Ghost in the Shell
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Madam Chaos Shadow
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Notes :
The only reason I go to school is so I can spend all day jotting down notes for stories, it seems... Except for art. I like drawing in art.
Good god! Less than forty-eight hours and I've got six reviews, four favourites, and three alerts...
Speaking of reviews:
Divine-Red-Crayon : Aging ghosts is iffy; I believe that it's possible for a ghost to change after they've died. Not in a sense of aging, but in a sense of... Kind of a limited shapeshifting, I guess. Bertrand (Penelope Spectra's assistant) was a mostly formless ghost, granted, but he did have the ability to alter his appearance. Any other ghost would likely be able to do so if they really put their mind to it, although the change would be more gradual, a forced transformation from the effort of the psyche on the spirit imprint. God, I'm a nerd.
purrbaby101 : Yes and no. When I first named it, it was most likely a subconscious decision, as I'd never seen 'Ghost in the Shell' (and now that I have, this has nothing to do with it). I had heard of it prior to then, though. It wasn't a premeditated decision, but I'd say that yes, the name is almost definitely taken from the anime. Good movie, too... Little confusing (of course, I came in halfway) but very good.
Faith's Melody, The Halfa Wannabe, dArklTe-sPirit, Crystal Remnant : Thank you for your encouragement. Yay! Watch me crash and burn the story now!
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C H A P T E R : O N E
: T H E - P H A N T O M - O F - A M I T Y - P A R K :
Saturday.
Most children locked in the confines of school oftentimes look forward to Saturday; after all, they're given free reign from the oppression of their prison, manifest both in the confined physical walls of the school institution and in the confining mental attitude of their teachers. Saturday, then, is their release – the day they stay up late, the day they find themselves participating in sports or going to the beach or down to the park.
Daniel Fenton, far better known as Danny to his friends, his acquaintances, his family, his teachers, and (thanks to the news media) most of Amity Park, did not quite appreciate Saturdays to the same extent that most other kids attending Casper High did. Oftentimes, his Saturdays were interrupted by slightly more pressing issues than recovering from a terrible history test. He was almost entirely convinced that ghosts were out to force him to fail high school.
They certainly weren't giving him any reason not to believe it; attacks almost every night accompanied weekly by the more powerful and threatening assaults from the other various ghosts occasionally curious to remember what fresh air tasted like (regardless of them being able to taste it or not) left him haggard and exhausted every weekday, occasionally prompting him to entirely skip classes to take an opportunity to sleep. Saturdays were just another brick in the wall that was his ghost-infested life, although they sometimes gave him an opportunity to sit down and shut his eyes and wonder why he had walked into the Fenton Portal in the first place, why he had leaned on that button, why he had listened to Sam–
But this was not that kind of Saturday.
This was the Saturday that he really appreciated – the kind of Saturday where he could actually go out with his two best friends and wander Amity Park and not feel inherently threatened by the strike of a ghost. For this Saturday, he had actually bothered to close the doors to the Fenton Portal so long as his parents weren't home to notice that they weren't open.
And this made all the difference. It meant that if ghosts were going to get out, they'd have to exit from Wisconsin. And Wisconsin was quite a long way away.
This particular Saturday was also the day dedicated to football practice for the Casper High Ravens. The practice meet was stationed in the field a short distance from Casper High – the field ringed with bleachers and brilliant spotlights for the night games. Dash Baxter – the great muscleman team captain, blond haired and blue eyed and the central male figure of the popular group – was still not out on the field, most likely getting all of his gear ready.
Danny peered out from under the bleacher seats, a smile etched across his face as he looked towards the field. "He'll be out soon enough," he whispered.
"Don't you think this is wrong?"
He looked over to the voice of reason known as Sam Manson and frowned. "Sam," he said, his voice somewhat agitated, "this is Dash we're talking about. How is this possibly wrong?"
"Didn't you learn anything from Poindexter?" she asked, a righteous warning clearly cut on her words.
"Of course I did," Danny responded irritably, settling back down to where he was behind the bleachers. "Don't release ghost nerds from abandoned locker mirrors. I don't see how that's related, though."
