for the better, it seemed. The years of hunting, recent exposure, the invasion, and the merging had each done their part in re-forging them, melting them down and shaping them into something similar but more brittle, more prone to cracking.

"Freakshow definitely posed a danger to the entire world," Tucker told his parents. "He was this man… He got something called the 'reality gauntlet,' and he used it to shape and change the world around him, manipulate reality. We stopped him. Pariah… If we hadn't stopped him, I don't know if he would've gone further than Amity. And Dan—"

"In a way," Danny interrupted, "Dan did destroy the world. He was a… separate timeline. The future." That inescapable guilt seeped from inside, from his heart and his core, spilling out between his ribs, right under his skin. He couldn't escape it; it was a part of him, now. As much as his hands or his eyes or his hair—his guilt was there, too. Constant. Guilt for failing, guilt for Dan. It didn't always make sense, but it was all-consuming.

Mr. Foley rubbed his forehead. "I—fine. Okay." He didn't seem to know what else to say. Danny supposed he wouldn't know how to react either if his son had not only been secretly ghost-hunting but also claimed to have saved the world with his two friends.

"That doesn't make the world your responsibility," Mrs. Foley said.

"But it does!" Sam exclaimed. "Who else is going to do it?"

Danny's thoughts exactly. There was no one else, realistically. It was all on them—his parents wouldn't listen, the GIW couldn't be trusted, the ghosts were fragmented and prone to fighting. Anyone else didn't have the knowledge—though Danny would be the first to admit he needed help. I can't fail again. Not again. But to succeed, he would have to be allowed to try.

"Not you!" Mrs. Foley shot back. "Experts, people with equipment."

She sounded so much like Danny's parents during the interview. Leave it to the adults. And at the end, trying to convince him to tell them his identity because they were "experts."

"Mom, those people, even if they existed before, are probably dead." Tucker's voice had gone solemn, something Danny was seeing more and more from his usually light-hearted friend. There was a terrible hurt in his eyes, a sort of steel Danny had known was there but had rarely seen. "Don't you get it? There's no one else."

"That's not true," Mr. Foley said. "We can discuss this more in the morning—"

"I'll fight either way," Tucker vowed. "Whether you let me or not. And Danny won't say it, but he'll do the same." Mrs. Foley's face pinched; Mr. Foley's brows drew down.

"Tucker, you can't. You'll get hurt, or worse—"

"I've already been hurt," Tucker said. "And I survived. You'll just have to trust me. We can do this."

"Can you promise that?" Mrs. Foley asked, voice pained. Her face was crumpled under the weight of letting her only child go. "Can you promise us you'll survive, baby? That you can 'save the world'?"

And Tucker nodded. "I can." He was lying through his teeth, they all knew that. But there was no other option; it was either do this or watch what was left of the world burn. And Danny knew this conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Valerie thought a lot over the days that followed re-uniting with El. She thought long and hard and came to a decision: she wouldn't side with the Fentons, at least not completely, when it came to "curing" half-ghosts. They were experts, yes, but they hadn't even known about half-ghosts until a month ago. And now wasn't exactly the time to try and figure it out, not with the "merged worlds."

She'd left well enough alone. When she saw Phantom or El come up on her radar, she hadn't gone to speak with either. El would need a while to cool down, and Phantom—or Danny… She needed to speak with him, tell him how sorry she was, but after a night's sleep, her mind wasn't as clouded as it had been. She knew he probably didn't want to see her, wasn't in any shape to see her.

And the soft flickers on her radar hadn't exactly brought her to believe that Danny was entirely recovered. It wasn't until five days later that Valerie saw a sustained ghost signature from him. And even then, she was hesitant. What if he didn't want to hear her? Or worse—what if he thought she was there to hurt him? Although Phantom had never been afraid of her. Nor had Danny. Danny hadn't even really avoided her except for the past few weeks, and that had only been noticeable when she'd thought about it.

You did sort of shoot him. Multiple times. And hate him for ruining your life. And let that blind you, even when you knew he was half-human. The mistakes hurt, but Valerie knew she would be fine.

She and her dad were staying at the high school-turned-refugee camp with hundreds of others. They'd been provided blankets, food, water, candles—though Valerie knew it wouldn't last forever. The city was shut down: hardly anyone was on the roads, phone signals still didn't work, and they hadn't heard anything from the outside world. They had no idea when or if supplies would be given to them. Everyone was trying to conserve gas, food—everything. Goods were being rationed at stores, on Mayor Jones orders. She was the highest authority, now. They didn't know anything about the governor, the senators, the president.

Valerie had gone out twice since the invasion in her suit, which had thankfully not been damaged, to help clear debris. She'd seen three ghost signatures, but when she saw El's near them, clearly interacting… The ghosts didn't seem to pose a current threat, and she didn't need to get on El's bad side anymore than she already had. She left well enough alone. Again.

But now she heard a disturbance. She'd stashed her suit in her dad's car, which was parked just down the street. Valerie sat up from where she'd been lying on her blanket, in the corner she and her dad had reserved for themselves. Light came from the windows, enough to see by. Most of the candles were unlit to save them for when they were needed. The flashlights and lanterns they kept completely off unless it was an emergency.

Valerie stood and made her way toward the door, carefully stepping over or around blankets, personal belongs, and people. They had lost their homes, probably—just like Valerie. Except she had never really considered that shitty apartment her home, not even for a second. She had recovered a few of her things from the rubble, mostly sentimental things (though she had also dug up any cash or food she could find. Most of it had been ruined). She'd been filled with relief when, digging through the wreckage, she'd found a picture of her mom, as well as a couple of her favorite books.

The disturbance turned out to be a man shouting loudly to Mr. Lancer—some old man with graying hair and a rather red face. Spittle flew from his lips, and Mr. Lancer didn't seem pleased about it. He had the same look on his face he got when one of his students half-assed their essays.

"—saw it! They're gathering out there, and we need to do something about it! They're going to try and attack again, sure as shit they are," the old man was saying. "We need to gather up everyone back in here in case the outer shield falls!" He reminded Valerie of those paranoid people she'd hear in the street, preaching about the end of the world.

She supposed she owed them an apology, too. It was the end of the world.

"We'll get right on that," Mr. Lancer soothed. He patted the old man's shoulder gently. "I'll find someone to take care of it—"

"You'd best find those young people!" the old man said. "That young man saved my life. They fought the ghosts while everyone else ran. Or that Phantom fellow—he's done good work, he has."

That was interesting. Many older people viewed Phantom with disdain for the property damage. Most of his approval came from younger people. Valerie had always wondered whether it was the pretty face or cocky attitude. That was maybe unfair of her; Danny had helped people, she could see that now.

Still. He did have sort of a pretty face. It reminded her of El's.

"I promise, I will find someone to check it out," Mr. Lancer said. "You look tired, though—why don't you sit down, maybe we can get you some water."

"I don't need water, son; I need to know something is being done!" Nevertheless, he let a tired-looking Mr. Lancer—who was wearing a rumpled, untucked plaid shirt and torn jeans (Valerie had never once in her life seen him wear jeans. She hadn't thought he owned any)—guide him to a bench, where he sat.

Mr. Lancer had all but taken control of the makeshift "refugee" camp. He'd written down the names of everyone there, made sure everyone had blankets and food. He'd even helped transport those who'd been injured to the hospital. No one had seen principal Ishiyama. Valerie hoped she was only at the hospital and not the alternative.

Lancer gave the old man bottled water and some crackers, who, despite his gruffness, took it with a thank-you. As Mr. Lancer began to walk away, Valerie took the chance.

She approached. "Mr. Lancer?" she asked, and he stopped walking. He had bags beneath his eyes, and his beard was already rough and untrimmed. Not at all how he usually kept it. Well, Valerie probably didn't look her best either. "What was that?"

"Nothing you need to be worried about," Mr. Lancer said, swiping a hand across his bald head. It caught on the stubble there. It was so weird not to see it perfectly shaved.

"I'm curious," Valerie said. "He seemed upset." She knew her teacher respected an inquisitive mind, even if it was an obvious ploy.

Lancer sighed. "There are ghosts gathering at the edge of the shield. Some think they're gearing up for another attack."

Valerie frowned. "Why didn't he go tell the Fentons? Or, I don't know, anyone else?" Maybe it came out rude, but Valerie knew she was nothing if not blunt.

"I don't know. And I don't know how to find anyone. None of the phones work—not even radio works," Lancer muttered, lost in his own head. He wasn't paying attention to her anymore. "And who knows if Phantom's even up for it. I haven't seen him in almost a week."

Gathering ghosts sounded bad. Valerie's first inclination was to gear up and take care of them herself. But that would be a mistake, maybe. She didn't know how many there were, why they were here. Maybe it was some kind of scouting mission for the Empress to see how the aftermath of her attack had gone.

But unlike Mr. Lancer, Valerie did know where to find Phantom—and Sam and Tucker, probably. The "young people" the old man was talking about, presumably. She thought of going to the Fentons, but… This was a good excuse to go and see Danny. And he wouldn't have reason to immediately kick her out.

"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Lancer," she said, but he didn't even seem to hear her. He definitely didn't notice as she left the building; he surely would've said something to try and stop her if he had.

