The ring of a a high pitched voice rang down the corridors of a large mansion. The voice's debris of notes seemed to linger within every dark room. The source of the voice eventually stopped, leaving only an empty echo among the hallways.

She was standing in a large hall with dark walls, a stage, and only a big chair facing the stage. A very empty feeling for this size of a room. Though, the girl had a good feeling..

"Yes, you've got raw talent, sweet heart." An evil voice rang. "Pure talent." He chuckled. The girl standing before him gave a shy laugh, pushing away her blonde hair from her face, "Thanks, sir."

"And that's why you," the man said, standing up from his large throne-like chair, pointing a stern finger, ".. just scored a record deal!" His face gleamed with a big grin from ear to ear. He approached the teenager, still standing in the middle of the stage at the end of the large room.

She couldn't help but to jump off and let out a short scream out as she quickly walked towards the man approaching her from the opposite end of the great hall. She shook his hand vigourously, and she could see happiness in his eyes as he held tight to her hand. "Finally, I've found some one good enough to fulfil my dream. I need some one with such unique talent. Your lyrics are words your fans will connect to, and your melodies are notes that will stay in their heads and hearts forever."

The girl didn't know what to say. She gave another nervous laugh, "And so, what exactly is your dream, sir?" He grinned back at her, letting go of her hand, "To be the most successful record label and producer. I've been looking every where for some one who can handle the pressure, the money, the-" "- Fame." She interrupted. He squinted at her, whispering, "Exactly" He let out another one of his chuckles, "Some one who can keep a low profile and not care about attention. Some one who can have a secret identity, perhaps?"

The blonde titled her head a bit, "I agree with everything you're saying. I don't live off attention. I want to have fans that hear me out, and understand me. But, secret identity.? I'm sorry, uh, beg your pardon, sir, but not only do I not know you're name yet, but I also have no idea where you're getting at with this.. hidden identity thing."

He nodded understandingly, "Oh of course, you just landed a record deal, and now I'm overwhelming you. But you must understand me when I say, this time, it's most important that you keep your famous identity separate from your every day one.." She nodded, still a bit confused, "And why is that?" She questioned. He still hadn't told her his name.

"I've seen way too many of my recording artists go down the drain due to pressure of the media and attention. If you're a recording artist in here, the studio, the stage, and on certain occasions, then you're safe to roam freely as yourself and not have-" He was searching for words. "The fame kill me." She answered for herself.

The man nodded, "Right." He laughed, the hardest time yet, "I've finally found you. Someone that I can trust, and that feels mutual to what my contract states." He whipped out a large stack of papers.

She starred at it, read it, page by page, seeing no flaws, no hidden deals, and only a few things she questioned.

"No telling any friends, or family members?" She asked. The man shook his head. She stuck her nose back into the contract.

She smiled back up to him not too long after, and asked, "Where do I sign?" The man smiled back, handing her a pen, and pointing at a straight line. She slowly signed her signature and giggled, "Better get used to using that a lot!" He nodded, "You're absolutely right." he said, signing his name right under hers. She looked down at his name he had just signed, and then back up, her green eyes glistened from chandelier they were standing under, "Remi R. Ristrams, thank you very much. You have no idea how hard I've worked for this opportunity.."

He nodded, patting her back, and heading towards the door, "Oh, sweetheart, you know I appreciate you as much you do me. Go on now, get some rest at home." He turned to her, grabbing her shoulders, "I know, this is going to be very hard for you to not tell any one but it's just for the first while. Your loved ones will know soon, and they'll understand." All she could do was nod again, "You're right. You are entirely right."

He gave a reassuring smirk and waved goodbye, "I'll have some one contact you tomorrow. Have a good night, Miss Moretti!"

He watched the pale blonde step into the limo Vlad had escort her back home. He turned, closing and locking every door behind him as he went down to his basement. Soon, he was his ghost half, starring up at a big screen that glowed in front of him, "You're mine this time, Fenton." His smile wasn't so innocent when it soon twisted into a evil grin.

Amity High

12:34pm

Dannys' POV

I hate French. I'm always flunking it, and it's always making me frustrated. I wish I could just such it up with the Fenton Thermos and forget about it forever. Send it to the ghost zone. Heh Heh Heh..

While I was in my deep, and great, thought of banishing homework to a completely different level of the universe (literally), of course, some one had to interrupt me. With a splash of orange juice to my face. As I jumped out of both my daydreaming and my skin, I finally caught my breath and my sense of hearing to not only see the most hideous (human) thing in my life standing before me, but to hear his jaw-clenching chuckle on top of the horrific sight.

Dash Baxter. Of course. It's turned into a ritual to splash me with an ice cold beverage. Good thing I wear a white shirt most of the time.

I stood up, flinging orange pulp off my hands, "Dash! Are you kidding me!" This seemed to be part of the ritual too. Me trying to defend myself and then..

"No, I'm not, FentORANGE!" Dash blurted, laughing hysterically with his other meat head friends." I shook my head, scoffing, "That made no sense," I said to myself, "That's not even a decent joke." I watch, as per usual, as they stride away, back to the popular table, and me, sitting in sticky pulp for the rest of the day. I do my best to clean it up off my arms in the guys bathroom, and stare at the big orange stain covering my shirt.

When I finally got back to sitting down, Sam and Tucker, my two only decent people in my life, wait for me. Their eyes widen, and Tucker lets out a small laugh, "Ha, not again, Danny. C'mon!" I sit down beside him, unimpressed and I let out a sigh, "Yes, Tuck. Again." He shook his head at me, "Ah, dude, you need to lay the smack down on those assholes. Do something about it!" I roll my eyes and begin to protest, "Tucker, I do everything I can. They're all popular, I can't-" Tuck was shaking his head, "By do something I mean," He got closer to me, speaking quieter, "Use your ghost powers and kick their-"

"No, not going to happen." Sam finally butted in, with a soothing, mother-like voice, "Danny, we've talked about this multiple times. Violence.."

"neversolvesanything." I finished for her quickly, "I know, Sam. I know." I, looked up to her, and smiled, then back to Tucker. And we, as per usual again, all started laughing. "Are we that annoying?" Tucker asked, smiling, and taking a bite of his hamburger. Sam nodded, "Are we boring you, Danny?" She was eating a.. plant, or something of some sort. I never understand her cuisine.

I shook my head, "You guys aren't annoying or boring. Just…predictable. Like how Tucker always eats beef and Sam, you always eat.."

"Mystery plant." Tucker finished for me. I laughed, louder than I had all day. Sam glared at both of us, breaking off a piece of what ever was between her two slices of bread and throwing it towards us.

And for a while, I had forgotten all about my orange stained shirt.