Pulling too hard on a loose thread can unravel everything if you aren't careful.


Star might not be a field agent, but the figure wreathed in shadow that had caught Star's attention would have had her aiming and firing on instinct if she hadn't known that spot in the lunchroom, tucked between vending machine and wall, was a common place to sit when seeking the illusion of privacy. It wasn't like the barracks would exactly be secluded, regardless of the time, and going off shift without leave from the medical personnel invariably raised eyebrows. Most people respected their coworkers who needed a moment to themselves in this little hidey hole, but use of it too often would get back to their superiors.

Really, Star wasn't surprised that someone was taking solace in it now.

What surprised her was that the person in question wasn't Fenton.

If anyone were going to get suspiciously contemplative after the phantom's capture, Star would've bet money that it would've been its former family.

Star did Manson the courtesy of blocking anyone else from seeing her little existential crisis by leaning against the vending machine with her back to the door and her head tilted to block the camera in the opposite corner. It wouldn't keep Manson's use of the spot a secret, but it would give her the chance to talk without it getting around—assuming she wanted to talk.

Most people did, though, if they ended up here.

"Having second thoughts?" Star teased lightly, taking entirely too much pleasure in the sight of Manson's lip curling.

"You know me better than that."

Star hummed a disbelieving note that only had Manson's scowl deepening. "I knew you were friends before. If the phantom were going to try anything—"

"P240605 has no hold on me," Manson spat as she shot to her feet and leaned into Star's personal space. "I don't like your accusation that it does."

Star wasn't about to give Manson the satisfaction of stepping back. "I'm not making any accusations, but if you're hearing them, maybe I should."

Manson gave her a hard shove backwards for that one, but Star's balance had only improved since her cheerleading days. Had Manson tried to follow that move up and turn it into a fight, Star was fairly confident she would've been the only one left standing. Any other day, she'd grudgingly admit that the two of them were well matched, but Manson was distracted.

She wouldn't be here in the first place if something weren't eating away at her, and Star used every advantage she could in a fight.

Star idly checked her nails, still watching Manson as she did so, and said mildly, "You tracked it after processing."

It wasn't a question, but it held more weight than a mere statement of fact. Like Star's earlier words, it was more implication than anything else. Strictly speaking, Manson should have no reason to track a ghost after processing. They both knew that. They also both knew perfectly well that any deviation from protocol on this case would be treated with a great deal of suspicion.

They had been hunting the phantom for too long to dare give it a chance to convince any of its old allies to help it escape.

Knowing something like that shouldn't happen was hardly any guarantee, in Star's book. The only consistent thing about the phantom's powers was sheer strength. She remembered enough of its development to know that it could learn new tricks and learn them fast. If any ghost could find a way to counter their protections, it would be that one.

Manson's hands were fisted at her sides. "I wanted to be sure it hadn't escaped."

Star would believe that answer from anyone else—except Fenton or Foley, of course—but a healthy dose of skepticism was called for here.

She wasn't afraid to let Manson know that, either. "Uh huh."

Manson pushed her aside and stalked out of the room, only pausing long enough to snarl over her shoulder, "You should've been paired with Sanchez."

Star would've happily been paired with Paulina if that wouldn't have given away the game. After all, Paulina was the one who'd gotten her out, and once she had, Star had been more than happy to work at Psi in an official capacity. Unfortunately, she and Paulina were too easy to identify when they were together, and their reputation preceded them. She couldn't help Paulina rescue other people, not directly.

Star could've gone out on her own, working out of a different base, but she'd opted to stay here instead. She was a decent shot, but she stayed in on pattern analysis more often than she went out in the field. She'd gotten good at picking things out and putting them together.

Her current project was figuring out the latest debacle at Delta—the higher ups had decided they'd needed a different pair of eyes on it, and hers had been recommended—but she had the clearance and skillset to deal with ghosts directly.

Consequently, no one stopped her when she went to see their latest capture.

The laboratory beyond the final guard was empty of other agents. P240605 was slumped against the back wall of its cell, head lolling to one side, as its body worked through the chemical cocktail it would've been given during processing. She doubted it was conscious, but seeing it in its human disguise again made her skin crawl. It shouldn't be able to wear the face of a boy who had once been her classmate.

It shouldn't look like something it wasn't.

And it shouldn't have been able to hide in plain sight for so long.

Knowing it wouldn't be able to maintain its mask with any consistency from here on out was some comfort, at least. She knew it was in for a steady diet of chemicals specifically designed to react to ectoplasm, and necessity would force it to change and stay in its true form. She didn't know the specifics behind the chemistry, but she doubted it was terribly different from what the shifters got to negate that nasty little ability of theirs.

Star picked up the chart attached to the front of the containment cell. The clipboard already had a fair number of pages attached, and she doubted it would be long before they needed to be filed away. Still, a quick check of the phantom's breakdown gave her a far better idea of what they were dealing with than she'd had before, and—

"Star?"

Its voice was soft, hoarse, but unmistakable.

She looked up and met its eerily human blue eyes, taking a breath and holding it so she wouldn't flinch under its gaze.

