There had been a string of kidnappings in Hell's Kitchen. Well, New York City in general, but he didn't really care about anything other than his borough. Except when a problem in his area originated from somewhere else. People should know better than to fuck with his neighborhood, because now it was his problem, and they were going to regret this… just as soon as he figured out who was doing this.
"What the fuck Matt?!" Foggy's voice broke through his brooding. His heartbeat was a little fast, and Matt recalled that he may have gotten a love tap to the face last night. Repeatedly. With a crowbar. Because some jackass had blared an airhorn in his face and he had been disoriented. It was distinctly Not His Fault for running around beating criminals up in the dead of night. Not at all. "What. Happened."
Yeah, he wasn't about to tell Foggy the truth. "Tripped." he said instead. Because that was believable. Great job, idiot.
"You tripped." Foggy did not sound like he believed him. Which was fair, since Matt had a habit of lying, and Foggy knew this. "What, straight into someone's fist? You look like hell."
A click-clack of heels and a scent of jasmine alerted him to Karen's approach. Her heart stuttered when she saw him, and he thought he really must have looked pretty bad if Karen was worried.
"Oh my god!" she gasped. "Matt! Are you okay? Did you get mugged?"
"He's fine," Foggy said, and ouch there was venom in his voice. "He just tripped." yeah. There was no way that Foggy had bought his excuse.
"Do we have a case?" he interrupted, so that they wouldn't get too caught up in worrying about him. Well, too late for that, but at least he could try to redirect Foggy's attention and hope he forgot to ask what really happened. Because surprise crowbars to the face of a trained ninja was just straight up embarrassing, and he didn't need anyone who wasn't there to know. The guy who hit him wouldn't be talking anytime soon, anyway.
The diversion seemed to work, though Foggy kept looking his way, and Matt suspected that he was being glared at. He ignored it as Karen talked about the few cases that they had.
Danny clenched his teeth around a scream as electricity flowed through him. He could feel his core throbbing in time with the current, but he still couldn't quite reach it. The electricity stopped, and his core seemed to disappear with it. He collapsed against the table with a barely contained sob.
He could hear voices, but everything seemed to be underwater. A door opening, pen scratching against paper. Muted mumbling. The door again.
"Our portal appears to create this substance as a by-product."
His vision swam as the voices continued speaking about him. His throat burned where the collar touched. His head lolled to the side, and he watched the blurry people shapes bustle around as the door opened and closed again. Someone was suddenly in front of him, a needle held in his hand. It took until the needle was in his arm for his brain to identify who it was.
"Soap Man!" he exclaimed with a grin. They'd removed the ever present gag when he'd started choking on his tongue. "Hey, do you guys offer massages around here at all? Because boy are my muscles sore!" Soap Man hit him in the head as he withdrew the needle.
Danny felt annoyed with himself when he realized that he wasn't paying enough attention to see what was in the needle, but that question was answered when he felt his core surface. He reached for it at about the same time that the electricity came back. He screamed as he transformed, the feeling of ectoplasm and electricity coursing through him too much to remember that he was trying to not show how much everything hurt.
It was just like when he'd died. But he wasn't dead, was he? Of course he was dead, he's a ghost. Ghosts aren't alive, that would be stupid. But he was alive, wasn't he? He could still feel his heart beat beneath his core, of course he was alive. But if he was alive, then how was he a ghost? That didn't make any sense. But if he was a ghost, it would be a simple thing to go intangible and phase straight through the straps binding him. Wait. he was bound?
Phantom yanked at his arms, attempting to phase through the straps pinning him down. Excited chatter caught Danny's attention, and Phantom looked over. There were men and women in white lab coats excitedly writing things down on clipboards. White. Phantom hated white. He snarled at them, and just as he was about to wail and blow their heads off, his core stuttered, and he was simply 'Danny' again. Had he ever been anyone else? He hadn't, had he? No, he was just Danny. Danny Fenton, and Danny Phantom, but no matter which he was still always Danny.
He went limp against the table, his vision faded around the edges, and let himself drift. Hands grabbed at him, and he let them. They dragged him down a hall, and it took Danny a moment to realise that it wasn't the usual hall. It was different. Brighter. They stopped at a door.
"Lucky you," one of the Lab Coats said. "Hydra's busy using your regular room for their own needs, so your accommodations have been updated. Enjoy your new room." the door opened, and they tossed Danny into the room.
He landed on the floor with a soft 'thwump'. The room was dim, but even in the half-light Danny could still see that the walls were that nausea inducing white that he had become familiar with during his stay with the GIW. How long ago was that? Did it matter? White. Too much white.
Danny curled up and wished he had died in the portal.