"He's got a point, Sam," Tucker offered. "I don't see how that's related, either."
Sam sighed heavily and massaged her temples, clearly agitated by the boy's inability to listen to the reason she was trying to bring to the situation. "You know what I mean..."
Dash tramped out into the field shortly thereinafter, dressed down in his heavy football garb, and Danny's smile turned into a dark smirk, his eyes briefly flashing deep green. He sent a glance down to Tucker. "How long?"
"It takes them about a minute to realize what's going on, three to react, and five to break things in frustration. And if you really want to try the endurance run," he added with a sly smirk, "you can try it for ten – I think that's how long it takes before they begin crying."
"Five," Danny began, immediately shifting into an intangible, invisible form, "is all I need."
He took off, phasing through the bleachers and hovering just above the sixth bench up. He released the hold that allowed him to become intangible in order to set himself down on the step, and felt a wave of cold wash over him. He no longer needed to close his eyes, but he knew that this next moment was to be savoured, and he shut his eyes as the electric flash overtook him, converting him into his ghost mode while he retained his invisible cloak. He opened his eyes again, electric emerald, and mentally began the count.
Five minutes starting now.
He leapt from where he was and his legs dissipated behind him, forming a fine vapour mist as he prepared himself for accelerated flight. He swooped upward and then took the curve, slicing through the prongs of the goal and spinning in midair to swoop to the back of the team – specifically, Dash's back.
He had long since learned that ghosts had a particular way of spooking people when they tried – it was rare that he would try it, and even then he would only attempt to do so during the night, when people were most receptive to hauntings. Still, with Amity Park slowly gaining the reputation of Most Haunted Town in the Contiguous United States, it was not unknown that the Phantom of Amity Park would strike during daylight hours.
What was unknown was his reason for generally targeting jocks.
Danny phased into intangibility as he listened to Dash begin to instruct the team on the warm-up drills, and shot forward at full speed, all of a hundred and twenty miles an air, straight through him.
Dash's voice stopped immediately and Danny whipped around in midair, still completely unnoticeable, to watch.
"What's up?" Kwan asked slowly. "Dash."
The Ruler of the Jocks shook his head and frowned. "Nothing," he hissed. "I just thought–"
Oh, he can't finish a sentence on his own.
Danny rocketed down and stretched his psyche beyond his being, concentrating on Dash, and as he closed in he felt Dash's presence, his mind beginning to sidle against his own. Danny easily shoved it aside ("I always knew it was feeble," he joked) and set himself to fall into Dash's body just as the words left his lips. Overshadowing always took a few seconds to finalize, and during that time the victim became a bit still, unable to do anything. Thankfully, Danny had mastered the art – he could make a perfect imitation of his host, as none of his own traits would spill over like they had when he first began – and could perform the move even in his fully human form.
This also, effectively, meant that he had perfected the art of making people look like complete asses.
"Dash...?"
Danny decided that Dash was facing the wrong way at that time; clearly, the jock wasn't meant to be looking at the team. He would much prefer to look at the goalpost. The very thick, metal goalpost. In fact, Danny decided, he was pretty sure that Dash would just love to run right for the goalpost, and just forget to stop himself–
The collision came a fraction of a second after he phased out of his body, and Dash let out a very loud, very pained "Ow!" the instant he hit. He staggered back, rubbing his head and holding his chest where the centre-front of his rib cage had collided with the cold metal beam, and he spun around.
"All right! What loser decided that would be funny!"
Good start, Fenton, mused the very loser that Dash was looking for. But you can certainly add a bit more flair...
He flew off for one of the small wooden benches set up along the side of the bleachers, where the team extras were kept, and picked it up, looking over to the crowd and flying with a deliberate slowness toward them. All eyes turned for the possessed table, and many of them widened in fearful realization.
"The Phantom!" he heard, accompanied with mutters and, on the end of Dash, a loud guffaw. "Phantom!" Dash said dismissively. "Why would the Phantom come to a football meet?"
Danny couldn't help but smile at the memory of the time when he was still known as Inviso-Bill.
He lightly tossed the table just far enough so that it landed in front of the group; all of the players present jumped, but Dash let out a yell "Hah! Couldn't hit the broad side of a-"
CRACK!