She had someone she needed to talk to.

Valerie knocked on the door tentatively, the sharp clink of metal against wood loud in the silence of the street. The streets, she'd noticed, looked a lot better now than they had originally; Amity's teams worked fast, and with nothing to do but help clean, volunteers had been abundant. Or so she figured, at least.

Tucker's house was a nice two-story building. There was a car in the driveway, probably another in the garage. The car outside—an Impala—was rather beat-up. Valerie thought it must've been used recently, because it was covered in dust. Most of the buildings in the neighborhood were still standing.

The door swung open slowly to reveal Tucker, wearing his thick glasses but without his customary red beret. "Oh," he said. "It's you." His lips tugged into a frown.

"Yes. Me," Valerie said. Her faceplate was lifted; she saw no reason to hide from people who already knew who she was. And she wasn't ashamed of who she was, anyway. She was proud to be the Red Huntress, prouder than she was of getting good grades, prouder than she was of almost anything. Yes, she had made mistakes, but that pride was still in her, keeping her spine straight and her head high. "Can I talk to Danny?"

"Wait here," Tucker said, not replying. He shut the door on her, and Valerie couldn't blame him for that. He'll say yes. Danny might've seemed frightened of his own shadow at times, but Phantom's no pushover. But which was the real Danny? The overconfident hero who shied from nothing, or the shy boy who took bullying from people like Dash?

Valerie hoped to find out.

When the door opened maybe a minute later, Danny stood there. He looked much the same as always, and Valerie realized she had expected him to look different. But she could see no hint of his ghostly attributes—it was only Danny. Tired, rumpled, human Danny. The face may've been the same, but nothing else seemed to be. Not the way he held himself, not his eyes.

"We should talk outside," Danny said, glancing back. Tucker stood behind him, and he stepped out first, followed by the ghost boy. That name, which used to slip off her tongue so naturally seemed rotten now—expired.

"Right." Valerie stepped back to make room. There were chairs in the front, and she sat in one, Tucker and Danny arranging them so they sat across from her. Two separate sides, two different teams. Enemies.

Not anymore. He hasn't even changed forms. Or did he simply not see her as a threat? No, in the park, he'd considered her more of a threat than the ghost. Did this mean he trusted her now?

"Was there something you wanted, Valerie?" Danny asked. "Or did you just come to stare at me?" Valerie blinked; she had been staring.

Oops. Not off to a great start.

"No," she said. "I came to talk to you."

"Well, you've done a great job so far. You've said all of two words." Danny raised an eyebrow, the cocky expression unnatural on his human face. Still, Valerie could see Phantom's overlaying it in her mind's eye. She'd been so blind, not to see it before. And it was such a Phantom thing to say, in that lazy, I have a smartass comeback, sort of tone.

It infuriated her, usually, but right now she only felt confused—because this was Danny.

"Maybe like ten, if you count what she said to me," Tucker muttered.

Valerie scowled. "Sorry for needing more than two seconds to process the fact that you're Phantom." Tucker could stay out of it; this was between her and Danny. No one else.

"Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?" Danny prodded. His tone wasn't exactly derisive. But it wasn't not derisive, either.

"Yes, actually," Valerie said. She had to apologize—for shooting him, for the rooftop. But as she opened her mouth to say it, she found it more difficult than she'd anticipated. He had shot back, after all. And he could've tried to explain the whole dog thing earlier… No. He could've done things differently maybe, but that doesn't make what I did right. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Specifically?" Danny asked. "I don't want to be mean, Valerie, but there's kind of a lot… here." He gestured between them.

Valerie grimaced. "Yeah. I know." She leaned back. "I'm sorry for shooting you and revealing that you had a secret identity. And I'm sorry for tricking you on the rooftop." Danny paused, letting the silence stretch. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture reminding her of the rooftop.

"Okay," he said, decisively. Valerie had to restrain herself from demanding what that meant, but she didn't have to wait long. "I forgive you."

What? Shock made her go cold, as though she'd taken a plunge into an icy river. No way. No way he forgave me that fast; no one forgives anyone that fast.

Tucker made a choking noise next to him. "Dude—she injured you. Like, physically. And probably psychologically." Valerie would've been a little offended at that last part if her brain hadn't been busy short-circuiting. She'd been prepared to defend her case, to argue—for hours if needed. But those thoughts evaporated away with the knowledge that somehow, impossibly, Danny had already forgiven her.

"And Technus almost killed billions of people," Danny shot back at Tucker. "I forgave him, basically. Tolerated him for the sake of necessity." He's going to "tolerate me"? That was insulting, but she guessed that was better than arguing with him for forgiveness.

"Look, I hate to be the 'unforgiving Sam' in this situation," Tucker said, and if that wasn't the most accurate sentence Valerie had ever heard, "but it is not the same."

"Is it the same if I remind you that Technus exposed my half-human nature in the first place?" Danny replied. Valerie almost felt like they were speaking another language. Who was this "Technus"? A ghost? The name did sound kind of familiar…

"Point." Tucker rubbed his temple.

"Wait a second—you're really going to forgive me? Just like that?" Valerie snapped her fingers, the sound odd because of her gauntlets. "No—no anything?"

"I guess we could argue if you want to," Danny said, shrugging. The lines on his face somehow seemed deeper, as though he'd aged three decades and not three weeks since Valerie had last seen him. "But I need all the allies I can get at the moment. I won't alienate you because of our… difficulties. But I will say this: I'll forgive you, Valerie, but don't think that means I've forgotten."

Still, it wasn't an explanation. Valerie wanted a motive—right.

His parents. He was probably just happy she wasn't trying to cure him. And while Valerie could admit the prospect was still appealing, now was not the time. She wanted El and Danny to have normal, human lives. It was unfair to them to not explore the possibility of a cure. Some part of them had to want to be fully human. The Fentons were right about one thing: having a ghost half probably came with odd side effects.

That was why he was so forgiving; he knew how bad the alternative could be. Or maybe it was that same desperation from the rooftop, needing allies to fight the Empress.

"Fine," she said. "I wasn't expecting it to be this easy, anyway." And now for the other reasons she was there. "I have some information for you," she began carefully. "The apology wasn't the only reason I came."

"I guess asking for it to be would've been too much," Danny said. "So, what is it?" That tiredness was back—what had happened to him during the invasion? Jazz had said he'd been injured, not… this. He seemed to be exhausted, a shadow of the boy she'd known only a month ago. It was as though he was carrying a heavy burden, one invisible to everyone else.

"Ghosts are gathering at the edge of the shield," she said. Danny shot up, accidentally pushing back his chair. It scraped against the concrete.

"Why the hell didn't you lead with that?" he growled, his face morphing into something angry. "Do you know what they looked like?"

"No. And don't raise your voice at me," Valerie said, standing so they were nose-to-nose (oddly, he seemed to have grown a few inches in the past two weeks).

"The Empress had things that were able to break through the shield, you get me?" Danny demanded. "This is important. Do you know what part of the shield?"

She shook her head. "No, he didn't say." She should've asked that old man—he might've known.

"Fuck," Danny cursed. Valerie didn't think she'd ever heard him curse—not in his human form, anyway. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Valerie, we're going to fly to the shield, and I'll go right, you go left. When one of us finds the ghosts, they'll tell the other person."

Valerie's initial urge was to reject the suggestion simply because she didn't take orders, thanks. But the plan was sound, so she let it pass. And he just forgave you, Valerie—do you really want to mess that up right after?

"And what am I supposed to do?" Tucker asked, standing. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Get the Fenton phones—we'll communicate through them," Danny said. Tucker didn't budge an inch. "Look, man, I'm sorry, but your parents aren't going to like it if you leave again."

Tucker frowned. "Yeah. You're right. Okay—but I have three sets of phones. Sam accidentally left hers here. You'll tell me what you find, and if you need back-up, okay?"

"Deal," Danny said, and Tucker went back inside the house. Valerie could hear a woman talking inside, though she couldn't make out what she was saying. Danny cocked his head, as if he was listening.

"His parents?" she asked.

"That's none of your business," Danny replied. "Unless, for some reason, Tucker wants you to know."

The statement reminded her of El and her repeated insistence that it wasn't any of Valerie's business to follow her to Fenton Works. And the memory alerted something else in her brain, something that tried to slip out of her reach when she tried to remember.

"You don't have any aunts or uncles, right?" Valerie asked. "I mean, except for the one in Arkansas?" Danny watched her guardedly, probably wondering why she wanted to know.

"No, I don't," he finally answered, looking away.

"Then how exactly is El your—" She was cut off as the door opened, revealing Tucker with weird green airpod things in his ears. They were bulkier, though—almost like one of those ear bluetooths.

"Here," Tucker said, handing them each a pair.

"Thanks," Danny murmured.

"I thought nothing was working," Valerie couldn't help but say as she took one. "Not cell service, not wifi, not even walkie-talkies."

"My parents made these for the Ghost Zone," Danny said, putting them expertly into his ears. Valerie did it more awkwardly, what with the suit, but she managed eventually. They seemed to fit okay. "This version's actually less bulky than the original."

So they weren't affected by the merge, like everything else had been. Valerie wondered what else the Fentons had made that might be of use. And could they somehow mass-produce these?

