The night was dark. She couldn't see further than three feet in front of her, but still she ran. She had to get away from her. That menace. They'd warned her about the Night Mistress, but had she listened? No. No, she had not. She had scoffed. Said that she could outrun any "Night Mistress" she came across. She had her board. She had her suit. After all, they were talking about HER. She'd be fine.

Her board had been destroyed by a gunshot in the thruster.

Her suit torn to shreds by flying debris, courtesy of the grenade and the concrete wall.

And there was nothing she could do now, with a broken arm and no weapons. She could only run. Reduced again to a helpless teenager.

Something clanged in front of her--an orb, which glowed and popped open. Purple gas came in a wave over her, and her mind sank into it. Black edges encroached on her vision. Beneath her, the earth lurched.

Valerie fell, and a feminine arm caught her with utmost dexterity.

The woman smiled. Another notch in her proverbial bedpost, and this one would pay well. She scooped up the former ghost hunter, slung her over her shoulder, walked back to her car.

Today would be a good day.

--

The dark-haired man sat at his desk surrounded by papers. This needed to be signed. This needed looking over. This person under his supervision needed to do this. Tedious and meticulous things on papers that, quite honestly, he didn't care about.

He ran his hand through the mop of hair hiding his blue eyes. It was shorter than it had been in his youth, and even though he was barely twenty-five, there were streaks of silver running through. He scrawled a line that was supposed to be his signature on a paper, but all one could truly make out was the D at the beginning and the F in the middle, both large and looping.

"Fenton!" barked Mr. Kishmeir, a man of Germen descent who happened to be his boss. Daniel jumped to attention.

"Yes sir?"

"We have a 49B in downtown Fezville," said the man through his mustache.

"A 49B?" That was a kidnapping crime. Nothing that he should be concerned with. "Why can't Fezville's police department take care of it?"

"Because, Mr. Fenton," Kishmeir said solemnly, "They sent in a special report to us." The burly man turned and started to walk off, the young man following, intent on hearing the rest. People around them let their eyes linger on the sight--it wasn't very often that Daniel was dragged into the Deputy's office. A rough shout from the German got them to disperse.

They passed through the main corridor, windows showing the bedrock the complex was burrowed into. Dan had never understood why an underground building would have windows, but he never asked. Just to be on the safe side. The poster on the wall beside the window was a large graph or their latest catches: Skulker, Ember, Lynx, Juliana, the Box Ghost. It seemed the Department of Spectral Activity had been busy lately. Formed shortly after Daniel had graduated from High School, they'd pulled him out of college-- Amity Park University, nothing special--and stuck him here, under the grounds that since his parents were ghost hunters, he would be too.

They had no idea that he wasn't exactly human. Why would they? He'd probably be out of a job if they knew. Somehow, he'd manage to keep his secret just that--a secret. Although, it surprised Daniel that Kishmeir, who was a very intelligent person, hadn't made the connection that every time Dan was sent on patrol, Amity Park's resident spirit showed up to take care of it.

Within no time, they had walked through the complex and had ended up in Deputy Kishmeir's office. Papers were everywhere, much like the cubicle that Daniel had just come from.

"You look swamped," the young man said before he could stop himself.

The stern look he got from his superior officer shut him up. "Mr. Fenton, you clearly do not understand the severity of the situation."

"You haven't told me anything!" Kishmeir whipped around, a vein in his forehead ticking, and Daniel hastily added, "Mr. Kishmeir, sir."

"Have you looked at the report yet, Mr. Fenton?" Of course, he shook his head. "Well, in that case, you should read this." He turned to a filing cabinet, leaving the young man to wonder what was going to happen.

After about half a minute, Daniel's mind started to wander a bit, as did his eyes. Over there on the wall was a map of the county, with red, yellow, and black tacks sticking out where there had been recent attacks. He could recognize a few of the cases. The red one for Elm Street had been Spectra as she had tried to take over an asylum. The red tack sticking out of Joshua Lane was Ember's latest guitar shop raid. That yellow one down by the docks was just the Box Ghost.

