In the light and alive . . .

Epíphantos

Chapter Two:

Surrounding Walls

Two weeks later.

Days came and went within the confines of the compound. Located under the graveyard of Amity Park, it allowed its crumpled inhabitants to a means of survival and protection. Hundreds of feet below the ground, and reinforced with industrial steel walls, the compound was the epitome security.

Sam despised it.

She glared at the surrounding walls. They were a colorless sort of grey, with cracked tiles that seemed to glow bright white under the fluorescent lights. The monotony of the color scheme was marred only by a series of yellowish blotches at the ceiling, trickling along crevices of mortar. Her nose wrinkled at the sight. God, she hated this place.

"You okay there, Sam?" a voice beside her asked.

Sam's glare flicked from one of the offensive yellow stains to her companion, a dark-skinned man whom visibly shrunk when faced with her blistering gaze. He pushed a pair of glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, over his widened eyes.

"I just can't wait until we can get the hell out of here, Tucker," she told him. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the table. "I freaking hate this place."

She watched his eyes dart sideways, jaw hanging as the surprise etched itself further into the planes of his face. The fork he had been holding was laid forgotten on his plate. "Where the hell did that come from?" He looked across the table to her forgotten lunch. "Was there something wrong with your salad, Sam? No need to start a rebellion over it. Jeez."

"I'm not upset about the stupid salad!" she snapped. With an exasperated huff, she grabbed her fork and stabbed ferociously into the pile of greens, not even caring that they were already brown with age.

Tucker stared at her in bewilderment.

She ignored him for a few moments, but when his gaze remained unceasing, her temper flared again. "What?" she hissed.

"Sam, seriously, what's up with you?" Tucker asked. "First you space out all through lunch, then you throw a random fit out of nowhere, and now you're taking out your anger on a salad." He eyed her plate warily. "Also, I'm pretty sure that's veggie homicide in the first degree."

Sam stabbed a squashed tomato with her fork and glared at it. "You wouldn't understand."

He raised a brow. "Try me."

"Okay. Fine." She tapped the end of her fork on the table as she contemplated the best way to breach the subject of her anger. How could she put into words the absolute hate she felt for the compound, considering they would all be dead without it? It was more than that, she knew, and she hoped Tucker would understand. Of the two of them, he was best with words and emotions. "My problem is"—she gestured about the cafeteria—"this."

"What, the décor?"

"No, you idiot!" She pointed her fork in his face. "I hate this place. I hate the way that that we just mope around. We're barely surviving and we're most certainly not living! Everyone just assumes we lost this war. But we haven't." Her voice rose in pitch. "We haven't! What happened to our fighting spirit? Why do we still call ourselves the Resistance if we don't resist?!"

Tucker shrugged and smiled wryly. "Maybe because now we're resisting death instead?"

"Tucker!"

It was then that Tucker finally relinquished his good humor and sighed soberly. He placed his hand softly over hers, and she let him lower it. Heavy brows darkened his eyes as he pondered her words with upmost sincerity.

"It's only been two years, Sam," he said. "I know you think it was only a single battle, and it was, but it was still a huge blow for us. We lost Amity." He shook his head. As a sad afterthought, he added, "And we lost a lot of lives, too."

Tucker Foley was many things. He wore a goofy red beret, was an Inventor's apprentice, and had a passion for anything technological. He was rarely serious, but when he was people listened to him. At one point, before he and Sam had been whisked away into their respective apprenticeships, the Resistance's government had considered him for leadership, but the idea was quickly dismissed. Tucker wore his emotions on one sleeve, and his passions on his other. Even from the beginning, it had been rather obvious where it was he wanted to be in life, which was far, far away from the governmental podium.

His seriousness was enough to ground her. She looked at him almost helplessly. "What are we supposed to do, Tuck? Give up?"

"I think the best thing we can do right now is plan for our long term survival," he said. When Sam didn't respond he took her hand again and squeezed. "I know you think we're giving up, but the ghosts are just too strong for us right now. There are not enough of us to wage war. If we do, it'll be suicide. We need to step back, breathe, and calculate our next move." His lips pursed, and his eyes became dark glistening pools of sadness. ". . . Even if it won't be for a while."

Sam pondered this silently. With Tuck's warm hand still wrapped around her own, she looked around the cafeteria with serious eyes, observed the others as they ate their midday food rations.

