A/N: I'm not 100% sure I'm going to continue with this idea, but I just need to do something to channel my craze after finishing Danny Phantom. And apparently the only thing I can do is write Hunger Games crossovers, so here we are.

For the most part, you can assume that most of the DP series has happened (though not exactly the same considering we're in Panem); however, The Ultimate Enemy and Phantom Planet have not happened, and encounters with Vlad have not quite been the same.

In any case, enjoy my first contribution to the phandom.

District 3 is devoid of ghosts. Officially, at least. The Capitol isn't going to admit that there's something out there it can't easily control.

So, my family's basement and Op Center don't exist. The frequent but usually quickly resolved attacks that take up most of my free time don't exist.

And half of me doesn't exist.

I guess there are worse things than being an unsung hero. I'm not being hunted down by Peacekeepers—actively—and my friends and family are pretty much safe as long as I can keep exorcising the ectoplasm.

...And as long as it's not today.

"That stage is a horrific waste of metal ore." Sam crosses her arms with a scowl. "Are recycled products not good enough for the Capitol?"

"Not unless it's in fashion." Tucker adjusts his ridiculous top hat reserved for days like these. "Speaking of which, how did you manage to get that dress?"

Sam looks down at her full-length black dress with fringes of purple lace, her arms held out to let the sleeves billow a little. "More like, 'How did I manage to change out of my parents' idea of a dress without getting caught?'."

"All it takes is a little well-timed distraction," I say, grinning at her.

She chuckles. "Oh, yes. You can be very distracting." She pauses without breaking eye contact. Even a bare blush is easy to spot on her pale cheeks as she glances away. I feel my face heat up and do the same.

The crowd is pretty dense, and you can smell the sweat and grease on the others' clothes. Just about everyone in my age group is accounted for, but thankfully the tense atmosphere prevents any roughhousing. Even Dash and Kwan are just standing stiffly, tugging at their bow ties.

Jazz is somewhere ahead of me, but there are too many heads between the Fifteen and Seventeen sections for me to make her out clearly. I think I glance a flash of her hair—she and Mom are pretty much the only ones in the district with an orange that bright—but she disappears just as quickly.

That makes four of us that are still up for reaping. But we've made it this far. There are a ton of people in District 3, and none of us have had to take tessarae. We'll be fine.

I still feel my fists clenching when the escort steps onto the non-recycled stage. They're calling the girl first, so that's Sam and Jazz to worry about.

Which I won't. The odds are in our favor. Neither of them is going to be reaped. Then one more year, and Jazz at least will be safe from the Games forever.

I stare at the slip entering the escort's hand as hard as I can, but unfortunately x-ray vision isn't one of my powers. The escort holds the paper in front of her, fingers pinching both sides of the slip, before her lips form the tribute's name.

...It's no one I've heard of.

Letting a breath out, I share glances with Sam and Tuck, but they don't know the girl, either.

Sam and Jazz are safe. Jazz will be completely safe in one more year. It's okay...

Well, no, it's not really okay. That stranger is still probably going to lose her life for no good reason. The Hunger Games are still going to happen. And with or without ghost powers, I'm still just one kid. I'm in no position to take down the entire government. Maybe someday...

But first I have to survive this reaping.

Far too little time passes before the escort is drawing the boy's name. Not me, not Tucker. Not me, and not Tucker...

"Dash Baxter!"

I stare at the escort for a second before the name really clicks. Frozen, I manage to turn my head just enough to see Dash and Kwan. They're discussing something animatedly, but the words aren't really reaching me. In the end, Dash pushes his friend aside and runs for the stage.

...Dash is going to be out of my hair. No more bullying, no more torment...

I feel sick as soon as the thought has crossed my mind. There's a victory in there somewhere, but it's not worth it. There's a word for that... Pythagorean?

Anyway, he's the star of the football team for a reason. He might just stand a chance.

