Chapter Text
Sam wasn’t certain when she first noticed Clockwork at the Mansons’ manor.
His silhouette had begun to lurk in the foreground of hallway mirrors, shadowy outline cascading between photo frames and hanging home decor. Each time he’d appear she’d twirl her body around in a frenzy, scour the space behind her for the Master of Time, and then decide the sighting was a hallucination caused by lack of sleep or leftover adrenal from yesterday’s events. After all, an all-seeing, all-knowing superpower like himself had more pressing matters than the stalking of a teenage girl, right?
It wasn’t until the Manson family brunch when she spotted Clockwork’s reflection shimmering in the stainless steel toaster, that Sam truly began to ponder her sanity. That is, of course, if she had any remaining.
“A ghost attack. How ridiculous,” Mr. Manson sneered for the umpteenth time. He had spent the entirety of their midafternoon meal perusing the latest edition of the Amity Park Daily, flicking through editorials and advice columns, only to inevitably return to the front page story of Casper High’s unexplainable disaster. The constant rustle of paper was maddening.
Mr. Manson glanced at Sam as he flipped to the sports section again, eyes peeking over the newspaper’s edge. “Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”
Sam silently raised a half-empty mug to her lips. She wasn’t in the mood to mollify the Mansons, not when Clockwork was on the prowl.
Unfortunately, Pamela answered in her stead.
“Of course, she agrees. No one in this family believes in ghosts,” she said, eyes narrowing on Sam. “Be sure to tell your therapist that during your appointment on Monday.”
“I’m not going to therapy,” Sam replied. The last thing she needed was a human inspecting her psyche. Despite her ongoing success, she wasn’t confident enough in her facade to deceive a medically trained professional.
“Now sweetie,” Mrs. Manson began in a sickeningly sweet voice, the one Sam loathed. “Remember when we agreed that therapy would be good for someone in your..unique position.”
“I remember you scheduling the appointment without asking me.”
Sam sipped her coffee, watching Mrs. Manson’s expression sour through the wafting steam. Pamela’s purple lips pursued, opening ajar, and remained open well beyond the duration of a pause. Her painted fingernails, steepled against the mahogany tabletop, remained as motionless as her mouth. To her right, Mr. Manson and Ida had also abruptly stilled. The latter was frozen mid-bite, the former halted amid excessive page turning, both neither blinking nor breathing.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Sam craned her neck over the chair’s headrest to see Clockwork hovering near the China cabinet. Despite her apprehension towards him, Sam was gracious for the rescue.
“Perfect timing , actually .”
“Unlike you, I always have perfect timing,” he said.
She winced under the weight of his stare.
“It was a minor mistake,” Sam said, rising to her feet. She grabbed the first mug she spotted in the kitchen cabinet, a white ceramic garnished with pink hearts, and set it beside her own on the marble countertop. “How do you take your coffee?”
Clockwork pressed his lips into a firm line. “Accelerating the timeline’s events by three weeks is not a minor mistake.”
“So long as Danny still becomes the hero of the Ghost Zone, does that really matter?”
“I instructed you to follow the timeline for a reason.”
“You can’t expect me to be perfect.”
“I expect you to listen.” A hint of irritation trickled through his impassive tone. “Which I now see is a rather difficult task for you.”
“All of this is difficult,” Sam groaned, gesturing to the garnet countertops and frozen Manson family. “You placed an unsupervised teenager in charge of restoring the fabric of time. Did you honestly believe everything would go according to plan?”
A faint chill crept down Sam’s spine as the realization that she, a mediocre ghost, had just rolled her eyes at the Master of Time struck her squarely in the chest.
This was the end. He would drag her back to the Ghost Zone before she had the opportunity to heal her father. Or, worse, he would leave her stranded in the mortal world, forced to don the mask of Samatha Manson until the end of time. She couldn’t decide which was worse.
Sam stood there with her trembling hands clutching the mug, waiting for the Master of Time’s judgment. However, instead of a rebuke, Clockwork merely smiled.
