Author's Notes: Updates are slower coming because I've been doing fanart (can be found at timydamonkey dot deviantart dot com if you're interested) and planning another story. That probably won't be posted for a few months though, as I refuse to post the prologue without the first four or five chapters written… that way I can update every week or two rather than whenever I have a chapter done. I'm considering writing ahead a bit with this, too. I do have a prewritten scene for around chapter six, though – and that is when this stops moving so slowly along. Important author's note at the end, please read it.
This chapter looks like it's going to be short. Sorry about that… And wow, it's hard to try and describe computer games.
And thanks to the seventeen of you with this on alert and to all of my reviewers. Definitely my most popular story! Glad you like it.
Chapter Three: Doomed and Doomed
In front of him, another person blew up. The gun in his hand was smoking.
"Dude," said Tucker from his side, "calm down, Danny. Bad day?"
"Not especially."
It had been a week earlier when he'd gone to see his parents with Sam and Tucker. He'd known it had been a bad idea. When he was younger, he'd been captivated by their stories of ghosts and what they did. Sometimes he would wake up from nightmares, staring around the room for a trace of some ghostly aura that would alert him to their presence.
He'd never saw anything.
He had wanted to block out what they were telling him at that particular time last week. For once, he felt like he'd heard enough. It wasn't so much as a forewarning anymore, but something that completely terrified him. He didn't think his parents had ever noticed.
He put his finger on the trigger once again and fired. Another person was vaporised. It was his best round, he supposed; he was clearing through the ranks quite effortlessly. It was a pity that the main objective of Doomed wasn't to eliminate all competition, or today he'd have been winning over an hour ago.
It wasn't as if they'd learnt anything new, anyway. In fact, Danny thought the only thing the little talk had accomplished was getting Sam and Tucker far more wary about ghosts. They seemed to be learning that the best thing to do was stay away from ghosts, and let other people capture and get rid of them.
He still wasn't quite sure how anybody would get rid of them. He didn't think he wanted to know.
But all in all, he'd had enough of ghosts. It was the reason he was blasting away, he supposed; he was calming his nerves. He still couldn't get the ridiculous notion of seeing himself as a ghost out of his head. It was stupid. Besides, he was plainly alive, and being both alive and dead at once defied all logic.
Besides, he was playing Doomed. He bet ghosts couldn't play Doomed. Anyway, there would be no reason behind it – what could playing it accomplish? They only wanted to destroy people, he knew.
He obliterated Chaos, the guy who always seemed to be two steps ahead of Tucker and him. He felt a surge of pride for that; whoever said stress couldn't be productive needed to face the end of the virtual gun.
He could have sworn that a voice had yelled "Danny!" in the instant before he'd done it – and that voice wasn't Tucker, yet still oddly familiar... But that was impossible. The only other person around was Chaos (he supposed other players were steering clear of them today), and it was impossible for that guy to know who he was.
Maybe he was going mad, hearing things. He didn't want to find out. He didn't ask Tucker if he'd heard anything.
Danny turned to face Tucker, who looked slightly awed. "When did you get that good with that thing? Have you been playing first-person shooters without me or something?"
Danny shook his head. "I guess concentrating really does work."
"Hasn't Jazz been trying to tell you that for years?"
Danny ignored him, turning around and stepping forward.
"Are we going to-" Tucker began, but that was as far as he got. Danny seemed to have inadvertently changed Doomed into World War III, and somebody threw a virtual grenade at the two of them, crowing triumphantly. He supposed the person was getting revenge for an earlier victim.
The grenade detonated. Tucker made a startled exclamation. Danny felt… odd. For a moment, he wondered if the lack of pain and somewhat pleasant tingling feeling was the sort you got when you went into shock after a wound – but that was stupid. This was a game – there was no pain simulation. The feeling was coming from himself; where he was sat in front of a computer, wearing the Fenton Helmet as a game controller… and it was oddly familiar, to what he'd felt at one point when the accident had occurred, when his foot had stepped through stone as if there was nothing there…
Then the smoky simulation on the screen cleared and he was standing there, unharmed, without even singe marks on his sprite's clothing. Tucker was nowhere to be seen. The person who'd chucked the grenade stared in astonishment, and then turned and ran.
