A/N: To the guest who inquired about drawing up a comic based on this fic, I'd be flattered and would love to see whatever you sketch out! I'll quite happily put a link to wherever you post it in my profile, too, once you get something done and let me know. (Forgive me for being a little giddy over the very idea, as I've never been gifted a piece of fanart or anything of the like and the prospect of anything remotely related to such an honour has me grinning from ear to ear.)

Frankly, Sam was not sure why she'd gotten dragged out of bed and taken to the family jet this early in the day.

They were supposed to be there for supper.

At this rate, they might even get there before lunch.

They were flying. It would maybe take an hour. She wasn't exactly sure. She just knew it wouldn't take long. It never did.

To be fair, if she hadn't been skipping school today, she would have been up much earlier. And if she hadn't promised Grandma Ida she'd (mostly) behave—or at least put up the pretence of doing so until her parents threatened her individuality and ability to make decisions for herself, a condition they'd technically voided when they'd shoved the pink monstrosity of a dress under her nose this morning—she'd have started applying heavy, unflattering makeup already.

Instead, she was still stuck in pink and thanking whatever gods were listening that Danny and Tucker couldn't see her right now.

There was really no point in changing (or making key alterations) now. Her parents had clearly considered the fact that she might 'ruin' her dress and built extra time into their schedule. If she did it on their watch, they'd just change course, jetting off to pick up something else they deemed suitable and Sam thought gag-worthy, before continuing on their way. And given how much extra time they'd given themselves, they'd clearly considered the fact that they might have to do this multiple times.

She hated dinner parties. She hated the lies and the politics and the doubletalk that ran rampant throughout the conversation under the pretence of 'social niceties'. She hated being told to fit an expectation, being expected to lie about who she was and what she cared about and what her interests were.

She didn't know where they were going. She didn't know who they were meeting. She didn't particularly care.

"Don't scowl, Samantha. It's not becoming of a young lady, and you'll get wrinkles."

Sam wasn't in the mood for a screaming match about just being called Sam or how she didn't want to be a 'young lady' if it meant she couldn't express herself. Instead, she just clenched her fists and forced a bright, far-too-large smile on her face as she looked at her mother. "Happy?" she ground out.

"Just behave yourself, darling. Don't cater to any of your more…eccentric tendencies." And her mother turned back to her conversation with her father.

She was doing this for Grandma Ida. She was doing this for Grandma Ida. If she focused on that, focused on the concert that was her reward, focused on the fact that her grandmother was on her side despite pretending to bridge the division between Sam and her parents, she could keep calm. Mostly.

But it didn't mean she had to be happy.

Sam slumped in her seat—she really didn't care if she wrinkled this dress; she was already envisioning how she'd make it more to her taste once they arrived if she didn't have time to ditch it altogether—and resigned herself to twiddling her thumbs and plotting until they arrived.

She knew exactly what this was about, of course. Her parents hoped she'd take to one of the kids they introduced her to. They wanted her to make friends within her own 'social circle'. They wanted to control her life and try to cut out her real friends, but she was never going to replace Danny and Tucker. Even if they ended up in three different cities after high school—which was very likely—they'd keep in touch and remain friends. She'd make sure of that.

Danny and Tucker, after all, accepted her for who she was.

Her parents did not.

They never really had, the minute she had begun to pursue her interests, interests which did not align with what they believed was proper.

The intercom dinged and the pilot warned them of possible stormy weather ahead, that they may encounter increased turbulence as they got closer to Norrisville.

Wait.

"We're going to Norrisville?" Sam asked, sitting up. She hadn't heard anything from Danny or Tucker since Tucker had arrived, but she'd figured that they'd just been busy and their usual forgetful selves. Now, in light of hearing of this gathering storm—when she knew there were supposed to be clear skies; that expectation had been announced when they'd taken off—and knowing that Danny was in Norrisville, she wondered if Vortex or someone else had gotten out of the Ghost Zone.

It would be just Danny's luck.

But unless her speculations were way off base, they'd need her once she arrived. She wished she had a wrist ray with her, but the only thing she'd packed was a Fenton Lipstick. It was small, easy to sneak past her mother, and had excellent control for firing off warning shots if any idiots tried to make a move on her.

But then again…. This was Norrisville. This wasn't Amity Park. How much trouble could Danny and Tucker really get into when they had Jazz there to smack some sense into them?