"Try not to get hurt," Tucker told Danny as he changed into Phantom. Valerie couldn't help but stare as the boy she had dated briefly transformed into the ghost she'd regarded as her greatest enemy. "Sam will kill me."

"Right after she kills me," Danny noted, flying into the air. "You coming?" he asked, looking at her. Coming. Yes. Valerie swooped up beside him.

Together, they flew to the shield. This was almost weirder than seeing him transform; never had they really flown together. It had always been her chasing after him. Many of the streets were clear beneath them, though there were still collapsed buildings every so often. Six days wasn't enough time to truly clean a city, but Valerie thought, again, they'd done an excellent job.

When they reached the shield, Phantom—Danny—said, "I'll take right, you take left. Tell me the second you see a group of ghosts."

"Same goes for you," Valerie said. And for the second time in maybe ten minutes, she did as he asked, swerving left. Interestingly, his tone hadn't been commanding or conceited—it was almost matter-of-fact. Expectant. I'll do my job, but I need you to do yours, too. It wouldn't have worked, three weeks ago. Maybe not even six days ago. It seemed like six decades.

She scanned the area just outside the shield. Just forest or fields, knocked down or cracked because of the merging. Nothing. More nothing. Broken roads. A few birds—she was glad they hadn't all died or something. Who knew what ectoplasm could do to living things?

And then—there.

"I found them," Valerie said into the phones. "The ghosts."

"Where?" Phantom asked, his voice echoey even across the line. Valerie glanced around for a landmark.

"You know that weird thrift shop?" she said, squinting to see the name. "At the edge of town? It sells like weird occult stuff. It's, um—" She'd been there all of once.

"Hugo's Odds and Ends," Danny said. "Yeah, I know the place." And in a flash of green, he was there. Before Valerie could think about it, she'd raised her gun, ready to fire.

"Jesus Christ!" she cried. "Don't do that!" She lowered her weapon. God, was he trying to get her to shoot him again?

"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all. He flew down to the ground, peering at the group of ghosts on the other side of the shield.

They were honestly the weirdest bunch of ghosts Valerie had ever seen—at least together. There were a couple of giant, furry-looking things, what looked like a green wolf-man, the robot ghost with flaming hair that had once trapped her and Phantom on an island in the Zone—Skulker, maybe? She couldn't quite remember—and a ghost that appeared to be some college hipster-elf mixture.

"Ghost child!" the robot ghost shouted, maybe a foot from the shield. "You have arrived! I—Skulker, the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter—promise not to fire at you if you let us in."

"Let you in?" Danny transformed back into a human. His sweatpants and loose shirt seemed out of place in a confrontation with what looked like dangerous ghosts. "Skulker, why should I let you in?" He looked at the rest of them, the tension in his muscles fading slightly. "Wulf. Glad to see you're okay."

The green wolf-man raised a massive paw and smiled, showing off sharp teeth. "Yes, amiko. I am… glad, also." Danny was glad this thing was okay? Valerie landed beside him.

"These your friends?" she muttered.

"Wulf is. Skulker isn't. The yetis probably are, and Ghostwriter and I are neutral," Danny replied, equally as quiet. Then, he did something she wasn't expecting.

He walked through the shield.

Valerie was prepared to defend him—he wasn't in his ghost form, for God's sake—but none of the ghosts fired like she thought they would. Even Skulker stayed its hand, though she watched the fingers twitch, as though it had to keep reminding itself not to shoot.

"What are you playing at?" she demanded. He ignored her.

"What are you all doing here?" Danny asked. And because Valerie was no coward (and because Danny thought it was safe enough), she stepped out after him. None of the ghosts paid her much mind, which she thought was unfair. She was infinitely more likely to shoot them than Danny seemed to be.

She kept herself ready to fire, and she watched Skulker especially. She hadn't forgotten what it had done.

"The yetis threw me out," Skulker said, glaring at the two yetis near it. These yetis threw it out? The two "yetis" had horns on their heads and spears strapped to their backs. They had to be close to seven or eight feet tall. Valerie tried not to be intimidated.

"You broke our rules," one of them said sourly. It had a feminine voice, which Valerie hadn't been expecting. "You tried to skin one of our snow leopards! We granted you asylum from the Empress on the condition that you behave—not become a criminal."

"Its pelt was very fine," Skulker said. "It would've been a worthy addition to my collection."

"It was my pet!" the other yeti exclaimed, oddly distraught. Its voice was deeper. Ghosts can have pets? And "asylum"? What the hell? The whole conversation was surreal—were they lying? Putting on some kind of show to be more sympathetic? It seemed extreme, even for ghosts.

"I would have given you compensation," Skulker defended. "I am not unreasonable."

Danny sighed. "What brought you all here?" Danny asked, looking at them—except Wulf, who he seemed, for some reason, to like.

"Isn't it obvious?" the hipster-elf hybrid said. "We seek your protection, Phantom." Danny glanced around, as though waiting for one of the ghosts to say psych! And Valerie couldn't blame him—protection? Danny fought ghosts; he didn't give them protection. Valerie had seen him defeat Skulker more than once.

"Protection?" he elongated the word. "My protection?" His tone was disbelieving. Valerie couldn't agree more.

"He's not protecting you," Valerie interjected. "The city won't protect you—none of us will. You should leave." She would've already driven them off, but Danny seemed oddly fond of the Wulf one.

Danny glanced at her. "Just—explain, please," he said, facing the ghosts. He didn't contradict what she'd said, but he didn't support it, either.

"You are the only one who has stood against the Empress and won outright," Ghostwriter explained. "Far Frozen has lasted, but only because the Empress didn't concentrate her full might there. Skulker's home was destroyed, as was mine. We thought you would be willing to help us."

"Actually." The feminine-sounding yeti raised a finger. "We did not come for protection, Great One. We came to escort—" Here it said something Valerie didn't understand. "—El." Oh! These were the yetis El had been staying with.

"Well, I thank you," Danny said, bowing shallowly at them. The action seemed to embarrass them. And "Great One"—what the hell was that about?

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" the hipster-looking ghost asked. "Are you willing to offer us your protection or not?"

Danny sighed, running his hands through his hair, but he actually seemed to be considering it. Letting ghosts, willing, into Amity, which had just been destroyed by ghosts. The things were violent and dangerous, and if they were allowed in, people would get hurt.

"Danny, you can't!" Valerie cried. "They're ghosts!" He had to understand how bad of an idea this was. It was just like that ghost in the park—they fed him some sob story and he fell right for it! He knew better than this.

"I'm well aware," Danny said. He addressed the two yetis, "Do you intend to stay?"

"We don't know yet, Great One," the one with the deeper voice said. "We must speak to El first, before we depart."

"Okay." Danny nodded. "Okay. So, the rest of you can camp out with Dora for now—there's safety in numbers, and if the Empress for some reason comes back, we'll be all together, ready to fight. Those that get injured will be able to go inside the shield, but I know all of you can fight."

"You'll use us as a first-line defense for your precious humans?" Ghostwriter demanded. "Do you even care?"

"Any noncombatants we can probably let inside the shield," Danny continued. "Or those who don't want to fight. But right now, it's too difficult to ferry you between the shield—and yes, you are more equipped to fight ghosts than the average human. Maybe we can come up with some sort of system, with ghost signatures…" His eyes went far away.

That did sound better than letting the ghosts run willy-nilly inside the shield, free to terrorize Amity's residents. But still. Ghosts. He couldn't be serious.

"Danny, you can't—" she started.

"You expect us to stay with Dora?" Skulker interrupted. "She doesn't like me. I tried to capture her once. That dragon head of hers would look excellent on my wall."

"I guess you'll just have to apologize," Danny said blandly. "The camp's that way." He pointed. "I'll check up on you tomorrow, probably. We can work out more of a compromise, then. Okay?" This was directed at the hipster ghost.

"Fine. I'll do as you say for now, Phantom," Ghostwriter said. "But don't expect me to sacrifice myself for anyone—especially humans who don't care about me."

Danny rolled his eyes as the ghosts flew off, the two yetis bowing deeply to him, which made him flush.

"Okay, what the fuck was all that?" Valerie asked. "You're letting them stay? Why? You can't! If they're let inside, they'll destroy everything!"

"I'm surprised you managed that long," Danny said. He looked at his wrist, as though checking a watch. "You spent a whole ten minutes in the presence of ghosts without once shooting at them. That's progress, I think."

"Don't be a smartass," Valerie said. "Tell me what that was all about!"

"You heard them. And you heard me. They want my protection in case the Empress or her ghosts attack them. I said yes—basically. What else is there to know?" Danny asked, as though the entire situation was normal, and he had not just promised to defend ghosts, the things that had been plaguing the city for years.

"I don't know—maybe why you said yes?" Valerie demanded. "You can't seriously be thinking of letting them inside the shield. They'll hurt and kill people!"

Danny sighed. "Skulker might. The rest of them? They're probably fine. I might need to get some more people on board, though."

"More people on board? You need to reevaluate your priorities! You can't protect both humans and ghosts, not when the ghosts want to hurt or kill humans."