His scarlet eyes slid to the heart-patterned mug. “Black. Two sugars and no cream.”
She blinked, staring blankly at Clockwork. Only after a few minutes had passed- and Sam was certain she had heard him correctly- did she reach for the coffee pot. “You’re not going to continue belittling me?”
“You flatter me,” Clockwork replied dryly. “Warped perception aside, you do have a valid point. A high schooler like yourself is bound to make mistakes.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Lots of mistakes.”
Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes a second time.
“Thanks for the helpful reminder.” She tilted the pitcher over the mug and frowned when the liquid inside remained unnaturally still. With a press of a button from Clockwork’s staff, the coffee sputtered to life and rushed vigorously into the mug below. Blackened grounds swirled through the coffee before sinking beneath the surface. For a fleeting moment, Sam recalled the unnatural flasks of green drifting through Danny’s blue eyes and the dark bruises maring his neck.
Lots of mistakes
“These mistakes you keep talking about,” Sam began. “Could they have some sort of impact on the timeline, like causing people to act differently?”
Clockwork’s slanted smile returned. “So long as Danny still becomes the hero of the Ghost Zone, does that really matter?”
She uncapped a porcelain jar and scooped a spoonful of sugar into the steaming coffee.
“You were acting like it did before.”
“And it does,” said Clockwork. “The timeline has a very delicate balance, like the proportions of a scale. One wrong move, one side tilting too far left or right, and the entire balance crumbles beneath its own weight.”
Sam’s mouth felt strangely dry. “I know that.”
“I know,” he stated plainly. “You’re a capable girl. You understand how essential correcting the timeline is.” The Master of Time’s gaze bore into her skull. “You do understand that, don’t you?”
Her fingers squeezed the spoon’s handle. “Of course, I do.”
Granulated sugar slipped off the utensil’s edge and spilled into the coffee below with a wide splash . It was only when Sam began to wipe the droplets off the countertop that she realized her hands were shaking.
She needed to calm down. All her efforts would be rendered meaningless if she faltered here. The conversation was prying too far into her private affairs; she needed to shift the focus to Clockwork.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, do you wanna tell me why you’ve been stalking me,” she asked, handing the mug to Clockwork.
“How else was I to ensure that you wouldn’t continue to make these accidental mistakes?”
“Couldn’t you just have looked through your portals?”
Clockwork’s smirk glistened through the cup’s wafting steam. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Sam stifled another groan as she snapped the lid to the sugar jar closed. Living amongst humans, especially the Manson family, was painful enough, she didn’t need Clockwork’s impish nature complicating her miserable existence.
Although, now that he was here, there was something she had wanted to ask him. There was no guarantee he’d give her a straight answer, but she had to know; it had nagged at her ever since she arrived at Amity Park.
“What did you mean when you said I was critical to Danny Phantom’s creation,” Sam asked. “ The way you said it implies that I caused Danny to become a ghost in every timeline, but that can’t be right. There’s no way Danny would have entered the portal without my convincing but, in all the correct timelines, I’m living in the Ghost Zone, not Amity Park. How would we have met?”
Clockwork took a long sip from his cup before meeting her gaze. “Strange how you remember that but not the timeline’s order of events.”
Tension squeezed her shoulder blades but Sam didn’t waver.
“Tell me again,” she said calmly. “I wouldn’t forget a second time.”
“Very well,” Clockwork answered.
There, floating above the marble tiles, Clockwork began to recount the chronicle of Danny Phantom: The hero’s successes, his disastrous defeats, the dynamics of his ghost-hunting family, his ongoing rivalry with Vlad Plasmius, his short-lived romance with the enemy, and his slew of ghostly allies and adversaries.
As Sam nodded her head to the ghost’s words, she imagined the sequence of events unfolding in her mind’s eye. There were so many enemies for Danny to encounter, so many battles to overcome. In a way, she wondered, weren’t Danny’s heroics just glorified child abuse? Who in their right mind would task a formerly human teenager with the responsibility of defending the mortal world from ghosts? Her father would never allow her to endure such hardships. Her father-.