Now that she was looking, she could see the desperation in the hunching of shoulders, people barely acknowledging each other with only the quietest of whispers drifting among groups. In the winding corridors that snaked between factions and living quarters, sadness drew their gazes low as they walked with their eyes at their shoes. Smiles were rare while tears were seen frequently, running down the cheeks of childless mothers, orphans, and widows alike. Many of those whom remained were scarred, physically and emotionally, with missing limbs and shattered spirits.

She was seeing the other survivors for what they truly were: the crumbs and scraps of humanity.

Tucker was right. As much as she hated this place, she knew that there was nothing she, nor anyone else for the matter, could do. Everyday children died, families were separated, and their race shrunk in numbers. Flickering like candlelight. There was hardly anyone left to fight. The spooks were ravaging the world above them, and there was nothing they could do about it. Not a thing. Zilch. It would be suicide to even try.

Sam bit her lip as realization trickled into her awareness. "Tuck, you're right. I'm sorry."

The seriousness was shattered when Tucker cracked a wide grin. "What was that, Sam? You're what?"

"Don't push it," she growled.

"Worth a shot!" Tucker said with a chuckle, still grinning. "I just can't believe I even heard it the first time!" He gestured to his plate and winked at her. "Want some green eggs and ham since you miss that green sun of yours so much?"

Unable to contain herself, Sam's face split into a smile of her own. "Nice try, carnivore," she said.

With the grim reality now drained from their conversation, the two friends laughed together, as if the world was not brimming with death and turmoil. Instead, they were two teenagers, enjoying lunch at a local burger joint. Carefree, and happy. Their laughter echoed along the featureless white walls of the cafeteria, resounded off the ears of other people, whom turned and looked at the pair oddly, some even somewhat enviously. Laughter was not a part of this world. And yet . . .

They laughed until their laughter was interrupted by a shrill bell that rang throughout the room like shattering glass. Chair legs screeched against linoleum in response as everyone in the dining hall stood and began filing out into the corridor, pausing only to deposit their trays on the racks by the exit. Sam and Tucker followed their peers to a large set of double doors, and when it came time for the pair to split paths, Sam spun quickly and caught Tucker's shoulder, holding him steady.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.

"No problem," he replied. "Meet you in the arcade later?"

"You bet."

Once they parted ways, Sam began the long walk through the compound to the faction of her apprenticeship.

Until age sixteen, all adolescent residents of the Compound were required to take mandatory baseline courses to fulfill education requirements. After their graduation of the core program, they could then choose to further their education or go straight to work as laborers. Apprenticeships were offered to those with exceptional talents and skill prerequisites in a variety of fields, usually pertaining directly to the advancement of the Resistance.

Sam and Tucker were among the few from their year group chosen for apprenticeships. Tucker was an Inventor, and Sam a Warrior. They had been in their respective apprenticeships for three years now, and both were on active duty during the great failure of two years prior.

Tucker was responsible for aiding in the development of ectoplasmic weaponry and protection (Sam was proud to say that the weapon she carried was a Tucker Foley edition model.) He had worked amongst his Inventor kin the day their world ended, managing the war from afar but nonetheless significant. It was his unit that had been chosen to initiate the compound, optimizing it as the Warriors began evacuating what was left of the city.

While Sam . . . she had been on the warfront that day. She'd seen it all happen with every gruesome detail. The memories were irrepressible, shining bright like a beacon in the forefront of her mind every time she dared to close her eyes.

The ghostly form of the King of Ghosts slipped before her eyes in a flash. She shook her head to relieve herself from the image of him. Pariah Dark, the scourge of the Resistance. The inhibitor of their freedom. It was Dark and his army that had started the war almost fifteen years ago. She had been there the day he stole Amity Park from them, forced them to their knees—and murdered nearly half of the existing population.

Sam cringed as more images began to surface from the day that would forever live in infamy. Images of people burning, screaming; Dark, as he massacred them. She was almost relieved when she reached her destination, grateful for a distraction. The familiar bright lighting invaded her senses as she stepped under a digital sign that read: "WARRIOR TRAINING FACTION."

Her mentor was waiting for her, wrist out, observing his watch and scrutinizing her punctuality. His face was set in a perpetual, sneering frown.

"Good afternoon," she said, bowing her head with respect that she didn't have. Her lip seemed to curl of its own accord.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Samantha," Vlad Masters said. "On time as usual, how grand."

Sam gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile.

.

.