What caught his eye, however, was the set of black tacks clustered in Central Amity Park. A glance at the filing cabinet told Daniel that Kishmeir was still occupied with the report, so he walked over to get a closer look.

The pushpins formed almost a spider-web as they spread out from downtown, reaching all the way to the North Mercy hospital on the easternmost border of Fezville. There was a trail separate from the cluster leading into the neighboring city, winding through the slums like a snake. It was curious.

"Who is this?" the man asked as he turned to his boss. "Aren't black tacks supposed to be for the most dangerous ghosts?"

"The most dangerous anything, Mr. Fenton," Kishmeir corrected as he pulled out the report. "And since there has been a murder or a kidnapping at each of those locations, we would consider the culprit to be extremely dangerous. Here," he said. "Read this over. It will give you the details of the black tacks."

Daniel looked down at the stack of papers. It didn't seem like much. Was the DSA overreacting about this whole thing? It had happened in the past...

"Fenton, I said you're dismissed!"

He jumped. "Y-Yes sir!" And with that, he was gone.

"Zicklein," Kishmeir muttered, sitting at his desk and sorting through papers.

--

Back in the safety of his own cubicle, Daniel plopped in his desk limply. Honestly, he hated dealing with Mr. Kishmeir. Even as an adult he was always worried about screw-ups. And he was probably saddled with the worst boss in the history of bad bosses. It was possible that this was karma paying him back for...

Well...he wouldn't dig up that memory today.

The day was clearly not going to be a good one. He had a stack of paperwork the size od Montana on his desk and after that little encounter with Kishmeir, he felt like his back and neck had coiled into a tense, knotty ball of wires.

With a sigh, Dan turned to face his stack of papers and bills, picked up his pen, and got to work. Might as well get everything over with.

--

She could smell the rust hanging in the air, a product of the perpetually dripping pipes hanging from the ceiling. She stepped over a puddle of brown water, prey hoisted over her shoulder, limp and bloody. The crimson would stain her suit, wouldn't it? Oh well. It wasn't like she'd wear it for much longer after this.

The woman walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoing loudly. The door at the end was open slightly--she could see the light reflecting on the opposite hall. Good. He was in.

With her free hand, she pushed her way through the door and dropped the body unceremoniously into a chair. Her mask was pulled over her head and dropped onto the floor next to a large oak desk.

"You're late."

He was sitting in a computer chair--one of the blue ones with the small back. If he had a large one perhaps he would look more villanous at the moment. Still, the steepled fingers were rather menacing, if stereotypical. Her boss stared at her from under his slightly mangy eyebrows and mass of hair.

She wasn't quite afraid of him anymore.

"Sorry, boss," she said as she pulled up the unoccupied chair. "Ms. Grey put up a chase. They don't usually run." Her hair was up--she tugged it out of it's ponytail and let the black locks brush her shoulders. The black catsuit she was wearing was for stealth and practicality--it had nothing to get caught on, and she blended into the shadows perfectly. Besides, it suited her curves.

He clicked his fingernails together in annoyance and fixed his usual glare on her. "You are getting sloppy."

She gritted her teeth against a comment that would probably get her killed. It was funny. Just a few years ago that wouldn't have stopped her. Nowadays she had to be careful, calculating. "I know."

He had spun around to face the back wall. "I am allowing you to go home today."

"I know." For the first time in years! She would be able to escape this hell hole for a while, a week, maybe two. See her parents--well, her father at least. Her best friend! She wondered how he was doing. The other one...well...she didn't care whether he was alive or dead. A big reunion, with everyone she cared about--being able to say, Hey world! I'm still alive!

"I have another assignment for you before that."

The vision rumbled before her eyes.

She was silent, her mouth hanging open. "You...what?"

"It's a simple one." He spun around quickly, slamming his hands on the desk. She jumped. "Or are you complaining? I hate complaining." His eyes, black as pits, narrowed dangerously. "You are not as valuable as you think. You could easily end up just like her." A slight twitch was his only indication of the dead, mangled mess that was once a girl.

She shook. "No...I'm not complaining." She should be used to this by now, not swallowing a scream and fighting the urge to run. "What is the assignment?"

His smile made her somehow feel much, much worse.