Some of the crowd tries to follow the new tributes and their Peacekeeper escorts to the Justice Building, and the rest of us start to disperse.

"Well," Tucker finally starts, "we made it through another year."

Sam looks over her shoulder at the Justice Building and mutters, "They didn't."

I shove my hands in my pockets, taking a step forward. "It happens every reaping, Sam."

She turns on me, her eyes livid as she leans in. "Are you saying I should just accept it, then?"

"Of course not!" I sigh, looking ahead so I don't run over anybody as we get going. "I... I don't know what I'm saying."

"I say we keep walking to the Nasty Burger." Tucker slips his PDA out of his pocket, having no trouble working it while walking. "It was as bittersweet of a reaping as always, but there's still a celebration feast. And I for one could use some tasty meat to take the edge off of the morning."

Sam sighs. "Right." She looks down, putting a hand on her stomach. "I wouldn't mind a salad..."

She's still glowering at the ground several steps later.

"Sam?" I start. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." With a growl, she fists her hands. "Except I'm not. We're still doing the same old things, going along with everyone else like sheep, when there's this huge evil hanging over our heads! Danny..." Her frame relaxes a little, but her gaze on me is still intense. "You could change it. There has to be some way—some way to get rid of the Games, and—"

"Sam!" Tucker rapidly turns his head to the side, his eyes wide. Sam's mouth snaps shut, and she glances at his PDA. He discreetly nods to his left. Without turning my head, I risk a glance, but I can't see anything from the corner of my eye. Tucker knows what he's doing, though. If something's listening in on us, he'll catch its signal.

"And I just wish it was possible," Sam mutters, obviously more for the audience than either of us.

"Yeah." My agreement isn't just putting on a show. "I wish it was."

But... it's not. The Capitol's unprepared for a ghost attack, sure. But just how much damage would I have to do to get rid of the Hunger Games once and for all? Even Tucker hasn't been able to come up with a plan. We don't have enough information about the Capitol, and he hasn't been able to safely hack into their stuff. District 3 reports he can handle, but that doesn't get us much information from the other parts of the country.

We don't even know if real ghosts show up in other districts. But with the only operational Ghost Zone portal in my basement, District 3 might be the only place that's haunted.

We walk in silence until Tucker squints at the Nasty Burger ahead. "Is it just me, or is the crowd smaller this year?"

Sam follows his gaze as he adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses. "The popular crowd is probably busy in the Justice Building."

"At least Dash'll have a good send-off." I try to focus on the impending burgers instead, but I can only imagine them for a second before my mouth flies open, a visible wisp of breath escaping. "Oh, no. Now?"

Sam frowns and stops walking, discreetly checking our surroundings. "When have ghosts ever waited for a good time?"

"Point taken." I come to a stop and search for a good hiding spot. "Looks like I'll have to give a good send-off myself. Cover me."

I back up against the side of a building without any obvious cameras, and Tucker and Sam block me off from any other witnesses.

"I'm going ghost!"

It only takes a moment of concentration to summon the familiar ring of light around my stomach. It splits in two, one shooting down to my feet and the other to my head, both leaving my ghost form in their wake. Since I'm already wearing black today, the change isn't quite as noticeable except for the silver boots, gloves, and collar. At the edge of my vision, my black hair turns white, and the glow of the circles dissipates.

With a hop, I rocket over my best friends' heads and slow to a hover a few feet above the building. My fists clench in a floating battle stance as I scan the area where my ghost sense went off.

"Nothing on the ground…"

"Danny!"

I look down to see Sam's hands cupped around her mouth.

"Vultures at three o' clock!"

"Those guys again?" I turn in place until the three green globs come into view. "Well, that explains why I haven't heard a loud self-introduction yet."

The last time they came around, they were after my dad. As to why, they never told me before I blasted them and forced them back into the Ghost Zone.

Why they're coming for me right now, I can guess.