"Samantha." Jeremy's tone spoke of subtle disapproval. "We were very clear about where we were going and who we were going to meet."

McFist Industries. Had to be. Tucker had being going on and on about them. "McFist, right?"

"Hannibal McFist," Pamela reminded her, "Marci Johnson, and her son, Bashford Johnson. It really won't do for us to arrive and you not know their names, Samantha."

"I won't forget," Sam said irritably. She wished she had some way of communicating with Danny and Tucker right now, but her cell phone had been confiscated until they landed, and her Fenton Phones—under the guise of earrings—were stowed away with her luggage. They wouldn't necessarily help, of course. It wasn't exactly easy to measure distance in the Ghost Zone, and they hadn't tested the range of Fenton Phones in the Real World outside of Amity Park. But even if the range was sufficient, she had no idea if anyone would hear her even if she could sneak away to make the call.

She was stuck on this plane with no feasible way of contacting anyone until they landed.

Sam checked her watch; it was nearly quarter to ten. "When are we supposed to get there?"

"Patience is a virtue," Pamela quoted.

Sam couldn't stop her scowl. "Sorry." She forced herself to sound civil. "What time are we supposed to be there? Will I have time to, uh, run off and buy something?"

Her father turned to raise his eyebrows at her. "Another can of black spray paint?"

Sam shook her head. "Bobby pins." She really did need some; she'd destroyed her last ones teaching herself to pick locks. She turned a sweet smile on her mother. "Not a hair out of place, right?"

The expression on Pamela's face told Sam quite plainly she didn't buy it for a second but she didn't want to argue. "I have some in my bag you may use."

"Please? You might need those, and I forgot to bring mine."

"Samantha—"

"Grandma Ida would let me go," Sam interrupted. It wasn't a fair card to play, but it was true. "Besides, how much trouble am I going to get into by myself?"

Her parents didn't dignify that with an answer. "You know how important this is to your mother," Jeremy said softly. "Please, restrain yourself for one day. Make your grandmother proud."

Sam felt her eye twitch but she forced the smile to remain. "That would be easier if I had bobby pins of my own." She should've picked something more major, but it was too late in the game to switch now without being suspicious.

Even if her parents already were suspicious.

"You can run your errand with Bashford after lunch if you like, when he's showing you around," Pamela said, keeping her expression neutral, "but until then, you can borrow whatever you find you need from me."

"Fine," Sam muttered, sitting back and crossing her arms. She had no intention of keeping to those terms, but until they landed, she couldn't do anything.

And once they landed, she would escape before they had a chance to put her in captivity again. She might not have her cell phone or her Fenton Phones, but if something was going down, she'd be able to find the others without them. Sure, maybe she was worried over nothing, but she wasn't going to take that chance. She'd start planning as much as she could with the little she knew, just in case—because she owed it to her friends to be there for them if they needed her.

These ghosts were different from the ghosts which frequented Amity Park.

Of course, Maddie had expected them to be. These weren't true ghosts, after all. They were merely children transformed by a ghostly disease. It was spreading rapidly now, and she and Jack had decided ahead of time to fall back and discuss a plan with their kids if the situation took a turn for the worse. They hadn't intended to be on the front lines like this, but they hadn't anticipated the sudden, widespread outbreak, either.

Maddie shot the nearest ghost point blank with the Fenton Foamer, but the mixture appeared to be more of an annoyance than a deterrent. She dove and rolled away as an arm blindly swung out in her direction before getting to her feet and weaving her way back to the Spectre Speeder.

She might not have seen Danny's friends, but she was quite certain they were here if that was here. She'd talk to them about that later; right now, they could use the extra hands.

The situation was deteriorating around them. Jack had gone off in search of Danny, but Maddie didn't know if he'd found him yet and that worried her.

There was even a small part of her thankful that Phantom had tailed them here. She knew how he operated when faced with a threat, even if she couldn't understand why he would come. In the process of creating untold amounts of destruction, Phantom would work to separate the diseased children from the healthy, and Maddie knew they could use that to their advantage.

She hadn't seen him yet, but she imagined he was fighting inside the school; she had overheard enough to know that the school had been evacuated when the first students had undergone their transformation.