"Oh, man, Star, it's really you. Are you okay? Have you been here the whole time? We never got confirmation, but we thought…." It trailed off, looking at her hopefully as it shifted to sit cross-legged.

She should be slamming the button that would cut off the sound between them. It was more effective than simple white noise—most of the technology that had been retroactively devised from tech that had originally existed within the Ghost Zone was remarkably efficacious, at least when it was used against ghosts—and posed no risk to the specimen, unlike the vacuum chamber might when it was still in this form, but—

But she didn't.

It sounded so concerned, so like Fenton had been in the early days when they'd all been scrambling to figure this out. Of course it did; it had been masquerading as Fenton for years. It was practiced at this.

She'd thought she'd had reason enough to follow it, once.

It shouldn't be so surprising to her that it would try to give her reason to do so again.

She shouldn't acknowledge it, let alone answer it, but— "You don't need to worry about me."

"You just disappeared one day." The amount of incredulity it forced into its voice was impressive. "We were all worried about you! Even Sam—" It broke off. "Were you there? The day they took her?"

Star plastered a sweet smile on her face that should be easy enough to see through. She didn't need to fool it; she wanted to remind it that playing for information was an old game for her. "I'm not a field agent."

"But—" It hesitated and licked at its lips. A habit from its life or an attempt to remind her that it wanted to be thought of as human? "But you don't really want this, right?"

As attempts to sway her went, that was pathetic. She arched an eyebrow in response. "What do you think?"

It frowned at her. "You can't really have just forgotten everything. They can't do that. Even when Desiree— I picked it up faster than I should have. Than I would have if it were really the first time. I know I did. So you can't— It can't really be gone."

It took a moment for Star to work through what she was being asked, and that time was enough to prompt the phantom to formulate an appearance of increased desperation.

"Sam still knows," it whispered to her, "doesn't she?"

Star wanted to laugh in its face—Manson was far more likely to take that trust and run in an attempt to play it—but that wouldn't get them anywhere.

"She's still fighting." Its voice was marginally stronger, and as it spoke, it seemed to be convincing itself of its own words. "She has to be. It's Sam. She'd never just stop, just like she'd never go down without a fight." Its eyes had flicked away in memory but met hers again before it added, "You used to be the same way."

"I never changed." Let it think what it wanted to; if it misinterpreted her words, all the better.

Something in its features tightened as it studied her, and for a disconcerting number of heartbeats, it felt like she was the one on the wrong side of the glass.

"I know what they do to the ghosts," it said finally, in a voice as quiet as breath yet somehow weightier than anything that had come before. "I know what they're going to try to do to me. But I still don't get how they managed to do this to you. Convincing the people who didn't know any better? Sure. But you knew. We'd warned everyone we could even before we knew how bad it could be. You shouldn't— You should still be you. Somewhere."

Star let the false smile blossom across her face again. "I am." She returned its chart to its place and added, "Just like you're still what you are. For now."

She started to turn away, but its voice stilled her before she could put it out of sight and out of mind. "If you think this is it for me, that it's over, that they won— If you think that, then you really have changed."

It was baiting her.

She knew that.

She should turn away, write up a report on the information it had let slip, and turn her mind to her actual assignment.

Just because she was cleared to talk to the phantom, didn't mean she should.

Especially not if it was saying stuff like this.

She turned back instead and watched as a grin spread across its face. "Come on," it said, its voice goading now. "You know what things were like back in Amity Park. Before the Merge, I mean. And now that you know my secret, you should have a much better idea than anyone who's not from Amity Park of what I've gone through. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, y'know? And I am so much stronger than I used to be."

It was bluffing.

Probably.

But what it was saying hit a little too close to home—and reminded her a bit too much of her assignment deciphering the Delta debacle—for her to dismiss it out of hand.

"I don't know what they told you or what they made you think, but they're not going to win. I am."

"Rich words coming from a captive who's already lost."

"Can you call me a captive if I wanted to be here?"

Star huffed out a disbelieving breath and called its bluff. "You're here because Manson's better at shooting than you are at dodging."

It let out a genuine laugh. "Yeah, okay, so maybe this wasn't Plan A, but you knew us. You know we don't stop at Plan A." It spread its hands. "I'm playing with the hand I've been dealt, and the others will be, too. They don't need me to tell them what to do. You've gotta know we planned for this, especially after we lost Sam." Its smile turned conspiratorial. "So knowing what you know, with everything from Before— Do you really wanna bet against me?"

It was bluffing.

She'd seen it put on similar displays of bravado before. It wasn't like that was anything new. Bluster and bravado and banter were practically the phantom's trademarks.

It had to be bluffing.

She couldn't let its insidious words work their way inside her head or she wouldn't be any better off than Manson—

Manson.

It would have talked to Manson when she took it to processing.

Star had been joking earlier, but maybe it had gotten inside Manson's head.

They'd all been half expecting Fenton pull something, but if Manson—

Star spun on her heel and marched away as the phantom started to chuckle, taking her actions—and, perhaps more importantly, her silence—as an answer.

She didn't take the time to correct it.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to, either.

She didn't want to think about what it would mean if the phantom were right.