"I'm as much a ghost as I am a human, Valerie," Danny said. "They have a right to my protection like any person." And in that moment, Valerie saw just what the Fentons were afraid of—their son, loyal to ghosts, thinking like a ghost. Living among them, adopting their violence, their terror. Until he wasn't human any more.

But now isn't the time to try and fix it, Valerie told herself firmly. It wasn't. The Fentons were wrong in that.

"You can't do both," she said. "You can't."

"There's something I need to do," he said, very reminiscent of their conversation on the rooftop. "Don't follow me. We can talk more later, okay?" And he stepped back inside the shield, transformed into Phantom, and teleported before Valerie could so much as blink.

Chapter Text

Warning: Partially off-screen torture (I mean torture has sort of already happened on-screen so I’m not sure I have to warn you guys again, but…)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Good Ghosts and Bad Ghosts

Maddie gripped her hair with her hands, strands falling into her eyes. It smelled terrible: sour ectoplasm and dust and sweat. She glanced up through it, looking at the lab around her. Guns and other devices littered the tables, most meant to hurt or destroy ghosts. The portal sat, inactive, against the far wall. They had discovered what had been wrong with it—certain integral parts had been taken out.

And Maddie had a certain suspicion as to who’d done it.

She laid her trembling hands on the table. Perhaps they shook from exhaustion, perhaps from the four cups of coffee she’d drunk an hour or so earlier. A scalpel sat to her right, and in a fit of anger, she swept it—and the rest of the tools—off of the table. They clattered to the floor, her chest heaving.

She fell to her knees next to them, looking at her life’s work. Over two decades of research—close to half her life—had been dedicated to this, slaving away to prove something no one else even dreamed to consider. It had felt impossible at times, like trying to climb a mountain that grew steeper and steeper. She’d pull herself over one ridge only to realize she had thousands of feet left to climb.

The scalpel gleamed in the pile, greenish in the light. Maddie picked it up, rising, and flung it at the wall. She remembered cutting into a ghost, the ectoplasm welling between her fingers as she explored its unique internal structures: the nerves, the core, its molecular make-up. Like a child pulling the legs off an insect, ignoring its squirms.

Bile rose in her throat, and she looked down at her filthy hazmat suit in disgust. She had to get away from it all—from all of this. What if that ghost had been her baby, her precious Danny? Would he have looked at her like—like he had when she’d pulled out the thermos?

The fear in his eyes, a fear she had only glimpsed before, had been wrenched to the forefront—wrenched by her. It had lurked like a shadow beneath their interactions before—she could see that now: his upset whenever they spoke of Phantom. Of unknowingly cutting up their baby boy.

She sobbed and began to pull the hazmat suit away from her body. She couldn’t stand it anymore. The guilt was eating her alive. What if? What if? Maddie had wanted to help him, make him whole. He deserved that, after all the good he’d done. She’d wanted to make it right—it had been their invention, her life’s work that had done this to him.

In the back of her mind, Maddie had all the insecurities of a normal parent: afraid of being a bad mother, of being too lenient or too harsh. But she feared she had put her life’s work ahead of her children, her own flesh and blood. Jazz’s words haunted her. … Not that you were ever even there to parent me…

And Danny had paid the price for her—their—negligence. Paid his humanity, his childhood, his innocence. He’d paid everything, and he’d been so painfully afraid. Of her. Maddie sobbed, finally succeeding in removing her hazmat suit, revealing normal clothes underneath. How long had it been since her children had seen her like this?

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, knowing she wasn’t talking to anyone. Danny wasn’t here; he wanted nothing to do with her. And rightfully so. She’d been so desperate to help him she hadn’t listened to what Jazz had been saying, had ignored the signs of his fear and discomfort. She’d scared him. Scared him so badly.

All she could see was him scrambling back, Jazz yanking her arm away. What had she been thinking? Of course it would’ve scared him! She’d just been so—so obsessed with the idea of fixing him—fixing her mistake.

How could she have missed all the warning signs? The subtle flinches, flinging a fork across a room, avoiding her and Jack. The grades, the “bad” behavior. Her child, usually so bright and engaging, had faded like an old picture, edges peeling.

The desire to help hadn’t let up—she still wanted desperately to cure him. Especially because she didn’t know how this condition was affecting her child, how much longer he might have left before it became irreversible.

But she could see now that she had terrified her child with what she’d said about Phantom and the way she’d gone about it. All she and Jack had ever talked about was hurting him, and then, when they’d found out, all they’d talked about was running tests and curing him. He probably thought they were planning on ripping his core out. And really, Maddie couldn’t blame him.

Instead of explaining or listening, she had let her emotions rule her—and rule over Danny’s. She still had thought of him as a troublemaker, as her baby who needed stern guidance; not an almost-adult who’d used his powers to become a selfless hero.

The portal mocked her out of the corner of her eye, judging her silently. The urge to curse at it, to destroy it, overwhelmed her. Instead, she turned her back on it all and sat on the floor, hunching in on herself.

She glanced up as she heard steps coming down the stairway. They were heavy—probably her husband, then. “Mads?” Jack called tentatively. “Are you alright? I heard crashing.”

“Fine,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. His concerned face appeared a moment later, his eyebrows drawing closer together as he saw her—and their equipment on the floor, her discarded hazmat suit. He had changed out of his own orange suit for his pajamas.

“Aw, Maddie…” He came and sat next to her, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. She leaned her head on his broad shoulder, looking up at him. His eyes were rimmed red, his face covered in scruff.

“I made all the wrong choices,” she said to him. “For Danny. He was so afraid—afraid of me. I’m his mother; he’s not supposed to be afraid of me.” They had agreed early in their marriage, before ever having kids, that they would never spank their children. There was too much science against it, and they had wanted their children to come to them when things went sideways.

So where did we go so wrong?

“We…” Jack struggled for words. Everything about his demeanor was the opposite of how it was meant to be: lifeless, sad, silent. “We both did.”

“I shouldn’t have pulled the thermos on him,” she confessed tearfully. His look of fear—eyes wide, mouth open—would haunt her for the rest of her life. “I just—I want him to be well. He lost his—his humanity because of us. We have to help him.”

Again, her husband seemed to search for the right words. “I think… The best thing we can do right now is what he wants. We need to… show him that we can listen to him. That we can respect him.”

“But he’s sick!” Maddie cried. “He’s sick and it’s our fault! We half-killed our baby boy!” Jack swallowed and he looked away, his eyes glistening. Maddie’s eyes were already spilling over.

“I know,” he whispered. “But we can’t help if he’s too afraid of us to talk to us. We haven’t been thinking clearly this past week. We’ve been arguing almost constantly—we haven’t slept. We really don’t even know what happened during the invasion. What if Jazz is right and the worlds really did merge?”

“But it’s impossible,” Maddie protested. “Scientifically speaking, how would someone even go about doing that?” She pulled back, wiping her eyes awkwardly. Jack did likewise, dampening his pink pajamas.

“We’ve been wrong about what’s possible before. And I’ve been taking some readings—they’re all over the place. We should do what Danny asked us and make sure the shield stays up around the city.” Jack said the last part quickly, as though afraid she would protest.

“What sort of readings?” she asked. She’d been ridiculous in arguing with her daughter as much as she had. Her anger and desperation had clouded her judgment and made her more prone to irrationality—she should’ve at least humored Jazz to look. She’d just been so—so upset. Her worry that perhaps, if they waited any longer, Danny’s half-ghost state might become a permanent one…

That’s no excuse, she told herself. You’re a fully grown adult, Maddie.

“I can show you—“ Jack began, but Maddie shook her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be of any use right now,” she admitted. “We both need food and a good night’s sleep before we do anything.” She wasn’t sure how much sleep she would get with Danny’s face running through her mind, but she had to try for the sake of a clear head.

“You’re right,” Jack said, standing. He helped her up.

Maddie scrubbed her face, which was hot and prickly from crying. “Jazz still likes Alfredo, right? Do you think that would make a good peace offering?”

Jack smiled sadly. “It wouldn’t hurt to try,” he said, as though he was afraid their relationship with their two children had been ruined permanently—as permanently as Maddie feared Danny’s condition was.

She had to steel herself to stop from crying again because she could hardly stand the thought.

Danny alighted near central hall, looking around. It seemed relatively intact, and police guarded the entrance. He walked up to them, and they straightened. Trying to sound older than he was, Danny asked, “Is Mayor Jones inside?” The two officers glanced at each other briefly before the one nearest to him gave a brief nod.

Muttering his thanks, he entered the building. He couldn’t be more thankful that Vlad wasn’t currently mayor, though a small part of him worried where the older half-ghost was. He’d talked with a few of the workers who were cleaning up the streets, asking them if they knew where the Mayor was—if she was even alive. They’d told him she—and the remaining government—were holding assembly at the town hall.

The double-doors led to a long cavernous room. Windows on either wall let in sunlight, illuminating the space. People sat on makeshift benches as the mayor stood in front of them, speaking about how the cleanup was going. She was a tall woman, and thin, with dark skin and bright hazel eyes. Everyone turned to look at him as he came in—they must’ve been the other government officials. They broke out in whispers that seemed deafening to his new senses. He could smell their sweaty unwashed bodies (and if that wasn’t one of the worst smells in the world).