Not much was known about Vlad Masters. He had only recently been enlisted as a member of the Resistance, and already he was high in the ranks as a Warrior Leader. He was cold, reserved, and extremely aggressive. The manner in which he conducted the goings of his life revolved around strict efficiency. He did not mingle with anyone; instead he observed others with an expression as rigid as his posture.

Sam didn't trust him.

They tolerated each other at best. While many Resistance members idolized Masters, Sam saw straight through his transparent façade of rigidity and aloof nobility. The way in which he carried himself spoke volumes in terms of his character: egotistical, prideful, tense—all hinting of a man concealed beneath whom wielded a vault of ulterior motives. Sam could almost smell his deceit.

"Shall we begin, my dear?" he asked.

She set her jaw, nodded, and proceeded to follow him as he led her through the training facility. They passed rows of gleaming exercise equipment, sparring mats, and even a glass room used for cognitive training. Today she faced Masters' golden pupil and former best friend, Valerie Gray. Sam began stretching her lean muscles in preparation by pulling them taut and then working them loose. Stretching did well to sooth her frazzled nerves. A spar with Valerie wasn't something to be trifled with; she was dangerous.

Valerie Gray was in many ways just as ruthless as their mentor. She was beautiful, with long raven hair that fell in wavy ringlets around her oval face, and her body was toned and powerful. The red jumpsuit she always adorned complimented the darkness of her skin. Though she admired Valerie in many ways, Sam couldn't stand the depth of Valerie's loyalty for their asshole of a mentor. It was for this reason that Sam would never feel completely comfortable trusting her. So much different was this angry girl who fulfilled their mentor's bidding without question, no matter what it was he asked of her.

She didn't know why, but Valerie was different now. Sam had witnessed her in the field during the few times they had been on raids together. Valerie was extremely vengeful, and rarely did she miss her target, rivaled only by Sam herself.

Standing before Sam on balanced toes, Valerie's sea-green eyes were narrowed and calculative. With her shoulders arced and her fists set, she looked like a lioness ready to charge her prey. "You ready to get your butt whooped, Manson?" she quipped.

Sam widened her stance in anticipation. She knew from past experience that Valerie would attack first. "In your dreams, Gray!"

Valerie shot forward with an aimed shoulder and Sam met her attack with equaled haste. Combatting Valerie's offense, she made sure to hold her ground and maintain a steady center, backing away when the heavier girl attempted to utilize their difference in weight. Sam was slighter in frame, so she attacked with her elbows and knees as Valerie countered with punches and kicks. Valerie was without a doubt much stronger than her, but Sam easily contradicted with her speed.

Masters watched on, seemingly bored as his hand stroked the long whiteness of his ponytail. He allowed them to spar until they were both out of breath and sweating profusely, having reached an obvious stalemate. He signaled with his hand for them to stop. "Job well done, especially you my dear," he said to Valerie, appraising her with his shark-like smile. To Sam he said, "Unfortunately Samantha, I feel as if your defense is a bit too loose and your attack a bit too soft. You did well, I suppose, if your intent is to die it battle."

Valerie sent Sam a triumphant look before bowing her head. "Thank you for your praise, sir."

Masters smiled coldly at her. "You've earned it. If only Samantha was as loyal as you, maybe then she could finally overcome her . . . weaknesses, hm?" He sauntered away from them and disappeared into the corridor. "Go home, children, I have some things to attend to."

Hatred swam within Sam, boiling to the surface when she met Valerie's smug gaze. The two stood before each other, each girl sizing the other up. Then, without warning, Valerie spun off her heel, causing her dark mass of hair to whip over her shoulder. "You heard him, Manson, go home." She paused, looking over her shoulder under lowered brows. "And if I were you, I would stay there."

Only after Valerie disappeared into the depths of the Compound did Sam finally let out a strangled scream of frustration. She stomped her way to the apartment she shared with her mother and father, throwing the door open with an audible crack.

She hated him, her mentor. Her previous mentor, Ms. Tetslaff, had been everything to her that Vlad wasn't. Though Tetslaff had been anything but warm, the burly woman had taught Sam everything she knew about being a warrior, a leader, and a prominent member of the Resistance. Vlad Masters, however, only seemed intent on setting her up for failure.

Charging into her room, Sam drew a fist angrily over her cheek and wiped away the evidence of her misfortune. She removed her training jumpsuit and pulled on a black loosing-fitting shirt and matching pants, finally feeling her ire beginning to dim. The churning, tumultuous waves of anger now lulled into a calmer sea, ceasing her tears and returning her rationality.