The infamous Ninja of Norrisville was also inside, no doubt—though Maddie wasn't sure whether he was working with Phantom or against him, seeing Phantom as a threat. She hadn't studied nearly enough about him to make that particular determination. She imagined both ghosts were alike, however.

She also believed that neither ghost had enough foresight to see if they had effectively contained the disease within the school walls. Ghosts tended to have one-track minds and focused on specifics, never imagining the broader picture. It was a folly she and Jack had documented many times.

"Mom, you need to get out of here!"

Maddie turned at the shout and saw Jazz—Jazz, who shouldn't even be on her feet—staggering towards her. Her new friend, Debbie, was nowhere to be seen. Maddie hoped she had not been transformed as well.

Maddie caught her daughter as she tripped over her own feet in a manner Maddie had come to expect of her son. "Jazz, honey," she said, manoeuvring so that Jazz could lean heavily upon her, "what were you thinking, going off on your own?"

"Never mind about me, Mom."

"Sweetie—"

"Mom, you and Dad need to get out of here." Jazz hesitated. "And maybe you should take me to the hospital."

Maddie surveyed her daughter out of the corner of her eye, not sure if Jazz truly believed she needed a hospital visit or if it was just another ruse to get them to leave.

"Do you know where your brother is?" Maddie asked, thinking that if they did leave they should either take Danny with them or tell him what was happening. At least she could see Jack fighting his way back to them now, even if he wasn't with Danny.

"Um…." Jazz's hesitation was telltale. "I think he ran to find a drugstore."

"Jasmine, now is a time when I need to know the truth. This situation is dangerous, and I want to be sure Danny isn't in over his head."

"You won't find him here, Mom."

"Even though his friends are here?" They had reached the Spectre Speeder. "Jack and I don't miss as much as you think we do, honey. We know it's not the just two of you out here."

Jazz sighed. "Tucker's here with us for backup," she admitted, "but Phantom and the Ninja are the ones dealing with this." She waved her free hand around. "This isn't like it is back home. Nothing we have works."

"That's because we haven't tried everything yet!" Jack chimed in as he reached them.

"We can still decontaminate them," Maddie acknowledged. "Jazz, phone your brother and tell him and his friends to meet us at McFist industries."

Jazz stared at them for a full ten seconds. "You're…. We're not going to…. Not the biohazard…." Her voice trailed off into a whine Maddie hadn't heard from her daughter in years.

"Don't worry, Jazzy-pants! It'll be just like when we treated Vladdy and Danny's friends for ecto-acne!"

"That's what I was afraid of," Jazz muttered, but she obliging pulled out her phone to call her brother.

"Jack, you go on ahead and get things set up," Maddie suggested. "I'm going to run Jazz to the hospital first. She'd like a second opinion."

"You don't want me to secure this area first?"

Maddie hesitated. She didn't like the idea of leaving this problem to a couple of supposed town heroes, ghosts that were merely fighting for the sake of their own agendas, but this wasn't the first time she and Jack had had to step back from a fight. All the accounts of this particular ghostly disease had led them to believe that it only infected a few individuals at a time; they weren't prepared for a battle on this scale. As much as she was loath to admit it, they were better off leaving Phantom and the Ninja to fight the battle now while they arranged for a safe haven—surrounded by a ghost shield—for the others.

"No," Maddie said finally. "Take the Assault Vehicle and see if you and Mr. Viceroy can expand the radius of our portable ghost shield. You can't secure this area on your own, and we need to establish a safe haven." Once they had that, they could sent word to the townspeople and begin the decontamination process.

"I'm on it, baby!"

When Jack was gone, Maddie strapped herself into the Spectre Speeder and looked over at Jazz. "Is the hospital still our first stop?" she asked.

Jazz looked sheepish. "Danny and Tucker will be a while, and I could use something for my headache."

Maddie arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. If Jazz wanted to stick by her excuse, then Maddie would let her. Now wasn't the time to quibble; she could have the truth later, once they were prepared. Jazz, after all, would not hesitate to rat out her little brother if he were truly in danger. Of that, Maddie was certain. Jazz would do anything to protect Danny.

Maddie just hoped Jazz had enough experience to properly judge the situation, but she knew if she couldn't trust her children, she'd only make the growing divide between them worse, and more secrets was the last thing she wanted.

"You don't know you'll grow to be unhappy if you keep playing the accordion," Randy said practically, dodging as Dave took another swing at him.

