Chapter Text
The flickering neon of the cheap motel sign cast an eerie glow through the thin curtains. Sam paced the worn carpet, her combat boots leaving imprints in the fibers.
"Are you done with that letter yet, Jazz?" Sam groaned, flopping onto the creaky bed.
Jazz looked up from her laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Almost. I want to make sure it's perfect. We can't afford any mistakes when requesting a meeting with the President."
Sam rolled her eyes. "This is taking too long," Sam growled, running a hand through her raven hair. "Every second we waste, those GIW creeps get closer to the President."
"Patience, Sam. We need to do this the right way," Jazz replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
Sam's fists clenched. “They left him! They think he’s dead…….and he is…...but they think he’s dead dead. We don’t know how long Danny has; just cause he’s a halfa doesn’t mean he can survive for long up there.”
“Well, they think he’s an alien; they don’t know he’s a ghost. They don’t know anything. Which is why we need this meeting before the GIW.” Jazz mumbled as she continued to type.
Sam stood abruptly. "I need some air. This room is suffocating me."
As she slammed the door behind her, Sam's mind raced. She couldn't wait any longer. Danny needed them now. Her hand brushed against the Fenton shrink ray in her pocket, and a plan began to form.
Thirty minutes later, Sam found herself on a White House tour, "And here we have the East Room," the guide droned. Sam's violet eyes darted, searching for an opening. As the group rounded a corner, she ducked behind a large potted plant and activated the shrink ray.
The world suddenly loomed impossibly large around her.
Sam steadied herself, now barely taller than a mouse. "Okay, Manson, you got this," she whispered.
She hurried along the baseboard, every sense on high alert. Voices ahead made her freeze. Two men in pristine white suits rounded the corner, following a nervous-looking aide.
Sam's blood ran cold. The Guys in White. Here. Now.
"This way, gentlemen," the aide murmured. "The President will see you shortly."
“I still can’t believe they left the ghost there on Mars.” One of the GIW agents said.
The other agent nodded in agreement. “No matter; once we speak to the president, we can retrieve the ghost body and eliminate the ecto-scum once and for all.”
Panic clawed at Sam's throat. She pressed herself against the wall, wishing herself invisible. Agent W passed inches from her, his polished shoe a gleaming monolith.
Suddenly, a shrill beeping pierced the air. Agent W's wristwatch flashed, its ecto-detector going haywire. His head snapped down, eyes widening behind dark sunglasses as he spotted Sam's tiny form.
"Ecto scum!" he bellowed, his booming voice nearly deafening Sam at her current size.
In one fluid motion, Agent W yanked out his pocket ray gun. The weapon hummed to life, its barrel glowing an eerie green.
Sam's heart leapt into her throat. "Oh, crud," she muttered, her legs pumping furiously.
Agent W's finger squeezed the trigger. A blast of ecto-energy sizzled past Sam, scorching the polished floor mere inches from her feet.
"What are you doing?!" Agent F hissed, grabbing his partner's arm. "We're in the White House!"
But Agent W shook him off, firing wildly. "It's contaminated! We have to neutralize the threat!"
"Are you insane?" the aide, who was the GIW mole, hissed, panic evident in his voice. "You'll blow our entire operation!"
But Agent W was beyond reason, his face contorted with zealous rage. "No ghost or ghost lover escapes the Guys in White!"
Another blast. Sam leaped, the heat searing her clothes. She zigzagged across the floor, desperate for cover.
The hallway erupted in chaos. Alarms blared, and heavy footsteps pounded in the distance. Agent W's voice rose above the din: "Come out and face justice, you miniature menace!"
"W, holster your weapon now!" Agent F pleaded, grabbing his partner's arm again.
But it was too late. The sound of safeties clicking off filled the air as White House security converged on their position.
Sam dove behind a column supporting a bust of George Washington, her tiny form trembling.
"Drop your weapons and get down on the ground, now!" The commanding voice of the lead CIA agent ricocheted off the marble walls, brooking no argument. She stood squarely, her eyes fixed on the GIW agents, her own gun drawn and steady.
Amidst the tension, Sam seized her moment. She fumbled for the shrink ray tucked in her pocket, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around the cool metal.
Agent W snarled, "This is GIW business! You have no jurisdic—"
Before he could finish, Sam aimed and fired. A brilliant blue beam engulfed both GIW agents. In an instant, they shrank to three inches tall, their shouts of surprise becoming high-pitched squeaks.
The room fell into a stunned silence.
"Wha— What the hell just happened?" one of the security guards stammered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at the diminutive forms of the once formidable GIW operatives.
"Contain them," ordered the lead CIA agent.
Sam peeked out of her hiding spot, watching as one of the CIA agents finally snapped out of his shock and scooped up the diminutive GIW agents in his massive hand.
"Let us go, you giant oaf! We're on official business!" one of the tiny agents protested, shaking a minuscule fist.
