Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or any characters or plots associated, nor am I making any money off of this.

Chapter Seven

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Two months later . . .

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Many things have happened since I've come to Mt. Ivory. Not to go all Dr. Seuss on you, but big things, little things, mediocre things, exciting things. Falling two stories into an abandoned ballroom and nearly starving to death was a big/exciting thing. So was storming out of Ms. Redd's office. Of course, that kind of things was few and far between, which was something I realized after being here for more than three months. It was mostly the small things that bothered me - Toby's ridiculous disappearances (he'd become something like a friend. Kind of.), the pointless phone calls I had with my parents and my friends, and the nagging feeling that wouldn't leave at the back of my mind that said I shouldn't worry so much, that everything was okay.

Needless to say, I ignored it as best I could.

My schedule had changed. I was no longer visiting Jane every morning (they didn't drag me back for whatever reason), and I was no longer spending half my time in my room. The gym had actually started to appeal to me. Puny Danny Fenton was now trim. Not buff, just . . . lightly muscled. Long walks, and even runs, on the treadmill didn't bother me, and neither did bench pressing about a hundred pounds.

Toby came and went, doing whatever it was he did during his absences. I enjoyed increasingly strange conversations with him, though he never told me where he went. He had actually managed to find me when he was completely visible a couple times, but all the same, I was no longer surprised when the set of weights beside me started lifting themselves, or when his disembodied voice greeted me.

"Danny," Toby said nonchalantly as he appeared out of nowhere.

"Toby. Been awhile," I said, not looking up.

"Yeah." He was quiet for a moment. "My last trip was somewhat interesting, you know. Mucho . . . well, something."

I sighed, but didn't ask about 'his trip'. He'd never give me a straight answer.

"How was it?"

"Same old, same old," he said airily, giving me no additional information whatsoever. I paid no mind. I was used to it. "Of course, Lupé has told me that I missed at least six buyers." Lupé was his therapist.

I looked up at him. "Yeah. There've been a lot more of 'em recently, dunno why."

He gave me 'don't you know anything' look before turning back to his weights.

"What?" I asked.

"'Course you don't know. But I'm me, you're you. What you know I don't and backwards and forwards and every which way." He grinned broadly, before setting down the weights and moving over to the water cooler. I stared at him.

"Wha -?" He took a swig of water and disappeared.

"Dang." He sighed audibly, and I saw the door open. "Ah, well, see you later, Danny. I got things to do."

Useless, I thought, stepping off the treadmill myself, not bothering to grab a drink. Come to think of it, the usual dearth of people willing to get their hands dirty in the muddy stream that was the slave trade (if we nonhumans could count as slaves, given the definition of the word) had increased into a veritable cornucopia, compared to the norm, anyway.

"G'day, Danny." Lewis's familiar voice washed over me, and I turned around warily. When either Lewis or Mark showed up these days, it was usually to escort me to somewhere unpleasant. The old 'note-on-the-door' trick didn't seem to cut it ever since my little outburst a couple of months ago.

"Hi," I said.

"Dr. Jared wants you."

"C'mon! It's been two days!" I said angrily. "Nothing much could've changed since then."

"I'm not a scientist. I'm a security guard, remember? Ask him when you get there."

I repressed a snort. Yeah, right. Dr. Jared had been . . . less than sociable since the incident with that 'certain chemical compound,' or whatever (I wasn't altogether sure Jane hadn't been lying; though the tests I'd undergone definitely seemed to go in her favor). He wouldn't even talk except to give an order.

"Whatever." Lewis led me to the elevator, pressed the button for me, and shooed me on, leaning in to push the floor number before backing out and staring at me as the doors closed.

If I'd been, you know, Vlad, I would've reached out and snapped his neck.

But I wasn't, and I didn't.

"99325718," I said lazily to the receptionist, who glanced up nervously.

"Right," she said. "Right."

"Lab thirty-three."

I'd been expecting the usual ninety-two. I actually opened my mouth to protest before realizing it absolutely pointless, and just enjoyed the significantly shorter walk.

"Hello," I said, and Dr. Jared grunted a reply, not looking up, as usual, from whatever paper he was reading.

The lab was undeniably different, when I looked around. Though an assortment of bottles and beakers still lined the walls, and the strap-you-down dentist chair still in place, surgical tools were lined up neatly on one counter, and a slab sat in the middle of the room.

"Just - sit." I obeyed. He put his folder down after a minute and he looked at me meaningfully for a moment. Whatever the meaning of his look was, however, was lost on me.

I held out my hands automatically, knowing what he wanted to do. He stoically ran a finger down the scar on my right palm, then my right. "No deterioration," he mumbled to himself. Then, as if snapping out of a stupor, he stood up straight. "Get up and turn around."

I did so. He fingered the back of my neck, which was clear of hair thanks to a moron who'd cut it about two inches shorter than I'd asked.

"Extraordinary," he said. "Extraordinary. Turn around."