Sam bit her lip. She had been careful to avoid thinking of him during her mission. The pain of living as a human was nothing compared to the ache of homesickness.
“My father is he,” Sam paused, the words clinging to the back of her throat. “..is he alright?”
Clockwork set the half-empty mug to Sam’s outstretched palms. “He will be if you-.”
“If you correct the timeline,” she finished in a practiced tone. Despite being the Master of Time, Clockwork seemed to have an issue moving forward. Turning away from Clockwork, she placed the coffee cup in the sink.
“Teenagers, none the wiser,” he mumbled. A faint shimmer encompassed his skin as his middle-aged body rapidly aged to that of an elderly man. He placed a wizen hand against his chin, stroking the long, white beard. “What I was going to say before you politely interrupted me was that your father will be alright, as long as you don’t hinder yourself.”
“Hinder myself ? How would-.” Sam spun around, only to discover the Master of Time had vanished.
The hands of the kitchen clock inched toward the half-hour mark. From the corner of her eye, Sam spotted Pamela’s flared nostrils stirring and Ida’s lips slowly pulling over her dentures. The Mansons’ would be unfrozen soon. After her conversation with Clockwork, she didn’t have the mental capacity, or patience, to handle humans.
Sam pressed a hand to her temple, desperately trying to organize her thoughts. She couldn’t decipher Clockwork’s words, but perhaps his actions could reveal something useful. The Master of Time was careful never to specifically mention her ‘mistakes,” just as she had been careful never to tell him. Seeing as he watched over the time stream, Clockwork must have already known and, by that logic, he probably also knew her plan. Yet, despite this awareness, he didn’t seem to care. Outside of vague warnings, he did little to prevent her from continuing her objective. Honestly, he didn’t appear to care about anything except correcting the timeline. The only reason he had even visited was because her meddling hindered the sequence of events.
Did that mean in the future she abandoned her plan to sacrifice Danny Phantom in favor of following Clockwork’s orders? That was unlikely. Perhaps there was a way for Undergrowth’s Daughter and Clockwork to achieve both their desires. If there was, she intended to find it.
Walking up the staircase, Sam entered her bedroom, plucked a leather bound journal from her bookshelf, and began to write down everything Clockwork had recounted.
————
“Oh yeah, that’s productive.”
Sam raised an eyebrow as Tucker folded a sheet of loose left paper in half. He smoothed the edges with the padding of his thumb and continued to crease the sheet until it formed a triangle.
“It’s called a study break, Sam,” Tucker retorted, balancing the tip of the paper triangle against the table. Sam challenged the likelihood of that statement by raising a second eyebrow.
The trio’s time at the Amity Park Library was overwhelmingly unproductive. At the beginning of their research session, Tucker and Danny had displayed some enthusiasm for the project, scouring the shelves for books related to ghostly activities and exchanging theories on the topic. Near the end of their two hour session, however, both boys had grown tired and abandoned their studying to pursue more interesting endeavors; For Tucker this preferred form of entertainment was playing on his PDA, while Danny’s new pastime consisted of laying face-down in an open book as he drifted in and out of consciousness, waking up only when he began to phase through the floor. Sam couldn’t be too annoyed by their inaction since she had also stopped researching to browse the library’s selection of gothic literature. That didn’t prevent her from complaining though.
“Just this morning, you said you’d do whatever it took to discover the nature of your powers,” said Sam.
“And I will.” Danny placed his horizontal thumbs next to one another on the plastic table, index fingers pointed upward. “Right after we finish this round.”
“Can’t we just agree that Danny has all the powers of a stereotypical ghost and go home,” Tucker asked, positioning the triangle parallel to Danny’s fingers.
