I own no angry red ghost hunters.

A loud beep sounds from my watch.

I'm not expecting it, and I almost spill the drink I'm filling for some over-perfumed cheerleader. I scowl at the sticky liquid running down my hand. Why do ghosts always attack when I'm at work, anyway? I'm already on thin ice with the number of times I've run out on a shift this week. I can't afford to lose even more hours. Not to say I won't if some spook is dumb enough to attack the Nasty Burger - people's lives come first - but I'd rather keep this job. It wasn't easy working my way up from mascot duty.

I hand the cheerleader her drink and scan the restaurant, looking for any sign of the ghost. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but my scanner is never wrong. There's ghost scum around here somewhere. I just have to wait for it to make its move.

The door opens. A flash of white hair has me reaching for my bag, but it's just some kid in sunglasses. I roll my eyes. Just what this town needs, another weirdo goth.

I spend the next twenty minutes too jumpy for my own good. I flinch at the smallest things - the slam as a tray hits the table, tiny nerd running from big jock, an empty cup spiraling as it misses the trash. Normal things, but things my overstimulated mind interprets as a threat. My senses are strained, waiting for that first glimpse, that first scream that will tell me where the ghost is. Another five minutes; nothing. Sweat drips down my neck. Where is it? What is it waiting for? What-

"Um, hey, can I get a refill?"

This time I do jump, and then scowl at the goth kid leaning against the counter. "Yeah, yeah, just take the lid off first," I tell him, not even trying for a plastic customer-service smile. I'm too keyed-up for that. I reach for his cup. My fingers barely brush the cardboard before everything goes to heck.

Half cooked burgers explode from the grill, clipping a few civilians as they rocket past the counter. I reach for my bag, but now there's two ghosts on my radar, and I don't know which to look for first. The decision gets easier when the meat-obsessed cafeteria ghost blinks into view. Crap. I still need somewhere to change. I'm about to run for the break room when a cold hand grabs my wrist.

"Don't bother, Val."

I turn back, scowling, and goth-kid shoots me a cocky grin as he lets go.

"I got this."

I gape at him, because one, he knows my name, and two, I can see his eyes glowing through the sunglasses. A minute later, and I'm kicking myself for being so stupid. White hair, glowing eyes, and two ghosts on my radar - it's Phantom. That- that ghost- has been sitting right there in front of me. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and a ratty black t-shirt, pretending to be human - oh, but it makes me want to scream! And telling me to stay out of it, as if! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? I'm Valerie Grey, thank you very much, and it's my job to kick ghost butt!

By now Phantom's crossed the floor to stand in front of the meat-ghost. He stares up at her with that stupid smirk of his and whips off the sunglasses. Immediately, people stop screaming and start to look interested.

"Hey, it's Phantom!"

"What's he doing here?"

"What's he wearing?"

"Cool, Phantom!"

"I wonder where he buys his jeans . . . ."

"Go get 'em, Ghost Boy!"

Phantom flashes them a smile; I don't wait to see what he does next. It takes less than thirty seconds to get to the break room, but there's another employee hiding in there. I bite back a curse and head for the alley. It's always empty - except for today, when the world's most dedicated garbage collector is clearing dumpsters during a ghost attack. This time, I don't bother to muffle my cursing.

Finally, I manage to find a port-a-potty to change in, which is all sorts of pleasant, and race back the way I came. It takes me two minutes to get back. I'm ready for action - only, the meat-ghost is nowhere in sight and Phantom just escaped through the roof. I snarl and try not to stamp my foot in front of the public. All that stress, running out on work, and I don't even get to beat up a ghost!

Sometimes I hate my job.

So yeah, plotbunny escape. It ended up in first person present, which isn't my favorite way to write, but hey, whatever the story demands. Hopefully it turned out okay.