Sam sighed and fell onto the foot of her mattress. She looked about her room, comforted by the blackness of her décor, before allowing her eyes to rest upon a framed picture of her and her former mentor. It was the one of her and Tetslaff at Sam's graduation, right after Sam had been accepted as a Warrior Leader's apprentice. Tetslaff had her arm wrapped stiffly around Sam's shoulders, and both were smiling under the bright sunlight.

She missed this woman. After her mysterious death nearly a year ago, Sam had barely given herself a chance to think about the woman she had come to see as a second mother. She instead threw herself into her training and studies with a vengeance unbound. At least as far as Masters allowed her to. Ironically enough, his constant belittling of her and her abilities had done nothing but strengthen her resolve to overcome the obstacles she faced. Tetslaff had taught her to do that: to overcome her opposition

She stared at the frame, wishing desperately that it was the woman in the photograph leading her apprenticeship instead of the reclusive asshole that was Vlad Masters. Her hands bunched up into fists as her anger resurfaced slightly. No, she said to herself, I'm letting him get to me. Tetslaff wouldn't have wanted that.

In fact, Sam's previous mentor would have been furious. "Suck it up, girl," she would have said. "Hold that dainty chin of yours high and give that pretentious bastard hell. Figure out the game he's playing and destroy him. Haven't I taught you anything?"

Sam smiled.

She stood, brushed herself off, and walked out into the compound with her chin held high.

.'

.

Sam found Tucker where she always did after his apprenticeship. The pair had grown quite a fondness for Tucker's mentors, the wife and husband Inventor duo, geniuses Jack and Madeline Fenton. three of them huddled around an examining table in the "FENTONWORKS" lab, which featured expertise in both ghost physiology and weapons development.

Smiling when she saw them, Sam paused to rap her knuckles over the open door, signaling her arrival into the lab. The three before her raised their heads in unison, startled expressions morphing into a set of much warmer and welcoming smiles.

"Welcome! Come on in dear," Maddie Fenton exclaimed, running to Sam and enveloping the girl in a bone crushing hug. "It's been nearly a week since we last saw you. My, you look so frail, have you been eating okay?"

Sam laughed, pulling away from the older woman and patting her upper arm reassuringly. "Yes, Mrs. Fenton, I'm fine." She looked over Maddie's shoulder curiously. "What are you guys so interested in over there?"

Maddie's smile only grew wider; she was obviously enthused that Sam was showing an interest in their work. "Why don't you come and see, dear!"

"Yeah, Sam!" Jack Fenton boomed, orange clad arms waving in the air ostentatiously, "You'll love this!"

Sam smiled at them, warmed by their welcoming nature. Jack and Maddie were two of the most endearing people she had ever met. Both were eccentric, always bumbling around in their perpetually-worn hazmatt suits, and their personalities were just as outrageous.

Jack, a large man clothed in orange, was a grandiose ghost hunting fanatic who thereby expressed his enthusiasm in the form of ectoweaponry and development. Standing before her now and holding a colorful array of wires and other odd technological assortments, the older man regarded Sam with one of his biggest smiles.

Maddie resumed her position next to Jack, her head leveled at the large man's shoulder. She met Sam's eyes and smiled warmly. Maddie wore a jumpsuit like Jack's, though hers was a much less vibrant blue in comparison to her husband's gaudy orange. Her field of expertise and study was spectral physiology. Over the past decade, Maddie had revolutionized the paranormal science field through her studies of ghosts at a biological and molecular level. Without her research, it was unlikely that the human race would've survived as long as it had.

Maddie raised her hand and beckoned Sam closer to their workstation. "Well come on, dear," she said. "Don't you want to see what we've been up to all day?"

Sam stepped forward, close enough to see the object of their focus. What greeted her was an oddly shaped pair of goggles, complete with flashing lights and lots of protruding wires. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the odd contraption before her. "What is it?" she asked.

Tucker sprang into the conversation after an odd period of silence. "They're ghost goggles!"

"Ghost . . . goggles?"

"Fenton Ghost Goggles!" Jack corrected zealously. "Give her the mumbo jumbo talk, Maddie!"

