Chapter 6

The next day, Danny snuck back into Shinjuku ghetto, carrying the painting wrapped in paper he'd filched from Ashford's art studios. He was eyed curiously and greedily by some of the inhabitants of the ghetto, but after driving off a group of kids who wanted the bulky thing he was carrying by fighting them all at once and beating them (Danny thanked years of ghost fighting for his martial abilities), he was left alone.

Naoto ushered him into his apartment once Danny made it. "So, this is it?" he asked, unwrapping the painting. He whistled when he saw it. "Looks like a Clovis original, all right! Can't believe you managed to make off with one."

Danny fidgeted. "So, what are you going to do with this thing?"

Naoto winked. "I know a guy. But first, I want you to put these on…" He held out a baggy black hoodie and a black bandana. "Put the hood up and tie the bandana around your face," Naoto advised as Danny took the clothes and started putting them on. "It's probably for the best if he doesn't know your face."

"I can't speak any Japanese," Danny admitted, voice muffled by the bandana. "Won't that be a problem?"

"Let me do the talking," Naoto assured. "You won't come to any harm while you're with me." He examined Danny; his raven hair was completely hidden by the hood, his blue eyes were in shadow – you couldn't necessarily tell they weren't almond-shaped at first glance – and the rest of his face was completely covered by the bandana. Jeans poked out from underneath the hoodie, suitably nondescript. Perfect.

"Lastly," Naoto said, "it would probably be for the best if you had an alias, just as an extra precaution. What do you think?"

Danny grinned mischievously under the bandana, his eyes crinkling. He had the perfect name. "Phantom. Call me Phantom."


They took Naoto's old beater of a car to a dilapidated dock in the ghetto. Phantom nervously looked around; there was a myriad of places that ambushers could be hiding, waiting to attack. The place looked like a giant trap. Then again, he was probably being paranoid. Naoto's aura spoke of confidence, so despite how sketchy it looked, they were likely in the right place.

Naoto led him into a warehouse by the dock. Inside were stacks of slumping crates, damaged from the weather. A Japanese man was waiting on the other side of the warehouse, fingering a gun.

"That's Yuasa," Naoto whispered before he switched to Japanese to speak with the black market dealer. "Hello, Yuasa."

"Naoto. What's up?" Yuasa said. "What do you need? It's not like you to call for a meeting outside our normal time."

"We have a potentially valuable item that we need to get rid of. Would you be willing to take it off our hands?"

"Oh? What is this item? And who's your friend?" Yuasa leaned forward, eyes glinting. He'd been hooked.

"This is Phantom. Phantom, show him the painting," Naoto instructed.

Yuasa hissed. "What the hell, Naoto? He can't speak Japanese? Don't tell me he's Britannian." Phantom paused in unwrapping the painting, hearing the vitriol in his voice.

"He's American, not Britannian. He can be trusted," Naoto said.

"American? What the hell is that? Are you mocking me?" Yuasa pointed his gun at Phantom. Phantom flinched and had to restrain the urge to turn intangible automatically in reaction. He watched the man's trigger finger and aura like a hawk. He would survive being shot, even in the heart in human form – a perk of being half-ghost, which he knew about thanks to one particularly unfortunate incident that he didn't like to think about – but he really didn't want people to know he wasn't normal. That would lead to all kinds of nasty consequences. If the man actually pulled the trigger, he'd turn intangible – he could do it with the split second's warning between when the trigger started to be pulled and when the bullet exited the gun and with the warning of feeling resolve to shoot in the man's aura – but he didn't want to reveal his less-than-normal abilities if he didn't have to.

"Easy, Yuasa. I've cleared him. He's just a kid. He's also actually the one who acquired the item we'd like to sell," Naoto soothed, gesturing for him to calm down.

Yuasa snorted, but holstered his gun. Phantom slumped in relief. He wouldn't have to get fancy to protect his secret. "Fine. You always did have a soft spot. If he betrays us, it's on your head, Naoto."

"He won't," Naoto assured. "Now, shall we move on to business? Phantom, take out the painting."

"Right," Phantom acquiesced. He fished the painting out of its bindings and held it up for the dealer to see.

Yuasa whistled and switched to English for Phantom's sake. "You've got quite a fine prize here, kiddo. Looks like a Clovis original."

"It is," Phantom confirmed. He'd stolen it straight from Clovis's studio while the man had been painting it; there was no way it wasn't authentic.

"Hmm," said Yuasa. "What are these smudges here?"

"The paint was still wet when I stole it."

Yuasa barked a laugh. "You stole it from straight under his nose? Impressive. However, given the damaged quality of the item, and the fact that I can't determine just by looking whether or not it's authentic… I'll give you five thousand pounds."

Naoto made a faint noise of protest. "That's a pittance!"

"Hey, you're also asking me to take on the risk of owning it until I find another buyer. Plus, I'll be taking on the burden of authenticating it. Five thousand is fair."

Phantom said, "That's fine. I'm not really looking for much money. I just want it off my hands." It was true. Danny was in danger so long as he had the painting. Well, more danger. He still had the soldiers looking for him to think about. Any money he got out of the transaction was just a bonus, in his opinion.

"In that case, do we have a deal?" Yuasa held out his hand to shake. Phantom took it unflinchingly and shook it firmly. "Excellent! In that case, let me get the money for you…" Yuasa shifted to the side to pull a briefcase into view. He popped it open and counted out a stack of bills. He held the money out for Phantom to take. "Here you go. All legit, all untraceable."

Phantom reverently took the stack of pounds. He had no idea what he'd even to with all this money; there wasn't anything in particular he wanted to buy. Well, he still needed to get ahold of some basic necessities, but it wasn't like his allowance from Ashford Academy couldn't cover those… Maybe he could donate most of it. The Japanese certainly needed all the resources they could get their hands on.