He squinted his eyes, tilted his head, and propelled the paper through the air with a mighty flick of his forefinger. The triangle struck the outside of Danny’s wrist and tumbled to the floor, disappearing amongst the stacks of books nestled beside their feet.
After hours of muddling through dusty hardcovers and scientific journals, all they had to show for their efforts was a paper triangle, a list of witty banter Danny had composed for his upcoming battles, and a whiteboard with the words, ‘Dead but Alive at the Same Time??’ scribbled in red dry erase marker.
“Not yet,” said Sam. “We must have found something useful.”
“I doubt it,” mumbled Danny, wiping drool from The Metaphysical Reality of Apparitions’ table of contents. He slammed the book closed and leaned back in his chair, sighing.
Tucker glanced at Sam who, to her dismay, unwittingly shared his worried expression. “I’m kind of surprised, Danny. I’d figured you’d be the one most interested in this.”
“We’ve been going at it all afternoon and haven’t found anything that could help me control my powers. More ghosts are going to come through the portal soon and none of this,” Danny gestured to the plethora of textbooks and encyclopedias beside him, “is going to help me in a fight.”
He absentmindedly rubbed the front of his neck, cautious not to rustle the sweatshirt’s fabric too much, and then paused. Although Danny remained composed, Sam could see fragments of his pain in the slow withdrawal of his hand and the tight set of his jaw. She doubted he could survive another battle with those injuries.
Until Danny fully recovered, it would be best if he stayed primarily in a safe, unhaunted location, like the Amity Park Library.
“Then we’ll just have to keep looking until we find something that does,” said Sam, flashing a smile. To her right, Tucker nodded in agreement.
Danny returned the grin. “Thanks.”
“Of course!” Anything to keep her precious sacrifice alive and well.
“We can’t give up yet,” said Tucker, invigorated by sudden, unfound enthusiasm. “This place is huge. There’s gotta be something in here that can help us, maybe like an old newspaper or a paranormal magazine?”
“Or a paranormal book.” Danny sat upright and jerked his head towards Sam. “Did you bring your book?”
Sam buried her trembling fingers in the pockets of her skirt as she staggered backward in her seat, thoughts of the leather journal racing through her head.
“What book? I don’t have any book.”
“The occult book you were telling us about at lunch yesterday. You know, the one that said something about blue smoke and ghosts.”
“Oh, that book,” Sam said sheepishly. Lying was such a frequent part of her life now that it was becoming difficult to remember everything. “I forgot to bring it.”
“That’s fine. You can always bring it next time,” said Tucker.
“Oh, well, actually I lost it.”
He folded his arms, blinking repeatedly. “You just said you forgot to bring it.”
“Right, well, you see I did have it but then I lost it and I forgot that I lost it until you reminded me.” Sam tightened her grip on the skirt’s edge but that did little to remedy her shaky laughter.
Danny surveyed her with a raised eyebrow. “And you said the doctors cleared you for amnesia?”
A snarky reply danced on the tip of Sam’s tongue but, before her lips could form the words, Tucker remembered another lie she had forgotten. “Didn’t you say you got the book from this library?”
A plethora of excuses flooded her mind- I got it from another library, I actually borrowed the book from a distant relative, I never said that - but none sounded believable. Even if she could identify the proper response, her throat was dry and abraded by unspoken words, rendering her attempts at communication impossible.
Sam was contemplating shoving pages of a dictionary down Tucker’s esophagus when her untimely rescue arrived.
“Danny?” Standing a few paces away with a psychological book tucked beneath her arm was Jasmine Fenton. She approached the table, peering curiously at the slew of publications crowding the area. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, just…studying?” Danny discreetly pulled today’s edition of the Amity Times over the pair of paranormal books sitting before him.
Sam quickly followed his lead, tossing her copy of Ghostly Habits For the Unrested and Spector Spotting 101 underneath the table, before adding, “Mr. Lancer assigned an oral report for Monday. It was really last minute, so we’re having to cram.”