A heavy wooden crate that had been carrying some of the supplies suddenly smashed against the back of Dash's head, and Danny had a feeling he had just about reached the three minute mark Tucker had approximated. Dash stopped down, one hand on the back of his head and the other picking up a splintered chunk of the crate, and he spun around, throwing it in the direction the errant crate had come from. The ghost kid faded into intangibility instinctively, despite the fact that the piece of wood sailed about three feet to his right.
I have to admit, he mused, the Box Ghost does have the right idea.
The rest of the team was smart – all except for Kwan, they had scattered, some of them picking up some football equipment and preparing themselves to use it on the first thing they saw. Kwan himself looked uneasy, but Dash continued to look defiant, holding up another chunk of wood, this time like a baseball bat, and daring the phantom to just try that again.
Naturally, Danny obliged.
He scooped up one of the footballs that had been in the box, turning it invisible as soon as it hit his hand so Dash wouldn't be able to anticipate it, and threw it full force for him. The football materialized into visible space and slammed him straight in the forehead, sending him staggering back before falling into the grass, twitching slightly. Kwan took this opportunity to join the rest of the team and made a run for it, and Danny, wanting to end his short reign of terror with a good coupe-de-grace, opened his mouth and unleashed a long, low wail.
There was no force behind it – he was well aware of the destructive power of the Ghostly Wail – but the ethereal sound behind it caused the entire team to scatter yet further in a panic, screams of 'Ghost!' and 'Phantom!' intermingled with cries of pain as two rather unfortunate young men slammed into each other in their desperate bid to get out of there.
Dash, seeing that he had nobody he needed to look impressive in front of, promptly turned tail and darted after them, and once he was clearly not looking back Danny phased into reality, laughter replacing the supernatural cry. He hit the ground, and in a flash of blue so brilliant it was white, he stood alone on the field, chuckling and wiping aside the tears that were forced from his eyes.
Oh, it was a good day.
"Four minutes thirteen seconds!" Tucker called, appearing from underneath the stands and waving his PDA. "New record!"
Sam rose with him and sent him a sidelong glare. "You shouldn't encourage him..."
"Oh, it's only a little fun..."
"You should lighten up, Sam," Danny added, walking towards the pair. "I deserve a bit of fun, too..."
Tucker leaned in closer to the goth girl, a wry smile across his face. "You're just angry that he hasn't done anything to Paulina..."
Sam flushed, but refused to say anything for a moment. She opened her mouth, changed her mind, and switched the subject: "It's abuse of your powers, Danny. You really shouldn't..." She paused for a moment, frowning as Tucker and Danny shared another laugh, and Tucker whispered "I like how you pulled a 'Box Ghost' on him". Sam, finding no better recourse, brought her hand down and slammed it over Tucker's head, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Danny leaned over, stared at Tucker, then looked up to Sam and smiled sheepishly. "I think I'll... I'll..."
"Think of an excuse to run away before I find a reason to hit you?"
"Yeah, that works."
He turned to bolt, but Sam called him back, and sheepishly he turned to face her, fearing the repercussions of her wrath. No such thing came upon him, however; instead, she smiled faintly and produced a small black and purple book from her bag.
"Poetry night at Skulk and Lurk," she said. "You'll be there, right?"
"Oh... Oh!" it hit him then. "Yeah, yeah definitely! You're reading?"
"That's kind of the reason I'm reminding you..."
"Of course! Wouldn't miss it for any ghost!"
And with that, Sam smiled, said a brief goodbye, and departed. Danny waved after her for a moment, smiling stupidly, and below him Tucker coughed. The ghost boy snapped out of it and looked down to his friend, who was still lying on the ground, looking somewhat miffed.
"Little help, lover-boy?"
Danny glared at him at first, then smirked. "That's okay," was all he had to say, and with a flash of white he stood as a ghost above Tucker. "I think you'll be okay." He immediately went invisible, then set off to fly home.
Tucker stared up into the sky, blinked a few times, and frowned. "I need a girlfriend just to have an excuse to do that..."
..:00:..