“Phantom,” the mayor called in greeting. She looked to the rest of the assembled people. “Let’s adjourn this meeting for now—I have a feeling we’ll be receiving pertinent information—“

“Respectfully Mayor Jones, we have a right to hear whatever it is he has to say,” a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman interrupted. She seemed strangely familiar. “It will clearly pertain to the present crisis and our unanswered questions. It may be more helpful if we’re all here to hear his testimony.”

Er, testimony? Danny had come to explain what had happened, yes, and perhaps develop a strategy forward, but he hadn’t been prepared to testify, like some kind of witness or something. He’d been imagining something much more casual.

“You’re right, commissioner Baxter,” Mayor Jones said. Oh, God, is that Dash’s mom? Now that he knew the connection, he could see his classmate’s chin and cheek structure mirrored in hers. “What did you come to talk about, Phantom? Why haven’t we seen you this past week?”

Everyone’s eyes were back on him, and he resisted the urge to shrink before them. I came here with information that they need. I can do this. He did his best to channel his inner-Phantom, keeping his back straight and his chin level. He walked forward so that he was in front of everyone in the benches, nearer to the mayor. “I’m uh…” He thought for a moment. “Sorry for going AWOL. I was injured during the invasion, but I’m fine now.”

The mayor examined him closely. Seeing no sign of injury, she said, “What can you tell us about all this?” She gestured to the windows and doorway, through which Danny could clearly see destroyed buildings. “The invasion came and went, but we can’t reach the outside world. Our electricity, water, infrastructure—everything’s been decimated.” There was no note of accusation in her voice, but Danny heard one anyway.

All this happened, and it’s your fault. You didn’t fight off the invasion well enough, didn’t put up the shield in time. You didn’t stop the Empress from merging the worlds. It’s your fault. “The Empress had a larger plan at play,” he began, trying to keep his voice strong. “She wasn’t simply working to invade Amity, like we originally thought.”

“Then what was she trying to do?” Someone from the benches demanded.

“Her ultimate goal was to merge the worlds—Earth and the Zone—and she succeeded, though we managed to drive her from Amity,” Danny said. The crowd burst into noise, talking about the how s and the why s. The mayor herself seemed puzzled, frowning slightly.

“—has to be impossible. How would—“

“—need to do something! We can’t just—“

“So all the ghosts are loose in the world? Hundreds will die—“

“That’s what the earthquake was!” Danny shouted, trying to make his voice heard over the din. They quieted, ready to listen. It was bizarre to have so many adult faces looking to him for explanation, as though he knew all the answers. “It wasn’t just Amity, either—it would’ve happened across the world. The Zone felt it, too, from what I understand.”

“But how come nothing works—our phones, our radios?” Dash’s mom asked.

Danny grimaced. “From what I understand—which isn’t much—the Zone’s unique atmosphere disrupts normal radio and phone waves. Not to mention, all the phone towers have likely been destroyed. The Fentons know how to create radios that will work in the Zone, however.” He wished he would’ve been able to give them a more scientific explanation, but he had never been good at that sort of stuff, not like his—his parents.

His mind shied away from the topic, remembering his mom drawing the thermos on him, his dad telling him the only way they’d fix the shield was if he consented to their tests. We’ll cure you, Danny-boy, it won’t even hurt…

He shook himself out of it as the mayor spoke. “So there’s no way of knowing what the rest of the world looks like? No way of knowing whether our government is still functioning, how many died?”

Danny shook his head. The deaths haunted him. How many had died? “Not without looking for ourselves.” A world-wide catastrophe, resulting from his blindness. “But I don’t think any place else was as prepared for the ghosts as we were—and look how we did.”

Some of the assembly officials paled at his words, panic stark in their wide eyes. They began to speak up again, talking to one another hurriedly. Mayor Jones raised her hands. “Please, stay orderly! We need to be able to hear everything!”

“But this—this merging, how do we fix it?” A voice cried desperately. “How do we separate the Zone from—from the world?”

The truth was that Danny didn’t know. But the honesty stuck in his throat like a lump of food—how could he confess his failure and then admit that he didn’t know how to fix it? Again, he wished he were as smart as his mom or Jazz; they would know what to say, how to calm the crowd.

All Danny knew was how to fuck up.

But their dirty faces were expectant. These were the ones who had begun to pick up Amity after it had fallen apart, arranging cleanup crews to dig crushed corpses out of buildings. He took a deep breath. “I think if we study how the Empress managed to do it, we would have a better idea of how to do it ourselves,” he said carefully.

“Then we need the Fentons,” Baxter said decisively. “We’ll figure out how to do it—and then we’ll do it.” Danny feared it would be infinitely more difficult than she seemed to think it would be. “And until then, we can get on with our lives. We’re safe inside the shield.”

“I think you’re forgetting things like food, water, and electricity!” a man cried. “We’re rationing, but we have maybe another two weeks before we run out! Our sewer system is practically non-functional—how are people meant to get clean water?”

The terror in his voice shook Danny to the core. He’d been thinking about fighting, about recovery. But how were they meant to do all this? A city depended on its infrastructure to work and be reliable. Everyone in the benches began speaking again, and the mayor seemed just as lost. She’d probably been thinking such things all along, and it was her job to fix those things.

He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Baxter is right,” he called. People began to protest, but he continued, “in that if we can keep the shield up, everything will go a lot smoother. The Empress isn’t done—she wants to rule over everything. The only reason she didn’t manage here is the shield, and it won’t last forever. Its power source needs to be maintained.”

“Didn’t the Fentons think of that when they put it up?” someone said.

“The Fentons didn’t put up the shield,” Danny corrected. “I did—with the help of some friends. They will be needed to make sure it stays up.” Sorry, Dad. He would maneuver them into doing it somehow; this was more important than any of them. Whoever had been left alive in the city needed to be protected, at all costs.

Not to mention… Talk about that later.

“We’ll need to speak with them immediately,” Mayor Jones said. She regarded him. “Perhaps you could, Phantom. We’re all quite busy here, after all. If we can expect no help from the outside, we need to figure out how to get our electrical plant up and running—not to mention the rest of the cleanup and sewer system. We won’t be expecting any gas or food…”

Danny grimaced. “The Fentons may be able to help with the electricity problem,” he said. “But I can’t be the one to talk with them about it.”

The mayor blinked, looking surprised. “What do you mean? You’ve been cleared of—well, everything. There’s no reason for them to distrust you. We can’t afford any of that, not if what you’ve told us is true.” She had a dazed, glazed-over look to her eyes. Danny didn’t blame her; this was a lot to take in. The people in the benches began to talk over him again, but neither he nor the mayor made to quiet them.

“It’s more personal than you’re probably thinking,” he muttered. “I’d show you, but I’m not wearing shoes right now.” Furrowing her brow, Jones glanced down at his boots before a look of realization crossed her face.

“You’re not really…”

He nodded. “They didn’t take it as well as I was hoping.” That was an understatement. Again, his mom drawing the thermos appeared in his mind, the way he had dodged the beam, dodged his own mother. The way they had kept going on and on about how he needed to be fixed, needed to be cured.

“I’m sorry,” the mayor said. “We’ll send someone to talk with them. Where are you staying?”

“With a friend,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. There was another thing I needed to speak with you about. Well, a few things, but this one specifically. There are—“ He became conscious of an ecto signature moving closer. He’d felt it before, but his mind hadn’t registered it as a threat. It was clearly moving toward him, however.

“Phantom?” Jones asked.

“There’s, um—actually, this is a nice transition into what I need to talk with you about,” Danny managed to say before Technus flew, intangible, in from the ceiling. Immediately there was a reaction from the people below: they screamed, beginning to duck under the benches or glance to the door or windows for escape.

“Ghost child!” Technus called, as though he didn’t see or hear the people panicking. “I have been searching for you all over. I helped as requested! You humans really need to upgrade your hospital equipment—“ The ghost moved closer, and the screaming grew louder.

Danny knew this couldn’t go on any longer; he flew up so that he was level with Technus, over the crowd. “Everyone calm down!” he shouted. “He’s friendly!” Ish, he added internally, but the ghost knew better than to try anything. Or at least, Danny hoped he did. He’d seemed oddly eager to help, these past few weeks.

The crowd began to quiet, realizing that the usually violent ghost was neither firing nor summoning metal to cover himself in and kill them with. “He’s here to help!” Danny told them.

“Ghosts are nothing but troublemakers!” Dash’s mom shouted. It sounded so similar to his own parents that Danny flinched. Does everyone in Amity think like this? Was he going to be faced with people thinking he was diseased everywhere he went, that half of him was wrong and immoral?

Technus bristled at the insult. “I suppose next time I will leave your injured to die,” he snarled. “That seems to be all you’re good for.”

“Technus,” Danny warned lowly. The ghost’s aura wasn’t as bright as it usually was; he must’ve expended a lot of energy helping. The half-ghost knew what that was like, to work hard and be ridiculed for it. Technus calmed slightly, though he still looked offended.

“I, Technus, master of all technology, am above such petty insults,” he announced, tossing his nose into the air. “I came only to speak with the ghost child, not involve myself with humans.”

“Why don’t we land?” Danny asked, and together they descended to the ground. The front row of people flinched away from Technus, nervously eyeing him and the doorway. “This is the next thing I wanted to say,” he said to Mayor Jones. “The Zone was conquered by the Empress first, and a lot of them are looking for protection inside the shield.”