"Official business?" The CIA agent held them closer to his face, scrutinizing them with bewildered fascination. "You mean terrorizing people with your... toy guns?"
"Those aren't toys!" the other pint-sized agent piped up, indignant. "And we're after an ecto threat. A ghost!"
"Ghost?" The agent's expression shifted from bewilderment to incredulity. "Are you serious?"
Before he could probe further, his partner called out.
"Hey, you! Stop right there!" he barked, causing the aide to freeze in his tracks.
"I saw him with those men in white," another agent said, gesturing towards the tiny GIW agents dangling between their colleague's fingers.
"Look, it's all a misunderstanding," the mole stammered, his back pressed against the cool wall, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Just let me explain—"
"Explain later," the lead CIA agent barked.
The lead CIA agent's brow furrowed in confusion. She turned to her colleague, who was now on his hands and knees, peering behind the column. “What the hell are you doing, Nelson?”
"There's another one," Nelson said, his voice filled with incredulity. "I saw another tiny; they were peeking out behind the bust."
Sam's heart raced as she saw Agent Nelson's enormous face appear, looking down at her between the gap between the column and wall. She gripped the shrink ray tightly, her palms sweaty.
"Come out with your hands up!" Agent Nelson demanded, his voice booming in Sam's ears.
Sam took a deep breath and shouted back, "I'm not coming out! I need to speak with President Davis. It's urgent!"
Agent Nelson looked thoughtful, "It's... it's just a kid," he muttered to his partner.
Sam's voice trembled slightly as she continued, "If you try to force me out, I'll shrink you too!" She aimed the ray gun at the agent's massive face, hoping he couldn't see how badly her hands were shaking.
The agent holding the GIW agents scoffed. "We could easily neutralize her at that size. There'd be nothing left."
Sam's stomach churned at his callous words.
Nelson raised a hand to quiet his partner. "Easy now, it's just a kid," he said softly, his tone shifting to a more soothing cadence.
Sam's nerves were frayed, her finger twitching on the trigger. *I need to show them I mean business, * she thought. With a surge of adrenaline, she aimed just past the agent's ear and fired.
A bright beam shot out, narrowly missing the agent and striking a painting. In an instant, the artwork shrank to the size of a postage stamp.
"Whoa there!" Nelson exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain his composure. "Look, why don't you come out, and we can talk about this? I promise we'll hear you out."
Sam's heart pounded. She knew she was cornered. "I-I'll only come out if you promise to take me to the president," she demanded.
Nelson sighed, considering her request. "Look, I'll see what I can do, okay?" He extended his hand, palm up. "But first, you need to come out."
Sam glared at the offered hand, her mind racing. *Even if I shrink him, he could still overpower me,* she thought. *And hurting them won't help my case with the president. * Reluctantly, she stepped out from behind the column.
As she approached the giant hand, Sam flinched involuntarily. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and climbed onto the waiting palm. As the hand rose, she lost her balance, grabbing the agent's thumb to steady herself. It was like grasping the trunk of a young tree, her fingers barely reaching around its circumference.
Nelson stared at her in wonder. "I can't believe I'm holding a tiny person," he murmured.
His other hand approached, and Sam tensed. "I need that weapon," he said firmly.
Sam hesitated, her grip tightening on the shrink ray. This device was her only way back to normal size.
"Listen," Nelson continued, his tone firm but not unkind, "don't make me take it. Just hand it over."
Realizing she had no choice, Sam reluctantly handed over the device, and a new plan formed in her mind. *Maybe being small isn't such a disadvantage, * she thought. *They might underestimate me. I can use that. *
The agent's fingers, each as wide as she was tall, pinched the device between them with surprising delicacy.
"Thank you," he said. He then secured the tiny piece of technology in his pocket.
His giant fingers curled loosely around her, cradling Sam in the palm of his hand as he walked down the hallway.
****
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Sam found herself deposited into a glass jar. The transparent walls curved around her, distorting her view of the sterile interrogation room. She pressed her tiny palms against the glass, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.
Sam watched the CIA agents place the shrunken GIW operatives into similar containers.
"I can't believe what I'm seeing," one agent muttered, peering at the miniaturized men in white. "It's like something out of a sci-fi movie."
Another agent shook his head, his face a mask of disbelief and annoyance. "An unauthorized ghost-hunting organization? Operating with government funds? The President's going to have a field day with this one."
Sam's stomach churned as she overheard snippets of the GIW agents' frantic explanations. "Ecto-entities... threat to national security... ghost on Mars..." She watched the two other CIA agents pick up the GIW jar and leave the room. She guessed to question them without her present.
*This is not how I planned this to go,* Sam thought, her heart racing. She watched as two CIA agents loomed over her, their faces twisted in a mix of fascination and suspicion. One was Agent Nelson, the other his partner. She hadn’t gotten the man’s name.