Maddie laughed. "They're specifically designed to detect a ghost's ectosignature by calculating the frequencies given off of their core. It has some ways to go yet, but our hope is to eventually override a ghost's invisibility. These little receptors at each end," she purposefully fingered the little red blinking lights, "will, upon command, emit electrical signals directly into a spectral core and override a ghost's natural evasiveness, literally rendering them tangible. At least while within range of the receptors."

"And that way we can finally rip all those damned spooks apart molecule by molecule!" Jack exclaimed, making a show of punching the air in mock aggression.

Sam found herself staring at them in wonder. The ability to render a ghost both visible and tangible upon command was unfathomable. It would change the way the Warriors operated, leveling the playing field in the humans' advantage. Her head was suddenly spinning at the idea.

Jack and Maddie were both undeniable geniuses. Though they operated in separate fields of study, they often overlapped to create amazing forms of tracking and hunting equipment as well. Jack's love of weaponry paired with Maddie's knowledge of physiology was unbeatable. They were the leading Inventors in their respective fields, each making revolutionary strides in their work. Sam found them to be utterly amazing. After the deaths of their youngest children, five-year-old twins Daniel and Danielle Fenton due to the war, the duo had dedicated themselves to the destruction of the ghostly species that plagued the material world.

Despite the gray at his dark temples and the lines of sadness etched upon his face, Jack Fenton remained optimistic. After the loss of her youngest children, Maddie had thrown herself first into the raising of her eldest daughter, Jasmine, and then into the goings of her famed studies—and yet, she too maintained an optimism as strong as her husband's. Hand in hand, they opened their hearts to Sam and Tucker, offering an apprenticeship for Tucker and an understanding ear for Sam.

There were no words to describe how much admiration Sam felt for them. Their strength and perseverance was nearly unheard, even as tragedy in the form of two black-haired, blue-eyed fraternal twins sat winking at them from the framed photograph at the top of their supercomputer.

Maddie unexpectedly stepped forward and placed the goggles in Sam's hands. "Here, hon," she said with a wide smile. "We always give you the first of our prototypes and this time is no different."

"Thank you," Sam said, slightly awestruck.

"You're welcome! Let us know how they work!" Jack said loudly.

Maddie's smile faltered slightly. "Alright, it's getting late. You two better go out and have fun." She was suddenly ushering Sam and Tucker towards the door, but before Sam could pull away completely, Maddie's hands gripped Sam's elbow tightly and pulled the girl back so her mouth was at her ear.

"Now Sam," she said hurriedly. "It's no secret where you go when you need a breath of air. Heavens knows I'm jealous of you for that, but I want you to be careful. If these work, please don't go looking for trouble." She pulled away, met Sam's incredulous gaze with worried eyes, and then disappeared back into the lab.

Tucker was before her instantly, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her towards the arcade in enthusiasm.

.

.

The approaching evening hours aided Sam in her restlessness. She had spent the majority of the evening in virtual conquest with Tucker, but now that she was finally alone she found herself swallowed by the boundlessness of her imagination. She began to pace the confines of her small room with her hands clutching her new FENTONWORKS goggles, her lip bit firmly between her teeth and nearly drawing blood. The world became small—too small—and the walls began to close in on her, stealing away her oxygen.

Sam had always been a creature of the outdoors. As a child she longed to leave the protective shields of Amity Park and venture beyond the city's borders, exploring the world and surviving off the fruits of the land. The human race's decision to go underground at the brink of their extinction had torn her apart, slowly corroding away her individuality and leaving behind nothing but misery. The world she lived in now was too small and safe for the adventurist she has always been.

She needed air. She needed light. She needed freedom from the artificial hell she lived in.

So, in the cover of night, Sam did the stupidest thing she had ever done (and what would be the first of many others equally stupid). She grabbed her gun, her new goggles, and made her away across the Compound.

The briefest of thoughts flashed within Sam's mind in relation to Maddie's warning—the one about looking for trouble—but Sam, already standing within the confines of the elevator and pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her tattooed wrist, couldn't help but think that trouble had already found its way into finding her first.

Once the doors opened, Sam slipped the goggles over her head—

And proceeded to make her way out of the abandoned house.

UPDATED: 1/2/2015 - All Sections but last two. (They will be updated at a later date).

A/N: Here's another updated chapter. Well . . . half of it is updated. This one got a LOOOOOT of revisions. Those who've been with me since the beginning will notice a big difference. I took out a bunch of unnecessary things. Alright . . . onward to the next chapters! Woot, woot!

-Roar