When I was facing him, he said excitedly, "The next time you come back, assuming you're not bought, of course, there is someone coming in today, come back here. I think I'll see you tomorrow."

What was it, I wondered briefly, that was getting him all worked up? Nothing good, I was sure. The news that another buyer was coming in that day was rather off-putting, as well.

After being shooed from his office, and after I managed to get back to my room, I took off my shirt and pulled out a hand mirror to look backwards into the mirror.

Running, from the nape of my neck to the middle of my back was a very unusual patch of skin. Not in an obviously negative way, either. It seemed that every flaw that had once been there was gone - no moles, off-colored bits, not even any hair.

Oddly enough, my first though upon seeing this was Now we're getting there!

Then I realized the connotations of this minor mutation. Whatever they'd given me was working - if it was in the way the GIW intended it to, I wasn't sure, but it was doing something.

It had only been a matter of time, all along. Whether I was going to die within the hour, or outshine Paulina by way of perfect skin, I wasn't sure. Of course, as the 'rash' was now rapidly creeping up my face and arms (even my hair seemed to be gaining new luster), and I was just about to be put under inspection by someone looking for the perfect slave, well, the dilemma had stretched about ten times thinner.

Supernatural good looks didn't go well with my whole remaining unnoticed scheme. Nor, really, did dying.

I stared at myself for a decent period of time. One hour, actually. In that time, I pretty much managed to achieve what even the most dedicated pretty girl couldn't with five years of spa treatments: absolutely disturbingly perfect skin.

I stared at myself, and then realized I had to go. By the looks of the thinning crowd outside of the elevator, I'd made it just in time. Thankfully, do to the general weirdness of half the people that have ended up here, I got only a few glances from the others.

It was then more than ever that I was sorry I'd told Tucker not to tell Mom and Dad the Guys in White had taken me, just before I'd been whisked away.

But no, I thought. I had to be all noble and not want them to be arrested for trying to help me.

Mark glared at we stragglers and ushered us into the same kind of line we'd all been in on that first day. He gave me a rather strange look, but didn't say anything. Two minutes waiting, and he walked in.

When I say he, of course, I mean Vlad. I automatically edged back, concealing as much of myself from view as possible and limiting my ability to see Mark and Vlad.

"I'm glad your back, Mr. Masters. We've made some interesting recent captures . . ."

"Have you now?" Vlad said. "Of what kind?"

"Several decidedly non-human psychics."

"I'm not looking for psychics. Do you have anything with more . . . power?"

"Right this way." Mark's footsteps grew louder as he grew closer to me. Luckily, he stopped a couple of yards away from me. "This is Edwin - he was actually born here, you know, very docile, this one - he's a shape shifter. Rather gifted."

"I'll need someone who can go . . . Unseen . . ."

Mark laughed uncertainly. "Why, exactly?"

"Is that any of your concern, Mr. Graham?"

"No . . . I don't suppose it is. Well, this is Toby. He can become invisible, though his control needs serious work."

My heart rate increased. I doubted he would buy Toby, because Vlad was looking for me, but all the same . . .

"I don't have any control, is what you mean. Don't lie to your customers, it's bad for your PR," Toby said airily. His distinct lack of sarcasm scared me, slightly. Did he really not care . . .?

"Yes, well . . ." Mark started, but the tap-tap of Vlad's designer shoes was already coming closer. ". . . We do have another."

Vlad stopped. "Who?"

"His name is Dan-"

"Where is he?" he snapped. I could've sworn my heart stopped.

I stepped back further, edging behind the guy next to me, earning a glare. But I didn't care - if Vlad found me . . .

"He got in a bit late - he'd be down towards this end . . ." Mark actually passed right over me. Vlad, who was glaring intently at his back, did the same, and I sighed in relief. "He might be a bit further -"

"Security breach - prisoner 2348972 has attempted escape - Lupé Culwell and Mark Graham please report to entrance 2A." The intercom, which was unfortunately directly over my head, decided to share with us this news, and at just the right moment. Mark gulped. "We'll need to reschedule this, Mr. Masters. It might not be safe for you at the moment." I nearly laughed. Still, Vlad stalked off with Mark, again, thankfully paying no attention to my pathetic example of a hiding spot.

I edged out from behind whoever it was I was hiding behind and sighed, looking at the ground. I managed to catch a glimpse of my skin, which had started to take on a soft, nearly unnoticeable glow. Things were not looking up.

Eventually, people started filing out, down the elevator and back to their rooms. I followed.

Who tried to break out? I wondered briefly. Surely no one's that stupid. It was true, my one attempt was far from amazing, and I'm pretty sure no one even knows I tried, but I'd become increasingly convinced that escape wasn't possible as time wore on and not a single person tried.

I went to sleep quickly that night, covering as much of myself as I could with my blanket without suffocating. Just so I couldn't see myself. I figured when I went back to Dr. Jared the next day I'd demand to know what it was he'd done to me. But I still rather dreaded the idea.