"Hey, Naoto, do you know of any charities for the Japanese I could donate this money to?" he asked. "I really don't need it."

Naoto raised an eyebrow. "There are a couple, but they operate in the local ghettos. The people in Shinjuku won't attack you, but some of the other ghettos aren't so friendly."

Phantom could only imagine how much attention he'd get if he walked around the ghettos flaunting so much money. Invisibility was such a game-changer. "I'll be okay. I just need to know where they are."

"Well, aren't you generous?" Yuasa said. His aura radiated curiosity. "You're a strange one. You know what? I'm feeling generous, myself. I'll throw in a little bonus for you. If you're wandering the ghettos, even disguised, I think you'll need it." He grabbed his gun and held it out to Phantom butt-first. "Here. You know how to use one of these?"

Phantom mutely shook his head. He'd seen them in action, and he'd used his parents' anti-ghost guns, but actual guns with bullets, he hadn't touched.

Yuasa snorted. "Of course. Why need it when you're Britannian?"

"I'm American, thanks," Phantom drawled. He was getting tired of being associated with the majority of Britannia's bigots. Tolerance was, unfortunately, the exception among Britannians, rather than the norm.

Yuasa cracked a smile. "You hate Britannia just as us Japanese do, don't you? Can't say I was expecting that from a Britannian. Sorry, an American," he corrected when he saw Phantom glaring. He shook the pistol. "Well, are you going to take it? I don't have all day."

Phantom gingerly took the gun and uneasily examined it. It felt heavy in his hand and in his mind, knowing that he could kill someone with the instrument he was holding. He was already a killer, thanks to the incident at the lab he'd arrived in – but that had been accidental. If he killed someone with this gun, it would be a conscious decision to point and shoot. Phantom felt queasy and resolved to never use it if he didn't have to.

"Naoto can show you how to use that," Yuasa said, mistaking his silence for awe. "You should be able to get ahold of ammo fairly easily at a gun shop in the Settlement. Now, I'll take the painting, thanks, and leave you gentlemen to it." Phantom handed him the painting. Yuasa took it and examined it closely, chuckling, before turning around and walking away.

Yuasa had exited the warehouse before Naoto spoke again. "I think he likes you. I've never seen him so generous with someone who looks like a Britannian. Guess you made an impression." Phantom wondered what kind of impression he'd made, if the man had been willing to give him his gun. "Want to learn how to use that?"

Phantom reluctantly said yes. Better for him to learn how to use it so he didn't accidentally shoot someone. So, he spent the next hour learning how to properly shoot the gun – a standard issue .45 caliber Glock pistol – and reload it. Naoto praised him on his accurate aim. It was only natural he'd have good aim, between using his parents' ecto-guns and his own ecto-blasts.

Finally, Naoto deemed him proficient in the gun's use. "I have some ammunition back at my place you can have," he said as they exited the warehouse and returned to his car.

"…Thanks," Phantom said. Then he realized he owed Naoto for his role in today's events. "You know what? Here." He handed Naoto one-fifth of the stack of money he'd been paid. "Consider it payment for setting up this meeting and bringing me here and supplying me with bullets."

"If you insist," Naoto said with good humor, pocketing the thousand pounds. "Want me to drop you off at the edge of the ghetto after we get back to my place?"

"Please."

On the drive there, Naoto told him of the two charities that operated in the ghettos, run by Japanese: one in Saitama ghetto and one in Bunkyo ghetto. He suggested for Danny to go to the one in the Bunkyo ghetto, as it was safer and closer to the Settlement.

"You know what? Keep those clothes. They'll help keep you safe," Naoto said. "It's only fair; you've given me a large chunk of the money you rightfully earned."

"Thanks."


After collecting some ammunition from Naoto's apartment and sneaking back into the Settlement (with the bandana tucked into a pocket and the hood of the hoodie down; it wouldn't do to be mistaken for a delinquent by the police), Danny made it back to Ashford Academy just fine. He slid the newly acquired gun and bullets under his bed, determined to never use them. He hid the remaining four thousand pounds in his desk to be taken to the Bunkyo charity at a later date.

All in all, he felt it had been a successful weekend. He'd learned he was on the right track with investigating the Viceroy's Palace with regards to Code-R, protested Clovis's policies by stealing a painting, and acquired some money from selling that painting that could be used to help the Japanese populace at large.

There was a knock at his door. "Hey, Danny! You in there?" he heard Milly call.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Where have you been all weekend? I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Danny sweated. He couldn't exactly say he'd broken into the Viceroy's Palace, stolen one of Prince Clovis's paintings, and then rendezvoused with a black market dealer to sell said painting. "I've been out exploring the city!" he replied. If you tilted your head to the side and squinted, it was technically true.

Danny could feel Milly's pout from the other side of the door. "Aww! I wanted to take you out and show you my favorite parts of the city myself!"

Danny needed to fix this, fast, before Milly came up with some creative punishment. "Sorry, Milly! We could go out next weekend instead…?"

"Fine. Next weekend it is! You'd better not disappear on us again, Danny!" Milly threatened.

"Yes, Madame President!" Danny squeaked. When Milly was on a rampage, he'd learned, it was best to let her do her thing and then clean up whatever mess was left behind. She was that stubborn.

"Great!" Milly said cheerily, as if she hadn't just been implying that there would be dire consequences if Danny didn't comply with her plans. "See you on the front steps at 9:00 on Saturday, then!"


Sorry I wasn't able to update yesterday. I just needed a break from writing. I'll update The Thief later today.

-HM