So there I was, minding my own business, when this nutcase with a claymore attacked me out of nowhere. The only warning I got was this whistling noise. It's kind of like how a whiffle bat sounds, right before it smacks you in the head.

I dropped flat—always a weird feeling in zero gravity—and twisted around just in time to see this guy's sword slice through the air above me like a helicopter blade.

"Watch it!" I yelped, backpedaling down and away. I know, not too smooth, but I'm still in one piece, alright?

Luckily that kind of swing takes a second to recover from, no matter how big and strong you might be—and this guy would have made the Hulk green with envy—so I got about a second to look at who was trying to kill me. Big guy, wild red hair and beard, angry red eyes. He wore a tattered white shirt and a plaid kilt that clashed nicely with his glowing green flesh.

"Who the heck are you?" I demanded, powering up my fists. He just laughed a booming laugh, which would have been irritating if it hadn't sounded so ominous, and swung his claymore at me again.

In case you didn't know, a claymore is a sword…a really, really big one. Like, a meat cleaver on steroids or something. And man, this guy could swing it, too. The only reason I wasn't just a few more chunks of blood and ectoplasm floating in the green ether was that his swinging arm was just a hair slower than my reaction time.

"Hey, ugly!" I shot up underneath him, grabbing his ankle as the blade parted the mist behind me. "I hope you remembered your boxers!" Seriously. Tucker wore a kilt once in the "traditional" way, and… Ech. I don't want to think about it.

I pulled down hard on his hairy legs, throwing my whole weight into the pull. If we'd been standing on the ground, he'd have done a faceplant. As it was, he went down and keeps going, tumbling end over end, kilt flapping. Well, whaddya know. He does have boxers…with hearts on them. Weird. His trajectory ends with a satisfying crunch against a random floating door.

Physics, one. Random attacking ghost, zero.

…what? Oh, yeah. If the green skin and glowing red eyes didn't tip you off, he's a ghost. Did I mention this was the Ghost Zone? Realm of the Undead, the Other Dimension, accessible from the basement of my house, yada yada. I've been mapping it—or trying to—for over a month now, and it still doesn't make any kind of sense. What's worse, my two helpers, the only other humans to really venture out here, are off on summer vacation. They also happen to be my best—my only—friends. I was so bored that mapping an infinite, dangerous dimension by myself actually seemed like a good idea. So here I am, about to get creamed by some undead guy in a skirt.

Whoops. Ugly was making his comeback, and he looked mad. I could have sworn there was steam coming out of his ears.

"Ye saucy blighter! I'll turn ye into haggus!" Surprisingly, I know what that is. Sam's ranted about it so many times I could probably recite its ingredients in my sleep. I've gotta say, this guy had some scary ideas. Time for tactical maneuvers! I bolted behind the nearest floating rubble.

I bet you're wondering by now how this kind of thing could possibly be my business.

I mean, I'm human, right? Sort of… not really. Long story. Basically, I'm a half-ghost ghost hunter. I protect the human world from all the ghosts that try to, you know, take over the world, brainwash everyone, wreak havoc or whatever. Sometimes I protect the ghosts from humans. It's usually a lot to handle. But I have to say, it's a lot simpler than highschool.

Don't get me wrong, having a ghostly alter-ego definitely has its perks. Flying is beyond awesome. All that other stuff, walking through walls, throwing ecto-energy from my hands, and most especially, going invisible when big ghosts with bigger swords are looking for you can be very, very useful.

Uh-oh. Looks like the angry Scot has angry friends. A couple of hooded ghosts with glowing purple staffs have joined him, and they're spreading out. I don't like the look of those things; glowing stuff isn't too unusual around here, but the way the ghosts are waving them around like flashlights, I get the feeling even my invisibility won't fool them.

I sneak further away, trying to stay mostly behind the ancient, slightly glowing stone architecture. There's lots of it around, for once; I think this place used to be some sort of ghost realm, like the medieval one that Dora rules. Whatever it was, it's breaking apart now. I guess even ghost ruins get old eventually.

A/N

This explains why I write everything in third person these days. XD

I realize there's no actual crossover occurring in this snippet, but there was a PLAN (meaning a vague idea I was headed toward that may or may not have become a plot). Danny's stumbled into the ruins surrounding a Stargate that was somehow warped into the Ghost Zone. It brought along its now-ghostly Jaffa warriors (the purple staff guys) whose eternal purpose is to defend the gate from anything that moves. Danny accidentally activates it with ghost energy while trying to escape, the Stargate gets overloaded and warps time, space, and reality...landing him in the lap of the SGC. They would then do the typical crossover plot of exchanging notes on weird adventures and beating up a few baddies while trying to get the wayward halfa home.

I have no idea why there's some random Scottish psycho with questionable choice in underwear involved; make up your own reasons.

-Hj