A/N: Hey, sorry people, I scrapped the version I had up here before. I'd appreciate it if you go back and read the prologue, then read this segment. It's a bit different and better written, as well as in third person instead of first. I'll try to make chapters longer.

Remember, criticisms would be very appreciated!

Phantom Paradise

He breathed in the cool night air, deep and lush. It had rained last night, another rain to wash away all the sins of this corrupted city. He sighed, gripped the scrolls hidden in his hand tightly, and glared at the image of another fool's mansion, large and towering over the rest of the miserable population. The garishness was only a symbol of their arrogance, and he despised it. The way the nobles thought they were above them, how they rarely would look down even to glance at the ants they trod underfoot.

It had been another job well-done for him. Just another job of terrorizing the aristocracy and teaching them that yes, they could be harmed. They were not above us. But somehow, it seemed almost too easy with his abilities – elaborate security systems could not stop a "phantom."

He smirked. That name, at least, he had earned for himself.

It was only a few minutes of staring down the gritty cobbled street before he finally turned away, walking down the road towards his home, his "Paradise." That, too, he had created with his own hands.

Four years ago, he had nothing. He had been simply another gutter rat, to be pitied and trod upon. That had all changed when he realized the power – curse – he had been given just three years before that. It was almost funny how oblivious he had been, how naively accepting. That had also changed throughout the years.

His stride was unhurried, almost lazily dragging against the ground. He stayed close to the walls, near the other beggars whose numbers seemed to grow with every passing day. He hated that too, remembered how it felt when no one would even give him a second glance despite his youth and hollow eyes, aching belly. Yet even now, he could not dare to stop and give these people the reassuring smile he had needed back then, or the food to help them through the days. As it was, he had trouble taking care of his own Spooks. This way, he should be able to pass unnoticed.

However, only minutes after the thought, he felt a hand tap his shoulder, warm air tickle his ear. He didn't move, didn't look back, and only warily waited for judgement.

"Danny." He relaxed slightly – only his Spooks knew him by that name. The voice too – raspy, like he had inhaled too much smoke when he was younger, yet also wise and weary – he recognized it. It was Carl; he often patrolled the upper towns. But why had he stopped Danny out in the open like this?

"Yes?" he replied evenly, careful not to make any unusual movements that would draw unnecessary attention.

"Same has a message for you." Carl's eyes flicked behind him cautiously before he leaned in to say, "She says she found something about your 'side project'."

His heart skipped a beat.

"I... see." His mouth felt oddly dry. Would he finally, finally know after seven years of wondering? Was today the day the mystery would finally be unraveled? It felt all too surreal. "Thank you." And he left with only a small smile for the man, a slight purposefulness lingering in his step.

He didn't head directly to base – that would have been foolish – and instead cut through various alleyways, turning back more than a few times to shake off anybody following. It wasn't likely and he hadn't noticed anything, but it never hurt to be too careful.

Finally, he reached a small abandoned alleyway, pitch black to the average human eye and foul to the nose. He easily skirted a heap of excretion lying in the way before closing oddly glowing green eyes and leaning heavily against the wall.

Coldness, invisibility. He searched for it in his core just next to his heart, wrapped it around himself like a blanket. It came sluggishly, like freezing-cold slush, but he soon felt the telling chill of invisibility. He knew if anybody looked at him now, they'd only see empty air.

This was the curse he'd been given seven years ago. There were other... abilities as well, but this was the most useful, the most familiar to him. After all, it was hard to catch a thief you couldn't see.

And it was far too easy to get in when he could walk through walls.

He sighed, only to regret it a moment later. His abilities did not extent to sound, and the last thing he needed was for someone to start wondering how someone was making noise when there was no one there.

So silently with careful steps, he made his way back to Paradise, now taking a direct route. His Spooks couldn't do this – they didn't even know it was possible – but he would take every caution himself, at least, to make sure their Paradise stayed hidden. Because in there, it wasn't just about himself or his own twisted goals. In there, it was about all of them, all of his Spooks who had joined him, whether it was for freedom, revenge, or simply to be considered human and alive. That had always been part of his goal, for everyone to feel valued and safe. And yet, that had been only a small factor when he had decided to start doing this. Most of it didn't come from good will or a heroic sense of justice, or anything of the sort.

Most of it was for revenge.

He arrived at the entrance to Paradise, an old battered door just like every other on the street. Inside, there would be more security measures waiting, people ready to identify anybody who even showed an interest in this particular house as opposed to all the rest that looked exactly like it. Of course, all of that was waiting behind yet another inconspicuous door inside the house, so that it would take more than just a routine inspection or strange coincidence to find the base.

But Danny only walked through the closed door, not bothering with any of this. It confused some of the others sometimes, how they could never catch him entering or leaving. They shrugged it off as him being the Phantom, that he probably had some other entrance hidden away that none of them knew about. He had never bothered correcting them.

He passed Tucker, diligently guarding the entrance. He smiled. It was just like him – loyal and steadfast to the core. Tucker had been the first one to join him; for that, he held a special place in his heart.

Sam, on the other hand... She had been the one he had trusted with even a small part of his secret. She wouldn't betray him; her very name was his defiance against the Church. Her job as well – a woman working as a scribe in a band of thieves? The irony was precious.

Now, he was behind her, watching as she scribbled something inscrutable to him on. Reluctantly, he reached inside of himself for the part that wasn't cold and became visible once more.

"Hey." She yelped, a dark ink stain blotting the parchment. Promptly, she turned a fierce glare onto him.

"How do you do that?" she asked. He merely grinned. It was fun sometimes, to use his curse like this.

"Carl said you have a message for me?" It was evading the question and she knew it, but still the words sobered both of them. She glanced around warily before standing up, grabbing a small book and hiding it in the palm of her hand.

"Yeah." She sounded tired. "I got something for you. Think anybody's listening in?" Briefly, he held still, stretching his heightened senses to the limit. There were the usual sounds of scuffle further away, but none in this area. He shook his head.

"It's fine. Go ahead." She opened the book, and he felt a small sinking feeling as he recognized the golden inlaid edges, the fine script on the front. The symbol of that thing he hated most. But still he hesitated, waiting with a bated breath. He could be wrong. Sam wouldn't do that to him, would she?

"It's about that 'side project' of yours," she said, flipping the pages, putting a finger to the words. "Open thy path to eternity, call the sp –"

Before he knew it, he was right next to her and slamming the book closed.

"What are you trying to pull?" he snarled. Her steady expression did not change. "You know, you know that there's nothing but bullshit in there. There's no Eternity, no so-called God –"

"Danny." He stopped. He had gone too far; Sam did not share his beliefs.

"Sorry, Sam." Now the irony was bitter. Hadn't he named her in defiance to the Church? Why did she still believe in such a fragment of its teachings? "I didn't mean that."

"Really?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow, and it wasn't in good jest. She wanted to make sure he knew what he had done, and so rubbed it in deep.

"Yes," he said as humbly as he could manage. There was a pause, and finally he raised his eyes to her defiant brown. "Find something about the ghosts, and not from the Scripture." He turned sharply on his heel, walking as quickly as he could manage without seeming hurried.

No, he was not repentant. Even if he respected Sam's beliefs, he did not agree with them. And damn it, his answer was not in the Scripture of Eternity. Anywhere but that.

Because if it was...

If it was... then his parents were working with the Church. The very Church that had murdered them.

He bit his lip and walked faster. Yet, he wasn't fast enough to run away from his own mind.