He came up beside Danny, who was holding off the other monsters in the hallway with a combination of ectoblasts and ice rays. Danny glanced over his shoulder. "You sure that's gonna work?" The scepticism in his voice was heavy.

"Hey, destanking kids is my thing. Don't knock it. I know what I'm doing."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Just give me a couple more minutes," Randy insisted, and he flipped out of the way of Dave's latest swing while Danny turned intangible to avoid it.

"This isn't gonna work forever, you know. It's better if you're quicker!"

Randy ignored Danny and focused on Accordion Dave. "Look, I don't know why anyone would ever tell you that. Because if you're doing something you enjoy, then that's the important thing, right? And, I mean, how many other people in this school actually know how to play an accordion? You've got your own little market niche! It's great! And it's not like you sound like a dying cat when you play."

"Are you sure that's helpful?" Danny called.

"He knows it's true," Randy shot back. "He's made Heidi's hot picks."

"Whatever."

"C'mon, Dave, old buddy, old pal," Randy cajoled. "Why not spend less time worrying about what probably won't happen in the future and instead enjoying the present and building a better future for yourself? Doesn't that sound better? I mean, you've gotta start somewhere, right? You just believe in yourself, and you'll never stop loving it when you play. I mean, I'm the Ninja. I know what I'm talking about." Truthfully, Randy was making half of it up as he said it, but on some level he did mean it and it seemed to be working because Dave had stilled and was listening to him.

The Sorcerer's stank seemed to leave Dave with painful slowness, as if it were reluctant. Randy didn't particularly care, because it still left him, and a win was a win.

"Dave!" Randy exclaimed brightly, as much for Danny's benefit as for Dave's. "Glad to have you back with us. If you just wanna take the back exit through the gym, Phantom and I will deal with these guys here." He gave Dave a shove in the direction of the gym to start him on his way and ran back to join Danny as soon as he knew Dave had collected himself enough to leave.

"Who's next?" Danny asked.

"Um…whoever? I never talked to these guys, so I don't know what exactly Spectra picked on with them."

"What, seriously?"

"Just pick someone and start guessing. You said Spectra works by picking on a person's greatest fears and tearing down their self-esteem, right? So build 'em back up. Should work."

"And try not to get decapitated by some band instrument in the process."

"Hey, that really shouldn't worry you when you can pass through stuff, so you don't get to complain."

"Ghosts are so much easier to deal with than this," Danny muttered, but he went to Flute Girl and Randy focused on Bucky.

"Hey, Buckster," Randy said. Bucky roared at him, and Randy kept moving because a moving target was harder to hit. "Write any new songs for me? I know I said I didn't like it at first, but your Everybody Ninj-Along song really grew on me. You wanna sing it for me now?"

He barely missed being bludgeoned with Bucky's dinger, and he could hear Danny trying to talk to Flute Girl. "So, uh, you've got, um, nice teeth." Randy couldn't even remember if Flute Girl still had teeth when she transformed. He really should—he'd had to fight her off often enough—but some things just didn't register with him. Who notices details like that?

And who tries to destank someone by complimenting their teeth, of all things?

"You know," Randy continued as he chanced a roll closer to Bucky and away from Rachel and Stevens, who were both trying to grab him, "you're pretty good at writing stuff. Maybe if you write a song, Miss Wi—uh, the band teacher will have everyone play it, and then you can have a wicked triangle solo in it. You ever think of trying that?"

Bucky paused mid-swing. "Triangle solo?" he repeated.

Randy nodded earnestly. "And all the good recognition you'd get when you played it and—awk!" He'd been too focused on Bucky to watch his back, and Stevens had gotten him with his trombone slide. Randy struggled and somehow only managed to get more tangled up in it, but something he said must've gotten through to Bucky, and Danny actually seemed to be having some luck with Flute Girl because she'd stopped hitting at him, too.

But what the heck could he say to Stevens? Or Rachel?

"Um…." Randy tried to figure out how he'd gotten an arm and the opposite leg caught in the middle of the trombone slide. It was bigger than usual with the effect of the stank, but still. "You, uh, are quite the ladies' man, aren't you?"

Stevens roared angrily and whipped the slide around, dislodging Randy and sending him flying into the wall.

