Silent Fighters
Alex Rider
/ I'm typing this on my phone, so I'm sorry if it takes some time! I hope you like it, anyway. Yay my first x-over! D
Disclaimer: The author does not own Alex Rider or Danny Phantom. If you even think of a lawsuit, I will cut you like an aluminum can- which is surprisingly easy to cut, with an Xacto knife, anyway. But ripping it apart with bare hands isn't hard, either. Anyway...
Alex knew he was in trouble when he saw a suited man standing in front of him, with a large, lethargic dog sitting nearby. Unlike most men his age, Crawley's prescense would not signal a friendly chat. Instead, he brought a foreboding air with him, as if he was heralding Alex's doom. Which, knowing the nature of his visits, could very well be true. But Alex couldn't spurn him, so he merely sighed and continued to walk forward.
"Hello Alex."
"Mr. Crawley." Alex reluctantly acknowledged him. "What is it you want this time?"
"For you to take a vacation."
Alex looked up in surprise, but soon became annoyed again.
"After the last one went so well."
Crawley coughed to hide his embarrasment.
"This one will be different. All you will need to do is watch, and do a little digging if possible. And you will be duly protected."
Once again, Alex was surprised. "Could you explain a bit more?"
"I'm afraid that is Mr. Blunt's job." Crawley sighed. As if reading their thoughts, the building labeled Royal and General Bank loomed ahead of them.
A few minutes later, Alex was gaping at the head of MI6. "You want me to investigate a ghost?!"
Blunt sighed. "Yes, I want you to investigate a ghost. The CIA have pulled in a favor and they insist that we send you to find out about a specter." The man almost looked annoyed. "Of all the things to request our best spy for... At any rate, you will be staying in a town called Amity Park with its resident ghost hunters. They have a son your age and an older daughter. You will be going to the local highschool, where ghost attacks occur most often. They may also provide you with gadgets, but of course Smithers has something for you."
Of couse, the rather large man took that moment to bound in with a "Hey Alex!"
"Hello, Smithers." Alex replied, unable to keep a smile off his face. After all, an incredibly jovial man in some kind of hippie bellbottom jeans and tank top with many chins and a bulging waistline was a sight to be seen in a top-secret government agency. But of course Smithers wouldn't care. "I've only got one item for you today, old pal." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, slim buisness phone. "No darts, I'm afraid, but it has some other features. Of course there is the usual that comes with this, email, texting, and such, but then look at this. If you dial one it turns into a listening device even better than the iPod I gave you earlier. Dialing two turns it into a ghost detector. And dialing three will give a nasty shock to any ghost who touches you until you end the call. To call us, dial six, of course."
"Any other speed dial numbers I should know?" Alex asked dryly.
"No, though I had been hoping to put in a anti-ghost bomb with a three-two-one sequence, but it doesn't only blast ghosts, unfortunately. Even so you, shouldn't be in much danger. Good luck ol' chap!" And with that, he exited as quickly as he had arrived.
When they were alone again, Blunt reached into his drawer and pulled out a couple of photographs depicting a floating boy. He looked to be about Alex's age, but he was unnaturally pale and seemed to glow a bit. He had shocking white hair and fierce emrald eyes, and a wiry frame covered in corded muscle and clad in a black jumpsuit with a small white D-in-a-P logo, with white gloves and belt. Alex noticed that sometime he had legs, but other times only a wispy tail trailing below his waistline.
"This," started Blunt, interrupting Alex's thoughts, "is the self-proclaimed Danny Phantom. He alternately protects and destroys the town, and noone can really figure him out. The CIA wants you to find out about him."
Alex sensed that Blunt was leaving out something, but, he thought with frustration, chances were that he wouldn't be told whatever it was.
"Fine, I'll go."
And that was how Alex found himself in front of the Fenton household, ringing the doorbell and staring up at the odd contraptions on top of the building.
Suddenly, something pulled him to one side. Without thinking, he swung a fist at his assailant.