"Back for seconds?" I start, a thin green glow surrounding my hands.

They come to a stop just outside a comfortable talking distance. But it's still a comfortable shooting distance, so I can't complain.

"We're going for a different strategy this time," says the one in the front with the especially throaty voice. "Try to avoid some of the mishigas."

The one with the smallest fez flaps forward to float even with the first one. "If you're going to keep us from doing our jobs, we might as well—" he coughs—"get you out of the way before we even bother."

I hunch a bit, ready to surge forward. "Good luck."

They rear back before darting past me—one to the right, one to the left, and one above. I spin to catch a glimpse of the green blurs, but they double back, whizzing by on every side. One more lap, and the churning in my stomach proves they're just trying to make me dizzy.

"I don't get airsick that easily," I call as the blurs of ectoplasm keep circling. "But you guys are looking a little green around the beak yourselves!"

With a shout, I arch my back and send a blast of energy out on all sides, the glowing green sphere expanding until it crashes into the vultures. I can finally make out their features as they ricochet off the blast and lose altitude. I grunt, forming and throwing three discs of ecto-energy while I have a clear shot. They manage to right themselves and fly up before they get hit.

But their recovery puts them within punching range.

"Haah!" I smash a fist into the center vulture and spin to slam a kick into a second. A sharp pain hits between my shoulder blades before I can get to the third one.

"Yow!" Turning around, I blast him, glimpsing the scrap of black fabric clamped in his beak as he falls. No wonder these guys pride themselves on their pecking ability.

Before my back even stops stinging, the other two are flying straight at me, sunlight shining off their blue beaks. Just as they're about to ram me, I jump up, and they crash into each other.

"You guys have got to stop falling for that." I prepare myself as the three of them get their bearings and fly back into formation, wings flapping. "What do you have against my dad, anyway? Did he beat you himself when I wasn't looking?"

"It's nothing like that."

"We're just following orders, ghost boy," says the lead one. "It's not personal."

I hover in place, keeping all of them in sight. "Whose orders?"

The vulture with sunglasses glances up. "Vl—"

"Hey!" The one in front turns on him. "There's no reason to say his name, meshugine!"

"Peh!" he spits. "Him asking for it isn't a reason?"

Considering there aren't many names that start with a "Vl," I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's "Vlad." And I only know one Vlad who would have ghosts working for him.

Okay, I only know one Vlad period, but still.

"Then I guess I'll just have to send you back to him," I say. "I hear the Ghost Zone is pretty warm this time of year."

I shift my focus a bit, and my hands glow blue, some frost already forming on the gloves. With a sudden surge forward, I thrust my arms straight in front of me, an icy blue beam heading straight for the vultures. They immediately try to fly up out of range, but the beam catches the left one's foot. Ice encases him from the bottom up, and he drops.

Soaring higher to stay with the other two, I let a head-sized snowball form in my hands before launching it at them. It collides, knocking them both back on impact and freezing them.

"Heh. I'm sure you'll appreciate the chance to warm up." Retrieving the Fenton Thermos, I unscrew the lid. Its bright bluish beam sweeps up the three ghosts while I let myself sink back to the ground. My feet touch gravel, and I clap the lid back on.

"Nice." Tucker glances at his PDA. "You're clear here, by the way."

I glance towards the street, but the rest of the crowd has moved on. While I have the chance, I switch back from Phantom to Fenton, the same glowing circles disappearing before anyone hanging out ahead by the Nasty Burger can look over.

"Vlad Plasmius, huh?" I say as as I put the thermos away.

Sam folds her arms. "What does he have against your dad, anyway? I can't imagine an oaf like him beating Vlad in combat."

I frown. "Hey, it has happened once."

"I don't think that's enough for Vlad to declare his everlasting vengeance on the guy," Tucker says, taking a step forward. "We can just chalk it up as a mystery for the time being. For now... Nasty Burger?"

I nod. "Nasty Burger."