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

But at least, since he'd gotten through to Bucky, chances were good that he didn't need to know exactly what Spectra had said to each kid in order to destank them. He just needed to make them not miserable so that the Sorcerer didn't have a hold over them. Danny had clearly figured that out, too, since Flute Girl was back to being Flute Girl and he had moved on to Rachel. Granted, Danny might've just guessed what Randy had figured out because he had a better idea of what it took to snap someone out of the funk Spectra put them in.

"Cunningham, you still wearin' this thing?"

Randy blinked and reached up to turn on the microphone of his Fenton Phone. "Howard?" he asked, forgetting that anything he said would be muffled while he was wearing his mask.

It didn't seem to matter. "We got a honkin' big problem. You gotta get out here."

"Little busy." Randy rolled and whipped out his scarf, wrapping Stevens' legs and tripping him.

"You're gonna be busier. I went around to the front of the school and the stank's rolling out the windows and doors. It's like someone went crazy with a smoke machine."

Randy winced. He should've known this was getting out of hand. "It'll be fine. It'll recede once I deal with these guys."

"Yeah? And what about everyone else outside?"

"Them, too."

"You go handle that," Danny called over. "I'll deal with these guys."

Randy didn't argue. Instead, he got to his feet and sprinted towards the Eye. He still had the Sorcerer's Key on him, and the Sorcerer's power ball was safely tucked away at his house, but from what Howard was saying, things were getting pretty bad and the Sorcerer wouldn't necessarily need either of those things to get out right now. Which was not something Randy wanted to think about.

He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do once he got there, but he'd figure something out.

As he got nearer, he noticed green stank swirling like dust motes in the halls. It didn't go after him—it acted fairly benign, considering it was stank—but he got the feeling it was watching him. That was ridiculous in itself, since if Randy had to guess, he'd bet that the Sorcerer used his power balls to spy on what was going on in the outside world. As far as he knew, green stank could only possess people.

By the time Randy reached the Eye, he knew things were bad—the stank was thick enough to choke on and had enough substance to it that it was forcing the doors into the hallway open—but that still didn't prepare him for what he actually saw through the haze of green.

Namely, the Sorcerer standing on the edge of the crumbling floor that had once been above his prison, a rat perched on his shoulder.

Holy cheese, it was the Sorcerer.

It was the Sorcerer.

And this wasn't 1213.

Randy dove for cover behind the open doors, hoping the Sorcerer hadn't seen him. His back had been to Randy, but…. Randy shuddered. His memories of the last time he'd faced the Sorcerer head on weren't entirely pleasant. He'd really needed First Ninja's help, and they might've still been shoobed if he hadn't made Howard get possessed by the Tengu or if Plop Plop's timing had been off.

The Ninja who believes in his strength alone is the weakest of all. Had the Nomicon really been referring to this? He'd eventually figured, when the message hadn't gone away, that it had meant the entire situation with Spectra and the fiasco with McFist finding out who he was. It was, in effect, telling him that he couldn't deal with this by himself.

Well, that definitely applied now, because it was the honkin' Sorcerer.

He was so shoobed if he couldn't seal him within, like, five minutes—which he probably couldn't do, seeing as he had nothing to cover the Sorcerer's pit with in the first place.

"Um, guys?" Randy tried to keep his voice down, though the Sorcerer might already know he was there. "I'm gonna need help." Behind him, he could hear the Sorcerer begin to laugh, and he cringed. "Preferably really soon."

A blast of power shot upward, shattering the glass ceiling. The stank around him began to drift back to the Sorcerer, gathering into a swirling vortex—not good, never good—and beginning to tear apart what was left of the room by the force of its rotation.

"Holy cheese, I'm fighting the Sorcerer today." Randy whispered the words, intending them for himself, but then his earpiece exploded with voices cutting in on each other and he realized the mike on the Fenton Phone was really good.

He couldn't just sit here and wait. He had to do something. Try to get the Sorcerer back into the pit, maybe, and worry about sealing him then. Randy was on his feet and charging away from his hiding place before his brain had fully caught up to his body. He just needed to get the jump on the Sorcerer. With the element of surprise, he might be able to do this.

But as Randy's feet left the ground for the kick, the rat on the Sorcerer's shoulder noticed him and began chattering loudly, and the Sorcerer turned, and the last thing Randy saw was a wall of green light rushing toward him.