Jazz’s eyes bounced between the piles of books stacked on top of the table. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, even for a cram session?” Her gaze shifted to the whiteboard propped behind them. “Is your report over Schroeder’s cat?”
Danny frowned. “We’re kind of in the middle of something, so-.”
“Who’s cat ,” asked Sam.
“Schroeder’s cat. You know, the famous thought experiment.” Jazz paused, a faint red stretching across her cheeks as she seemingly recalled the reason behind Sam’s unfamiliarity with the subject. She stammered for a moment , volumes and syllables looping like a scratched record, before abruptly clearing her throat and explaining, “It’s a hypothetical scenario in quantum mechanics. A cat in a sealed box will be killed if any radiation is detected but spared if it’s undetected. Of course, you wouldn’t know which option happened until you open the box so the cat is simultaneously dead and alive until observed.”
Simultaneously dead and alive
Sam’s eyes drifted to Danny. His torso is twisted towards Jazz, head tilted in a laughable attempt at feigned interest, while his fingers trail the sleeve of his shirt, clutching the fabric until his knuckles turn white. She imagines Danny sealed inside a narrow, mahogany box, battered fingers scratching at the lid, voice hoarse from wailing, but no one daring to look for fear of what lies within.
Perhaps it would be best if Schroeder’s cat remained sealed away, unobserved for all eternity.
“Fascinating,” Danny said wryly, shaking Sam from her thoughts. “But if you haven’t noticed, Jazz, we’re-.”
“You know quantum mechanics,” questioned Tucker.
“Only a little. I picked up a few things from one of my mom’s old textbooks. This,” Jazz began, shifting the hardcover book held between her underarm and chest onto the sliver of remaining table space, “is what I’m currently learning.”
Instinctively, Sam, Tucker, and Danny huddled around the book, examining the cover’s stylized display of a downward spiral with varying degrees of disfavor, each unsure of how to proceed until Sam finally spoke.
“Exploring The Fragmented Mind: An Introspective Look Into the Long-Term Impact of Memory Loss on Wayward Adolescents,” she read aloud. The realization dawned on her only a moment later, but it was too late. Jazz placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, the soft squint of her eyes trailing the other girl’s black attire and heavy makeup. The hair on the nape of Sam’s neck prickled, tensing like a rabbit ensnared in a wolf’s clenched jaw, despite the fact that Jazz’s sympathy was far more terrifying than the canines of any predator.
“Memory loss is one of the many ways our brains cope with difficult situations.” The tenderness in Jazz’s voice was genuine, yet Sam couldn’t help but recall Mrs. Manson’s cloying tone. “You’ve undergone a traumatic experience. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed or have doubts regarding your future. What you need right now, is an understanding environment that gives you the opportunity to foster a connection with your feelings. I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone.”
What Sam needed right now was to escape. In an act of desperation, she directed a pleading look towards Tucker but he only tensed his shoulders and shook his head. Thankfully, Danny also noticed her cry for help.
“I think if Sam wanted a therapy session, she’d go to an actual psychiatrist, Jazz. Besides, we have studying to do. You should go before I have to tell Mom and Dad you’re the reason I failed.”
Jazz pursued her lips preparing for a possible rebuttal, or perhaps a parting comment, as she leaned forward to receive her book. Between the gap of her bent torso and outstretched arm, Sam spotted a gust of blue slipping through Danny’s lips.
“Oh no,” he whispered, springing to his feet.
The succeeding thirty seconds passed in a sweltering blur of molten red. Streaks of blinding light descended upon the table, erupting into a barrage of flames and billowing smoke. The swell of pressure toppled Sam to the floor, tossing her among blackened ash and the scorned remains of paperback books.
An astute understanding of the situation accompanied her fall, followed by a much vaguer awareness of her surroundings: the taste of soot, tickling fingers, a high-pitch whistling, shadows shifting through the haze.