“Absolutely not!” Dash’s mom yelled. “They’ll destroy everything we’ve managed to clean up so far, and who knows what other trouble they’ll make? We can’t let them inside!” There were murmurs of agreement, and Danny felt a headache coming on. Not only were the loud noises and strong smells irritating him, but he had a feeling this long conversation was only going to get longer.

“All they want is safety—the same as you or I,” Danny said. “They won’t cause any more trouble than a normal person.”

Mrs. Baxter stood. “They’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place!” She couldn’t know how right she was; Technus had started all of this. The manhunt, the reward, the invasion, everything. But saying that would only end poorly, so Danny kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But not all of them are responsible—just the Empress and her goons. That leaves about ninety-nine percent of the ghost population out of the equation. Their homes have been ruined like ours, their lives destroyed. Letting them in will keep the Empress from getting to them. We can help,” he pleaded.

Mayor Jones nodded. “We can allow in those you vouch for, Phantom,” she decided. As the gathered assembly-people made their displeasure known, she turned to them. “We know so little about ghosts,” she began. They quieted. “We’ve accepted what we’ve been told of them with little thought on it—with little thought to the questions we should’ve been asking all along. We must act decisively and with compassion in this crisis. These ghosts may become important allies.”

“Or they might kill us!” someone cried.

Technus scoffed. “As though the ghost child would let them. He has defeated most of the ghosts who would give you trouble—they won’t go back on their word and risk being thrown to the Empress.”

The people muttered at this, some pointing out that Phantom had protected them before, and if he thought it was safe enough… Others protested, repeating that no ghost—save Danny—could be trusted.

“If you won’t trust my judgment,” Jones said, “trust his.” She gestured to Danny, who tried not to flush. Trust his? His judgment, which had led them all here in the first place, which had been duped by their enemy once already? That judgment?

It’s a mistake, he wanted to tell them. Don’t put your faith in me. I’ll only let you down, like I did before. Like he was still doing—he had no idea what the next step was. He didn’t know how to get everyone food, how to fix the world. He was in over his head, buried alive inch by inch by his responsibilities.

But he could see the words had begun to win them over, their faces brighter. He wanted to shake them. Don’t listen to her! He didn’t—he only stood there as Mayor Jones began to persuade them further, using his reputation as her sharpest weapon, her best point of rhetoric.

And Danny didn’t agree, but what else was he to do? He had gotten what he wanted.

Lancer had the serious misfortune of being the one saddled with the school’s refugees’ needs. He felt he wasn’t the best for the position; he was a vice principal—a teacher— not someone who had experience in higher administration. He’d found himself looking after hundreds of people, making sure they had food, water, sanitation, anything they needed.

He wasn’t entirely alone, of course: there were other teachers and people, and he’d spoken with the mayor to make sure he was receiving supplies, but… It was more than he’d ever had to do before, and there was still no sign of anyone ready to take over.

This situation, it turned out, was more permanent than he’d foreseen. Permanent—as in, not changing in the near future. Lasting. Like the air, or the sky, or the earth. Except, he supposed, those hadn’t turned out to be as permanent as he’d assumed after all.

He hadn’t been back to his house in what seemed like ages, though it couldn’t have been more than a week or so. The roads still weren’t entirely clear, and citizens were being told to stay off them for emergency vehicles (and to conserve gas, as they wouldn’t be getting any soon).

Lancer walked around, distributing extra blankets to those who needed them. There was no privacy in this place, except perhaps in the bathrooms. Some had erected curtained-off sections to create their own spaces, stacking desks and draping blankets over those. Sometimes as many as four or five families were crammed into one classroom.

He backed out of the science room after giving out the rest of his blankets and assurances that they wouldn’t be running out of food for a while yet—or water, or space. As people recovered enough to leave the hospital, they often came home to ruins. Having nowhere left, they would come to one of the newly formed shelters: the school, the University, and one of the office buildings had been renovated for the homeless.

Walking down the hallway, Lancer was glad it was day—at night, the green light from the shields outside cast eerie shadows. Most everyone associated the color—toxic, almost radioactive—with danger.

“Mr. Lancer?” a familiar voice called. Disbelieving, the teacher turned to see one of his students—one Daniel Fenton—standing behind him. He looked disheveled, but no more so than usual, wearing a baggy shirt and jeans Lancer couldn’t recall seeing him in before.

“Great Gatsby!” he exclaimed, blinking. The man couldn’t believe his eyes. Could it really be him? Lancer recalled seeing Tucker and piecing it all together—the dip in grades, the tardiness, the absences. But the student in front of him seemed so normal.

“Er, hi.” Danny waved at him, looking awkward. “How is, um, everything going here?” The boy rubbed the back of his head, glancing around to the unlit candles on the floor and blankets.

Lancer didn’t know how exactly to respond to such a casual setting. “As well as can be expected,” he finally replied, searching his student’s face. “Why don’t we take this to my office? I have a few minutes I can spare.”

Danny immediately shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I just needed to find Valerie, and I figured you might know where she was set up—“ There was a mild panic in his eyes; there was no doubt in the teacher’s mind that Tucker had told him about the discovery.

Lancer smiled, trying to reassure him. “I insist, Mr. Fenton. Only a few minutes.” Danny ran his hands through his hair, looking to the windows and the floor. Lancer had no doubt that he could escape if he wanted to, but he hoped the boy wasn’t so intimidated as that.

“Fine,” Danny relented, and he followed Lancer down the hall to his “office” (really Ishiyama’s office, but Lancer’s classroom had been converted to multiple bedrooms. He hadn’t really had a proper office, even as vice principal).

The teacher opened the door for the boy and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. He debated closing the door—warring between the need for privacy and making Danny feel safe. He decided to crack it, trying to keep the flighty Danny from feeling trapped—the boy looked fit to burst, tension lining his every muscle. Lancer sat behind the desk. It was littered with Ishiyama’s personal effects; he’d done his best to leave everything as it was, though he’d brought over his coffee cup and the picture of his “sister.”

He clasped his hands in front of him. “So,” he said, trying to keep his expression light. “What business do you have with Miss Gray?”

Danny fidgeted, and though Lancer knew who he was intellectually, he still couldn’t comprehend it. The Phantom he’d seen from the fights would never have fidgeted. But which one was the mask? Or were neither?

“We’re, uh, friends, you know. I just wanted to… see her,” Danny said lamely. Lancer wondered how he had managed to scrape through without anyone discovering his secret when it seemed so obvious that he was lying, that there was more to this.

It only seems obvious now that I know. He’d suspected a number of things before, none of them this. In some ways, he was relieved—the brightness he’d seen in his student hadn’t gone out; it had only focused its beam on something much greater than school. In other ways, he was horrified. A child had been fighting the ghosts? One of his kids? (Despite what some might think, Lancer cared deeply for his students. He had no children of his own, and he considered them as close as he was ever going to get).

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Lancer said calmly. Danny’s eyes went wide, alarm was evident in the angle of his brows. “But that’s not what I brought you here to discuss. I understand why you may have wanted to keep it all secret, but… Surely you believe that most of us would’ve been on your side?”

It was as though Lancer had flipped a switch: Danny’s back straightened, and his eyes met his teacher’s. “Even if that were the case—which at the time, I don’t think it was—would that have been enough to keep the GIW at bay? The hunters, wanting the reward? I couldn’t take that risk, Mr. Lancer.”

Logically, the argument made sense. But still, the teacher railed at the idea that his student hadn’t felt safe at school, or home, or anywhere, hunted by ghosts and humans alike. “I think I understand,” he said. “And I want to… apologize.” The boy frowned.

“For what?” he asked. “You didn’t do anything—no shooting, no name-calling, no trying to conquer the world. In terms of my list of concerns, you weren’t even on it.” Lancer wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but he knew he had to make this right. It didn’t matter if Danny hadn’t seen his actions as transgressions; he’d been wrong, and his student deserved to know that.

“I repeatedly pressured you into feeling bad about your academic standing, Danny,” he said. “It was with good intentions—I knew you had the potential to make it, and I wanted to help you be successful. But that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have implied that I was disappointed or that you weren’t trying hard enough.” Never let it be said that Lancer didn’t know how to make a proper apology. He liked to think he had a way with words, as all English teachers probably did.

Danny’s face slackened. “You…” He struggled for words. Lancer let him; he seemed overwhelmed by what he’d said. As though it had been… unexpected. Lancer felt a prick of fear in his heart, urging it to beat faster. “That means a lot, Mr. Lancer. More than—more than you know.”

Had others close to him not reacted the same way? The teacher’s mind immediately went to his parents. They were zealous, yes, but Lancer would never have suspected them of any kind of abuse. Their children were the first things the couple thought of during an attack, and they’d always made an effort to be a part of their children’s lives—at least from what Lancer had been able to tell.

Or perhaps Lancer was overthinking it. Danny had faced a lot in a short amount of time: his exposure, the invasion, this “merging.” Too much for anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy.