Suddenly, the jar was lifted, and Sam found herself face-to-face with a stern-looking CIA agent. "Alright, young lady," he said, his voice booming in her tiny ears. "You better start talking.”
Sam took a deep breath, steadying herself. "My name is Sam Manson," she began, “Look, I know this sounds crazy, but ghosts are real. They're not evil, though! The Guys in White have been attacking innocent people in Amity Park, and they're after my friend!"
Nelson leaned in, his brow furrowed. "And who exactly is this friend of yours?"
Sam hesitated, then blurted out, "Danny Phantom. He's... he's the alien boy on Mars."
The agents exchanged skeptical glances.
"It's complicated," Sam said, frustration creeping into her voice. "But he's in danger, and I need to speak to the President before the GIW convinces him to do something terrible!"
Nelson spoke up, “ I hate to break this to you, but the alien kid was left on Mars, he’s dead along with astronaunt Mark Watney.”
“No, you don’t understand! He’s a ghost, he’s survived worse then an alien planet. But if he stays trapped there, he’ll die!” Sam yelled.
Nelson tilted his head, “If he’s a ghost, how can he die?”
“Ugh! You don’t get it! Look, he’s special, he can die, he’s just tough. Please, he needs help!”
The other Agent sneered, his face contorting with disbelief. "A likely story from a pint-sized terrorist."
Fury bubbled within Sam. These dense agents were jeopardizing everything. "It's the truth! If you'd listen—"
Suddenly, the world became a violent blur. Nelson’s partner had grabbed the jar, shaking it violently. Sam's tiny body slammed against the glass walls, pain exploding through her as she felt warm liquid trickle from her nose. And the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
"Stop, Roberts!" Agent Nelson's voice cut through the chaos, deep and commanding. He snatched the jar away, cradling it protectively in his large hands. His scowl was fierce as he turned to his partner. "She's a minor, and at this size, you could seriously hurt her. Control yourself!"
Roberts rolled his eyes. "Oh please, she's fine. The little brat is lying through her teeth. Ghosts? What a joke."
Sam's head spun, her vision blurry. She touched her nose, fingers coming away red.
Sam glared up at him, trying to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. Her whole body ached.
Nelson's massive hand engulfed the jar, and Sam braced herself as he slowly tilted the container, her tiny form tumbling onto his warm, calloused palm. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet oddly safe in his careful grip.
"Are you alright?" Nelson's voice rumbled above her, his concerned eyes sweeping over her diminutive form.
Sam pushed herself up, her legs wobbling. She wiped at her bloodied nose, glaring past Nelson at Roberts. "When I get big again," she snarled, her voice barely above a squeak, "I'm going to kick your ass so hard you'll wish you'd never been born!"
Nelson's fingers curled protectively around her, forming a gentle cage. "Easy there, firecracker," he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Roberts scoffed; his face twisted in disdain. "The little brat should rot in juvie for her stunt at the White House.
Sam's blood boiled. How dare he? She opened her mouth to unleash another tirade, but Nelson cut her off.
"Here," he said softly, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. He produced a crisp white handkerchief, offering her the corner. "For your nose."
Sam reached out, her tiny hands grasping the edge of the handkerchief. It unfurled before her like a giant tablecloth, the material soft and cool against her skin. Gratefully, she pressed it to her throbbing nose, the white cotton quickly staining crimson.
Sam's mind raced as she sat cradled in Nelson's palm, the handkerchief dwarfing her diminutive form. She had to find a way out of this mess, and she had to make them believe her.
Nelson watched closely, making sure the tiny rebel in his hand was as comfortable as she could be under the circumstances.
Sam’s eyes flicked up to his, acknowledging the gesture with reluctant gratitude.
Nelson's deep voice resonated through the air. "I think we should take a break." His massive hand moved towards the jar, causing Sam's heart to race. "Sorry, kiddo, but back you go."
Sam's stomach lurched as she was lowered into the glass prison. Nelson guided the handkerchief in after her. She sank into the fabric, feeling dwarfed by its sheer size.
*****
"The President wants to see the girl," Agent Carter, the top CIA agent, announced, her voice crisp. "He's... intrigued by the situation."
Meanwhile, in a secure room, Sam sat cross-legged in her glass jar, the handkerchief she was given draped over her tiny shoulders. She was bored out of her mind. The door opened, and Agent Nelson entered.
"Looks like you've made quite an impression, Miss Mason," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. He reached for the jar, his hand popping the lid off, his massive hand descending toward her.
Sam's heart raced. "What's happening?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
"The President wants to meet you," Nelson replied, his fingers carefully closing around her tiny form. The warmth of his skin enveloped her as he lifted her out.
As they moved through the corridors, Sam's mind whirled. *Should I tell him about Jazz?* she wondered. * No, I better keep that to myself for now. If this goes south, I might need her help to escape. *