Sam faintly recalled brushing burnt paper from her skirt and staggering to her feet, assisted by a cold hand on her shoulder. She debated the notion of glancing at the hand’s owner, at asking for their name, but her head was pounding wildly and she couldn’t quite grasp how to execute these intentions. It was only after the phantom hand guided her through the rumble and behind an overturned table that Sam looked upward to see Danny.
The left side of his face was blackened by ash, disheveled hair freckled with cinders, and several of the cuts on his fingers had reopened, oozing beneath bloodied band-aids. Sam momentarily considered wiping the ash from his cheek but discarded the idea when she realized Danny had asked a question.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so.” She pinched the skin between her temples in a feeble attempt to halt the inevitably approaching migraine. “What happened?”
“Someone’s spirit is really upset that he wasn’t approved for a library card,” said Danny. His eyes darted frantically through the rumble as he spoke.
“What does a ghost need a high-tech body suit for anyway,” asked Tucker, unknowingly alerting Sam to his presence. He was kneeling to the left of her, head barely peeking out from the table’s side.
“High-tech body suit,” Sam repeated, stomach twisting at the words. Without hesitation, she scooted closer to Tucker and poked her head next to his.
Floating above the ruins of the Amity Park Library with a jagged smile and a pair of rocket launchers protruding from his shoulders was exactly who she expected to see: Skulker.
“There’s no point in hiding, ghost child,” he said, producing another missile launcher from his wrist. “It’s only a matter of time before you become part of my collection.”
Sam and Tucker ducked as another wave of missiles dispensed from Skulker’s arsenal and collided with a nearby cluster of bookcases, reducing the collection to embers. She absentmindedly wondered if the display was an intimation method or simply poor aim.
As Skulker continued his vendetta against publicly funded literature, Sam turned to Danny. “Ghost child,” she said. “Does he mean you?”
The answer was fairly obvious but, for continuity's sake, Sam needed to appear oblivious. She had already endured one lecture from Clockwork today and wasn’t eager for another.
“I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out.”
With his hands clenched against his sides, Danny lowered his head and closed his eyes. A ring of light encompassed Danny’s torso, followed by two smaller, flickering circles around his arms and legs. Ever so slowly, the rings passed over his body, turning his black hair a stark white and his clothes into a jumpsuit.
Danny’s eyes snapped open, revealing a shade of green that Sam had come to dread. He smiled faintly at the success of his transformation, a sentiment Sam shared, and turned in Skulker’s direction but made no effort to move forward. Instead, he continued to survey the charred remains of books and broken chairs.
Fear flickered through his eyes as he surveyed the area, his entire body taut. It was almost like Danny was searching for something. Or, more accurately, someone.
“We’ll find Jazz.”
His brow furrowed. “But-.”
Sam placed her hand gingerly on his knee, her eyes fixated upon his. “Let us help you.”
Danny held her gaze for a long moment. His entire face was rigid, teetering between various degrees of contemplation, until, gradually, a small smile emerged.
“Okay,” he began, floating upward slowly. “But, if it gets too dangerous, you should leave.”
“It’s a little late for that,” said Tucker. A few yards away, another bookcase erupted into flames.
Phantom chuckled sheepishly and, with a shrug, flew toward his opponent; per usual, his flying was painfully lopsided.
From her position behind the table, Sam could hear the pair exchange (poor) witty banter, followed by the sound of explosions and lasers. Aside from Danny’s pained grunts, she felt rather confident with the progression of today’s events.
According to Clockwork, Danny’s battle with the Dragon Ghost should proceed after his encounter with the Lunch Lady Ghost. Since the dance was canceled, he obviously wouldn’t face the Dragon Ghost, which would place Skulker as his next opponent. Virtually, this meant that the current situation was adhering to the original timeline’s expectations, albeit a few weeks earlier.
A few more things needed to happen, however, before Sam could deem this day a success.
“By chance, do you know if Danny was doing a report on purple back gorillas?”
Tucker’s eyes widened. “You want to talk about school, right now?”
He ducked his head as another barrage of missiles erupted above.