“This is perhaps not the smartest question, but… How are you coping? No one saw—well, Phantom—after the invasion. And now…” He trailed off. Now everything had crumbled around them. The world was in pieces. Lancer couldn’t think about it, or he’d break down. So instead he shoved this knowledge to the back of his mind, in a dark corner he tried never to visit, in order to function.

“I was injured,” Danny replied, rubbing his chest as if in remembrance. Lancer recalled some of the wounds Phantom had sported and winced. How many times had the boy come to class, gore thinly veiled by a jacket? “And I… I—“ He looked far away. “I’m as fine as I’ve ever been, I guess.”

“And your parents?” Lancer asked. “How have they been taking everything?”

Here Danny swallowed and paled, looking at the ground. In a small voice, he admitted, “Not well.” He tried to hide his trembling hands  underneath his thighs, but Lancer saw them.

“Did they harm you?” he asked gently. Danny shook his head immediately.

“No. I don’t… I need to find Valerie, Mr. Lancer.” He stood, all at once the imposing hero and no longer the shaking student. “Do you know where she is?” Lancer sensed that no matter how hard he pressed, he wouldn’t get the full story out of Danny, and so he nodded.

“I’ll show you where she’s been staying.” But he would make sure the Fentons weren’t a threat to their son.

Welcome to Evanston the sign read. Twenty-six miles from Amity, the town was small—perhaps five thousand or so people. Danny had only ever driven through it en route to another place. “Do you sense anything?” Sam whispered, knowing he would hear her even above the wind.

“Maybe ten or so unknown signatures,” he replied. “Are they showing up on the radar?”

“Only seven are in range right now; the others will probably show up when we get closer,” she said. Danny’s sensing was more precise than even his parents’ technology, at this point.

He, Sam, and Tucker were crouched behind some brush to keep out of sight, just outside the town; Danny had flown them there, and they had seen the destruction from above. Buildings collapsed, rubble everywhere. Thus far, there had been no signs of life. Danny could hear no heartbeats or footsteps, though he couldn’t be sure how far his range was. He hadn’t exactly had a lot of time to test it, his days occupied by planning how best to stop the Empress.

Tucker poked his head out, just barely, above the dumpster. “Do you hear anyone?” he asked, touching the gun anxiously at his hip.

Danny shook his head, nearly vibrating with anticipation. His mouth was dry, his hands clammy. He didn’t usually get so antsy before a potential fight, but this wasn’t any normal fight. They were implementing his plan, the way he hoped to begin to fix all the damage he had helped wreak.

We can do this. The nerves were equally evident in Sam and Tucker: his friends twitched and fidgeted. None of them had ever done anything like this, and they couldn’t help but feel in over their heads, as though they’d just been told the plane was crashing, the pilot was incapacitated, and you have to fly now, you understand? Because maybe they’d run a few simulations, and though that didn’t qualify them to fly a plane, it was better than the rest of the passengers.

Never mind that there were adults who claimed to be more “qualified”—there were very few people who’d had any real experience fighting ghosts.

And most of them were under the age of eighteen.

“You in position, Valerie?” he said into the Fenton phones.

“Ready to deal some damage, cuz,” El replied. The two were together on the other side of Evanston.

The plan was simple: the five of them would sweep through the town looking for survivors and capturing any of the Empress’s goons. After securing the town, they would establish a perimeter and make sure anyone left knew they were there. Then, Jazz would arrive—accompanied by a few police officers—to escort the survivors back to Amity.

They’d also take the time to raid Evanston for any supplies it had—water, food, clothes—but only after they’d made sure everyone was safe. This would be an arduous, difficult process, as they would have to locate them, and then load them onto the trucks.

“Good. Looks like we have about ten ghosts—but make sure they’re actually hostile before doing anything, okay?” That last part was directed at Valerie, and Sam frowned.

They’d had an argument about including the Red Huntress, with Sam on one side, Danny on the other, and Jazz and Tucker in the middle. They’d debated for what seemed like hours.

“You really want someone who shot you—injured you so badly you could barely walk for days —on the team with us?” she’d demanded. The lines of her face had been angular and hard, like skin had melted and only bone was left.

“We can’t afford to be picky,” Danny had said, crossing his arms. “I’ve already forgiven her—hell, I’ve forgiven Technus. We need all the allies we can get, even if they’ve been… unreliable in the past.”

“’Unreliable’ is putting it mildly.” Sam threw her hands up. “Whatever. Whatever, but if she stabs you in the back… I won’t forgive you.” They both knew that wasn’t true. If anything, Sam forgave him for too much. She hadn’t blamed him for falling for the Empress’s trap, for his plan failing… For all of this…

El had been pleased to be friends again (Danny had heard about her fury at the Huntress for what she’d done), though he sensed things still weren’t the same between the two.

“I won’t shoot anything unless it looks ready to shoot first,” Valerie muttered into the phones. Danny frowned at the grass beneath his feet.

Sam grit her teeth. “You better not hurt anyone,” she growled. “Human or ghost. And ghosts aren’t ‘its,’ okay? No more than any person is.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to chat with the ghost and ask them how its day’s been going before they try and kill me, shall I?” Valerie said. Danny could see the sarcasm in her face, the snarl of her mouth, the squint of her eyes. He’d seen it often enough during their fights. “Just so we can get that person-to-person interaction.”

“Guys, we have a job. Let’s focus,” Danny said. “We can discuss this later.” Or argue later. Whatever ended up happening. Danny knew he was practically jittering, ready to make the first contact with the outside since the Empress had merged the worlds.

Sam scoffed. “Oh, yeah, let’s discuss Valerie’s prejudice later, after she’s destroyed some innocent ghost—“ Danny shot her a hard look, and she shut her mouth, glancing away. “Sorry,” she murmured. “You’re right.”

There was silence before El spoke. “So are we actually doing this, or…?”

“If we’re taking a vote, I think sitting here and doing nothing is the best possible use of our time,” Tucker volunteered. Sam rolled her eyes, but Danny let his lip quirk upward.

“Okay,” he said into the phones. “Let’s go in.” A few months ago, he might’ve come up with some kind of funny name for their mission—or made some pun or play on words. But with hundreds in the town likely dead—and dead as a result of his actions—he didn’t feel like joking.

He’d become accustomed to the lead-like guilt in his stomach, a near-constant companion, as though he’d swallowed something that could never be properly digested. It just sat there, making him sick.

He darted out from behind the brush and onto the road that led into the town. He didn’t see anyone, and the signatures were a ways away. Gesturing for Sam and Tucker to follow, he crept down the street.

When the town began, Danny could see the remains of what looked like a main street, shops lining either side of the road. Or—they had been shop; they’d crumbled. Most were near-level, a destruction far worse than the one that had befallen Amity.

The half-ghost paused, listening closely. He heard no breaths, no heartbeats, nothing. Only the drip-drip of water and the patter of rodent feet. Sam and Tucker glanced to him, but he shook his head. They had both drawn their ectoguns. Specter-deflectors were strapped to their waists; they’d activated them when they’d landed.

The trio moved silently through the town, wind brushing their faces. In the shadows of one collapsed wall, a pale, rotting hand seemed to reach out to them. He swallowed and looked away. The half-ghost chilled as his ghost sense alerted him to the presence of nearby ghosts, like some kind of failsafe in case he hadn’t noticed them already.

Eventually, Danny heard the thump-thump of hearts, and his eyes widened. The signatures were no closer, so he veered toward where he heard the noises. It sounded like at least seventy people, all huddled together—somewhere.

“I hear hearts,” he whispered. “Seventy or so.”

“Where?” Tucker asked, and Danny gestured through the ruins on the right side. There must’ve been a building left standing, one the survivors had congregated in. Danny turned Sam and Tucker intangible, and they walked through the rubble with ease.

On the other side, a road led down to a Walmart, which stood amid the ruins fairly whole. “They’re in there, I think,” he said softly. The ghost signatures were still relatively far away, perhaps half a mile, and they weren’t moving. So they probably haven’t detected me.

The windows weren’t boarded up, but the inside seemed empty. Had Danny not heard the hearts beating, he wouldn’t have thought there was anyone inside. “We should go through the front door or something,” Sam said, “so they aren’t scared of the intangibility.” Danny nodded.

“And I’ll change forms,” he added. That way, the ghosts—if they are malevolent—won’t come near us while we talk to the people inside there. The bright rings changed him from Phantom to Fenton, though this time he’d at least dressed for the occasion, matching Sam and Tucker for body armor and military-grade boots.

The three picked their way through the parking lot, abandoned cars and shopping carts the only things in sight, spread out across the cracked asphalt. Danny’s shoulders coiled tightly as he braced himself. At the front of the store, one of the vending machines had fallen over, spilling snacks across the sidewalk. The doors were open, the caution, automatic door signs bright on their front. People must’ve pushed them open after the electricity went out.

The inside of the store was dim, their silhouettes thrown across the floor from the light outside. Danny glanced around, but it looked much like he would’ve imagined an abandoned Walmart would look like. Their footsteps echoed on the linoleum as they walked deeper into the store. Danny wrinkled his nose; he could smell the survivors’ unwashed bodies from there.

“Creepy,” Tucker muttered. “Where are they?”