This… was impossible. He should have been thankful for it, but there was no way he shouldn't have been harmed. Maybe he'd accidentally activated some cheat code, if Doomed even had any. The only thing he was happy about was that the strange feeling had disappeared as if it had never been there.
The virtual gun he'd been holding had been blasted out of shape, a hot twisted ball of metal against a stark landscape. If this had been real, that would have been him. He should have been kicked out even how it was.
He looked at the guy running away from him, angry again. Something inside of him seemed to be rising, saying, 'he wanted to do that to me.'
It was a computer game.
This was beyond ridiculous, but for a minute he couldn't help himself. He was angry – it felt like anger from everything had just balled up; anger at his parents for their tales of ghosts, at his friends for their doubting him and constantly asking the same questions, at Jazz for her stupid overly-done concern over him for the past week… and at himself for being stupid enough to mess with the ghost portal.
He didn't intend to do it. He didn't even know how it happened. All he knew was that he'd raised his hand, clenching his fists… and then there was a green line of light that gave the area an eerie glow shot from his hand and into the back of the running person. They disappeared, defeated.
Funnily enough, the first thing that came to mind was, 'Wow, I never knew that the graphics were that good.' (Perhaps he'd spent too much time around Tucker, he mused.) He knew, though, that it wasn't part of the game. Why have weapons if you could have some kind of superpowers? He had an idea that he knew what they were called, maybe his parents had mentioned it to him… 'ectoblasts'.
The one problem with that theory was that ectoblasts were impossible unless you were a ghost.
Something was wrong. This fact seemed to be reiterated when, from the corner of his eye, Danny saw something… emerge from nothing. It just appeared. It could have been a character logging in to play, but he knew it wasn't. He'd seen this fellow before. And he wanted to run.
At the same time, a thin wisp of blue smoke – at least that's what it looked like – escaped his mouth. This had happened the last time he'd seen this particular person – or, more accurately, this particular ghost. He still didn't know what it meant.
He felt paralysed and mortified and what he'd done. The sprite stood gormlessly, staring at the general direction of the intruder. The ghost smiled. It seemed as confused as he was, but confident when he addressed him: "Hello, ghost child."
Perhaps it was odd that this was the bit that got to him most. Ghost child. Impossible! He wasn't dead; he wasn't a ghost! But he'd fired ectoblasts at people. The smoke… he wasn't an idiot; he knew it wasn't normal. His being unharmed by the bomb… what could slip through that and be unharmed?
A ghost could. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong in that accident, and he'd have to figure it out. Now, though, he wanted to flee. He wasn't crazy yet. It was only a matter of time… Remembering the anger, he shuddered. He'd never been that angry before. He didn't want to be again. Was it a repercussion of somehow being a ghost?
Why was the ghost here? Maybe… maybe he was going to have something to do with becoming crazy, thoughtless, pent on destruction! Why else would he be there? He felt like he was doomed to an utter existence of hatred...
Danny came out of his trance. The ghost opened its mouth to speak again. Danny pulled the plug on the computer.
For a moment, he stared at it as if it had bitten him. He was curious, but he also couldn't describe how terrified he was that he'd end up like that mad guy. He'd put off thinking about this predicament for long enough… he'd think about it tomorrow. He was too tired, and really too panicky. He was shaking, but he pretended not to notice, running upstairs to his room (and earning worried gazes from his parents) and burying his face in his pillow.
It had been a long day and he was tired. He was asleep within minutes.
Important Author's Note: I will occasionally write imagery, it's mostly focused on description for a short amount of time… problem being, imagery is useless to me as I can't picture anything in my head. I'm not sure why – but then, nothing's really in your head, so you can't picture anything, can you? Anyway, the point is, said imagery may disturb some people… it's quite "shady" and graphic (but I've never been able to write one more than 300 words), but it does have a point rather than just being there for the shock factor. HOWEVER: I do not want this fic taken down for having an incorrect rating. So, would you say that something with shady graphic imagery (I don't want to give anything away, but it IS quite graphic) merits knocking the fic up to M?
If it bothers anyone I'll give warnings if it's in chapters. They are short scenes, though.