“What I want is to help Danny.” And, from the corner of her eyes, Sam spotted something that would fulfill her actual desire.
She crawled towards a nearby pile of rubble and quickly shifted through the scorched books until she saw the singed strap of Tucker’s backpack. Unzipping the main compartment, Sam began to rummage through a new kind of wreckage.
“Hey,” Tucker cried. “That’s personal property!”
Sam pressed a finger to her lips and gestured to the scene above.
Skulker and Danny’s midair fight had navigated just to the right of their hiding spot. Phantom was swerving wildly through the air, jerking and dipping as he dodged projectiles.
“You can’t dodge forever, prey.”
“Sorry, but this is a no-hunting zone,” Phantom said, steading a faintly glowing palm in the ghost’s direction. “Looks like I’m going to have to revoke your license.”
A wave of embarrassment washed over Sam as she remembered that, only a few hours ago, she had considered Danny intimidating. Skulker, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy the taunt.
His metal lips twisted into a sharp smirk as he raised his arm to Phantom, a cannon emerging from the panel on his wrist, and hushed the ghost boy. “Quiet. You’re in a library.”
With a loud hiss, the missile rushed toward Phantom. He tumbled backward, avoiding the projectile by an inch, and then continued to whirl through the air, his movements strikingly similar to a spinning top.
His twirling, however, was abruptly halted when Skulker seized the collar of his jumpsuit. Phantom struggled helplessly against the ghost’s hold, prying, tugging, and attempting to phase through Skulker’s hand, but his efforts were ultimately unsuccessful.
“We have to do something,” Tucker said, frantically looking at his surroundings for a situation.
“Already ahead of you.”
Tucker’s confusion dissolved into horror as Sam produced the PDA from his backpack and hurled the device at Skulker, who caught it single-handedly.
He surveyed the device with a raised brow. “A sleek, innovative design with maximum computing? Perhaps it’s time to upgrade myself.”
(Was the monologuing really necessary?)
A collection of wires erupted from Skulker’s chest panel, connecting the PDA to his central processor and merging the device with his armor. The circuits of his suit glowed, infused with the hum of newfound power, as he looked at his prey, waiting for the ghost boy’s fearful reaction. Unfortunately, Phantom’s attention was elsewhere at the moment.
“You gave the bad guy a new weapon,” he said, clearly exasperated at Sam. “Who’s side are you on?”
He directed another tired look at Sam’s sheepish smile and phased through Skulker’s grasp, delivering a swift punch to the ghost’s steel chest. As he pulled away, ectoplasm seeped through his gloves, staining the white fabric with splotches of muted green. Sam quickly turned away from the sight.
“Ok,” she said, rejoining Tucker behind the table. “New plan, I’ll-.”
“You know, I still had three payments left on that,” he whined.
“Tucker, we can talk about your PDA later. Besides, I saw a second one in your bag.” She gasped and twisted towards Tucker, causing the boy to flinch. “That’s it! You can hack into Skulker’s suit with your PDA. Deactivate him or make him fly somewhere far away from here.”
Tucker sighed. “You really don’t understand how hacking works, do you?”
Not in the slightest. Sam did, however, understand the gravity of the situation.
Danny’s laggard flight, his shallow breathing, the stained glove clutching his creaking ribs: all indications of his approaching defeat. No, that wasn’t correct. Sam glanced at the plethora of nets and snares protruding from Skulker’s belt. He clearly intended to capture Danny, not destroy him. The missiles, and the taunts, were methods to distract and exhaust Phantom as Skulker prepared for his entrapment.
At this rate, Skulker would steal her prey before she even had a chance to strike.
“Here’s our plan. You find a way to help Danny while I find Jazz.”
“Why do you get to sneak off somewhere while I’m stuck fighting a ghost with a super suit and missiles?”
“If you have an issue with my plan, maybe you should have said something before agreeing to it .”
“I didn’t ag-.”