“In the back,” Danny replied. Some of the shelves were empty, but much of the food was intact. They snuck down the aisles, the stench growing stronger in his nose. There, huddled against the back wall, was a mass of people, illuminated only by a few lamps. They were like a hoard of rats, their eyes shining, their faces gray.

“How did you get in here?” a man called, standing in the front. He was perhaps thirty or so, and his thick, tangled beard covered half his face.

“Um, the door was open,” Tucker said, gesturing the way they’d come.

The man’s brow furrowed. “You mean—you’re not from Evanston? You—have you come to help? To save us from those—those things—“ Danny held up his hands. The people behind the man perked up, some of them rising to get a better look at the trio. None of them spoke, however, simply watching the exchange with round eyes.

“The ghosts?” Danny asked. Had the Empress attacked such a small town? “Did they—I don’t—“ The ecto signatures he had sensed nearby suddenly moved, coming towards them.

“Some of the others tried to escape,” a woman said from the floor. “They tried so hard, but it was worse for them. The screaming… Better to stay.” Screaming? There was something here Danny wasn’t understanding; these people were acted as though they were trapped here. Like they had no choice but to stay.

Other things had to be dealt with first, however. Namely, the ghosts headed their way. “They’re coming,” he told Sam and Tucker.

“How many?” Sam asked.

Ignoring the man’s demand to know who was coming, Danny replied, “Seven or so.” Sam and Tucker flicked off their safety as a small girl came pelting down the aisle, hair flying.

“The demons are coming back!” she shouted, waving her arms. “They’re nearly here!” Demons? She must’ve meant the ghosts. Had the ghosts harmed those that had tried to leave? But why were they keeping these people here in the first place? The girl must’ve been some kind of scout—she had been out the back.

“Put those away! Guns don’t work on these things,” the man hissed, gesturing to the ecto-guns. “Resisting only makes it worse; you’ll get us all killed! I don’t know how you got in here without attracting their notice, but you better keep your fucking mouths shut. The last thing we need is for you to go provoking them.”

“Listen, these aren’t normal—“ Sam began.

“Don’t speak when they come in,” the man interrupted. “Don’t look at them—don’t do anything. And put the fucking guns away!” The ecto signatures were just outside now; they would enter the building within the next few seconds.

“We know what these things are,” Danny tried to explain, raising his hands. “They’re ghosts; we have weapons to fight them—“

He stopped talking as the ghosts came in through the ceiling. Although neither Sam nor Tucker had holstered their weapons, they did their best to hide the soft, greenish glow, tucking them awkwardly beneath loose clothing.

The seven ghosts glowed brightly. Two had green eyes, the others’ red, and their skin colors ranged from radioactive to cobalt. They wore clothing unlike the Empress’s soldiers—more modern.

“How are you, my lovelies?” one of the ghosts asked, dropping closer to the people. They flinched away, hunkering closer to the ground. The ghost smirked, revealing sharp fangs. “I so did enjoy Jesse’s shrieks, but I think they were cut off a tad too quickly. Perhaps one of you might last longer.” He swept hungry eyes across the terrified mass.

“Maybe someone a little older,” one of the ghosts called from above. “They have more blood. And they understand better what’s going to happen to them, too. A sort of delicious aged terror.” She licked her lips with a long pale green tongue.

Danny’s core thrummed. He knew of ghosts like these—ones who fed off of fear and pain. Corrupted, they were called, and most often banished because they preyed on ghosts as well as humans. The emotions, Danny had been told, didn’t taste the same—some preferred ghost, others preferred human. He suspected these were the latter, and his fury—and nausea—flared. They were toying with these people, picking them off one by one and torturing the ones they took.

Humans were nothing but food to them: animals ripe for the slaughter. The thought of cannibalizing something even as small as a person’s emotions made Danny ill. And it’s my fault they’re here, able to do all of this. If I’d just been able to stop her… If I’d just been smarter… But he was here now; he would help these people.

“Perhaps—you,” the one closest to the people said, dipping down further to tug on the arm of a teenage boy. Those around him scrambled away from the ghost, crying out. “That fear of yours is potent—such a strong taste even now.” The boy looked at him with wide fearful eyes.

“P-please,” he breathed, and the ghost laughed.

Danny couldn’t stand it anymore. He nodded to Sam and Tucker, then gestured to the ghosts flying up above. The other two nodded. He’d take the one with the boy. They had one thermos between them: incapacitate and capture was the idea.

Right now, the ghost was too close to the boy for Danny’s comfort. He might teleport in the midst of them, but the ghost’s signature was powerful. Danny didn’t want to risk harming any of the (many) bystanders. If he could get the ghost closer…

Well, there was nothing like bravado. “He doesn’t look like he’ll last a minute,” Danny announced. Perhaps a rude thing to say, but he just needed to bring the ghost over and away from everyone else. The man who’d spoken to them eyed him fearfully and backed away into the crowd. Good.

“And you think you’ll fare better? You can’t be much older,” the ghost said. He didn’t release the boy’s arm. “Though you have spoken out of turn, in the presence of your betters. That’s something you must be punished for.”

“Betters?” Danny demanded. “The only thing I see is a sick fuck who doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as these people, let alone call himself a ‘better.’” That seemed to anger the ghost, his face contorting darkly. The ones above swooped lower, growling and murmuring.

“I see you need to be taught a lesson,” the ghost snarled. He let go of the boy’s arm, shoving him back into the crowd. The teen let out a muffled sob, falling to his knees. The ghost stalked closer to Danny, who backed up until he almost bumped against one of the shelves.

His mouth opened, his tongue flickering out as though to taste the air. “You don’t… taste right—“

But he was close enough to Danny—and far enough away from the others—for the half-ghost to launch himself at him. “Now!” he shouted, slamming his fist into the ghost’s face. He was so surprised he didn’t even turn intangible.

Danny heard firing as Sam and Tucker began to take out the ones above. He focused on the one in front of him, changing quickly into his ghost form and rushing to put himself in between the ghost and the people. They cried out at his transformation, screaming and shouting.

“It’s Phantom!” the ghost exclaimed, alarm in his voice. Danny shot an ectoblast point-blank, blasting the ghost into—and then through—the shelf. He drew the thermos, and as the ghost rose to fight, swept him up in the beam.

Danny whirled. Sam and Tucker had taken care of three of the ghosts, and the rest had scattered. They’d flown out through the ceiling and were fleeing through the town—presumably away from him. Danny captured the three injured ghosts in the thermos.

“Valerie, El—we have three hostile ghosts headed your way. We found some survivors, about eighty or so. I’ll follow them—we can trap them between the three of us,” he said into the Fenton phones.

“Got it,” El said, echoed by Valerie.

As he turned, people flinched away from him. The man with the tangled beard was staring at him, mouth agape. “Are you—are you going to keep us here, now?” he asked, shaking.

Danny re-holstered the thermos. “I’m not here to hold you against your will,” he said, loudly enough for the others to hear. “Not that I’d advise leaving. Sam, Tucker, can you guard them and attend to the wounded?” If a different ghost attacked—or had somehow slipped through Danny’s senses—he didn’t want to leave these people defenseless. And he scented blood among the sweat, as well as the sweet, rotting smell of infection.

“On it,” Tucker said, and Sam nodded.

Danny shot into the air, moving through the ceiling and racing after the three ghosts that were left. He could feel El’s signature closing in on them from the other side. “Are they in sight?” he said into the phones.

“Not yet, but my ghost sense went off, and they’re on Val’s radar,” El replied. “We know exactly where they are.”

It took less than a minute for Danny to catch up with the ghosts, slamming an ectoblast into the back of one of them. She yelped, plummeting ten feet or so, clutching her back. Danny would’ve felt bad, except he knew how horribly they must’ve terrorized those people, for them to look so haunted in such a short amount of time.

“Please!” one of the others yelled as Danny ruthlessly swept the injured one into the thermos’s beam. “We didn’t know this was your territory, Phantom. We wouldn’t have taken them otherwise—“

He interrupted the pleading by sweeping the beam past, the ghost just barely dodging to the side. “So what? You could’ve gone to some other town and hurt the people there?” He saw Valerie and El in the distance, closing in quickly.

“You don’t understand—they taste so good in their final breaths—“ She dodged again as he fired an ectoblast. The other tried to sneak up on him, sending a bolt of his own energy at the half-ghost. Danny shielded to block it, dropping the shield and teleporting just behind the female ghost.

He rammed the thermos directly against her shoulder blade (which was actually kind of squishy because ghosts didn’t have proper bones) and sucked her in. Valerie and El arrived in time to fire at the last ghost, sending him spiraling to the ground from their double-hit. Danny trapped him in the thermos.

How many other ghosts were like these, cast out from ghost society for their violence and troublemaking, to find the perfect opportunity to terrorize and hurt in this newly-merged world? And humans, not understanding what even they were…

They taste so good in their final breaths… He felt sick, the weight of the guilt plummeting to his toes and dragging him down. This is my fault. I caused this, even if indirectly.

“Nice job,” Valerie complimented, but Danny couldn’t bring himself to say thanks. Nice job? Most of the people of Evanston had probably died in the earthquake, and those that had managed to survive had done so only to be tortured by beings they didn’t even understand. The rest of the world couldn’t have looked much better.

Gorge rising, Danny swallowed. Not here. I’m not done yet.