"Rest in uneternal sleep
Drowning in unfound desires
My puppet
Live my torment
Suffocating
In your guilt
My mannequin
Play the positions I lay out for you
You are no soul
No centre
No
You
Dancing shadows, departed hope
Taunt you
As they did me
My marionette
Dance as I command
Fall as I command
Sink according to my will
I am the puppeteer
I am the master
I am the controller
I am the controlled
And you
Are mine
To play with
As I so desire
In my vicarious dreams
While I have no control for myself
So cry
My dear rag doll
As the fallen that you are
You have no hope
No dream
You have no other freedoms
So indulge yourself
Pluere"
A quiet, polite clapping filled the interior of the Skulk and Lurk bookstore, and Sam's arm came down frm where it had been hold the paper before her to allow her to read it. She would have smiled, but this was Skulk and Lurk, and therefore she was a goth, and one rule about goths is that smiling isn't allowed after a poetry recitation.
Danny had joined in with the polite clapping, although had he had his way he would not have remained subdued. He didn't get it, he had no shame in admitting that, but something about the way she had read it, the pauses in speech, the emphatic silences, at least gave him an idea of the emotion – a deep, angry sarcasm from what he could tell – even if it was beyond his grasp to understand what she had been going on about.
"That was... Really good," he whispered as Sam came towards him to take her seat.
Sam smiled. "Did you understand any of it or did it just sound like I have problems?"
"I don't get a word of it."
"In that case," she said, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk, "I have done my job."
..:00:..
And between the time it took Danny to fulfill his day by torturing Dash and for Sam to present her poem, something most intriguing just happened to take place in such a desolate state as Wisconsin.
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Chapter Notes :
1 : In all honesty, if I had my way, the Plasmius Portal would be in Wyoming. Nobody lives in Wyoming. Wisconsin is the second most random state that I would have chosen, but Wyoming will always be first in my heart for Random States to Send Things To. Then Wisconsin. Then Minnesota, only because I forgot it was a state. Funny note: In Creative Writing today, we discussed the fact that Christopher Paolini lives in the middle of nowhere (ie: Montana). He could move to Why, Wyoming (population 51) and probably not notice anything. Then somebody mentioned Minnesota, and it seemed like most of the class had forgotten it was a state.
I live in Florida, incidentally. I don't keep track of anything north of Alabama.
2 : Please ignore the fact that I know absolutely nothing about football. Or its equipment. But footballs are wierdly shaped. And hurt when you get pegged by them. My knowledge, it is extensive.
3 : I just remembered something interesting that has nothing to do with anything; Johnny 13's shadow was destroyed using the light's of the football field, right? Or vanquished momentarily, or whatever. I think. I saw that episode once and didn't pay much attention. It just occurred to me that every time there's an evil shadow on the loose (except in the evil shadow episode of Aladdin), they're destroyed by stadium flares. In DuckTales, when Magica DeSpell had an evil shadow, it was lured out into a football stadium rigged with huge spotlights. Even in Darkwing Duck, where the shadow was really more of a mole, he was lured out into a stadium full of huge spotlights. I... Just wanted to mention that.
4 : The football slamming into Dash's forehead might seem totally normal (or an arbitrary bad joke), but it's not. It's inspired by a friend of mine. He was reading us questions for the Latin competition and we were throwing grass at him, so he stood up and backed away. Somebody among us had a test paper, so she folded it into a paper airplane, threw it at him, and hit him square in the forehead. He fell over and twitched. We laughed. We're very nice.
5 : The second part was written (more like 'copy and pasted with some more words added to the end so it didn't stand alone and look funky')at two thirty in the morning because I forced myself awake on a Friday morning to write it. Sadly, I was more awake at two than I would be four hours later at six thirty, when I'm supposed to be awake.
6 : Why does Sam have a poem? Ah, my friends, I have my reasons, and my reasons surprisingly go beyond 'Because it's cool'. I found that this poem is strangely workable for later in the fic, so I shoved it in there for some in-your-face foreshadowing.
Incidentally, Sam is allowed back into Skulk and Lurk Books since it's obvious she'll never be inviting Kwan again. "All the Clouds Look Like Footballs". Indeed.
7 : Yay fer short chapters!