Sam shoved the backpack into Tucker’s lab and stood up. “Just do me a favor and protect Danny while I’m gone, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Tucker grumbled. As she darted through the rumble, Sam heard him call out , “Don’t get caught!”
She merely scoffed at the human’s words.
Ducking behind one of the few upright bookshelves, Sam allowed the vines encircling the bracelet to unfurl and engulf her body. As the plants relinquished their grasp, Undergrowth’s Daughter emerged. She pressed her back to the bookcase, mindful of the embers near her bare feet, and-.
“It seems someone new has joined our hunt.”
Undergrowth’s Daughter jerked her head upward to meet Skulker’s smug smile. She couldn’t fathom how he had spotted her so quickly, especially since he was still engaged in combat. Her lack of luck, and stealth, was infuriating. Almost as irritating as the realization that she should have headed Tucker’s warning.
“What are you doing here?” Phantom dropped his fists and glanced at Undergrowth’s Daughter, brows furrowed.
“Amusement,” she replied, smirking.
“I didn’t realize my bruised ribs were so entertaining.”
“Only mildly.”
Another missile launched from Skulker’s arsenal, followed shortly by a neon net. A freshly sprouted vine bears the brunt of the explosion but fails to halt the net from ensnaring Phantom into its woven embrace. With a gasp, he plummeted to the ground and landed supinely beside her and a splintered book display.
He released a shallow groan and pressed a hand against his chest, eyes fluttering in her direction. “Would a punctured lung make for better entertainment?”
“That all depends,” she mused, surveying the net, “on whether or not you can escape.”
“I was expecting a better hunt from you, ghost child,” Skulker sighed, a monitor emerging from his forearm.
“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” Phantom retorted as he pushed against the net. “I’ve only been doing this for like three days. Give me a little credit.”
Skulker, however, was too immersed in the monitor to care. He examined the screen intently, narrowed eyes jerking between lines of displayed information, as a broad smirk stretched across his lips. The sight caused her stomach to lunge.
What (little) support she would’ve received from Phantom was gone. This fight was now hers, and hers alone.
Undergrowth’s Daughter shifted her left foot forward and unfolded her arms, slowly raising her vine-clad hands toward Skulker. In response, Skulker held out his own weapon.
Naturally, she had expected Skulker to reveal a snare, or an explosive, or even a miniature cage but instead, resting perfectly in the palm of his hand, was a small, iridescent cube. Undergrowth’s Daughter was so confounded that she nearly dropped her hands.
“I’m afraid our chase will have to end prematurely.” The cube rolled down Skulker’s fingertips, tumbling across soot and ash. “I so rarely catch both my prey with a single trap.”
Undergrowth’s Daughter furrowed her brow. “Both of your prey?”
Before she could begin to process the thought, the cube’s shimmering sides unfolded. The sides swelled and expanded, stretching across the ground before swiftly tilting upward and reaching towards the ceiling until finally rejoining overhead. In the blink of an eye, the library had vanished from view, replaced by the cube’s encompassing walls. All that remained was herself and Danny Phantom.
She pressed her hand against the cube’s walls, tracing the smooth surface with her fingertips. Perhaps her clear involvement with Danny drove Skulker to consider her prey, to capture her alongside the famed half-ghost. Or, maybe Skulker saw the raised hair on the back of her neck or the frantic look in her eyes, the one she feigned as confidence. Maybe he knew that deep down inside, Undergrowth’s Daughter was as frightened as any other fourteen-year-old.
Behind her, Danny was using his ectoplasm ray to slice through the net, as evident by the acrid heat wafting through their confines. She considered asking him to stop, of telling him that it was likely futile, but the sight of him struggling resurrected an earlier thought.
Perhaps it would be best if Schroeder’s cat remained sealed away, unobserved for all eternity.
Undergrowth’s Daughter pressed a hand against her mouth as she attempted to stifle a giggle, but the irony was simply too great to bear, and her muffled laughter spilled over, echoing through the cube’s hollow chamber.