A/N: OK, I decided to just go ahead and do it, change my name. Still took me about ten tries before I got one that didn't exist yet. I'm kinda figuring you'll be able to recognize me by the strange title of this one shot collection...:D
Just in case you didn't know: I used to be 'uula'.
About the previous one: obviously (but I should have mentioned it anyway), they are all over 21 in there. Besides that, getting drunk is uncool. Don't do it
And yes, Specter Detectors is the only name I didn't think up myself (other than Ghost Getters). If the great Butch Hartman came up with it, it can't be wrong (I was tempted to go with 'Spook Spotters' though, LOL). I obviously don't own it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom
50. Breaking the Rules
Walker loved his prison. It was clean and orderly, and it had Rules. Every ghost in there wore the same striped uniform, they were in their cells every night at ten o'clock sharp, although Walker was the one to determine when it was ten o'clock, or even night. They stood in line in the cafeteria without so much as glancing at each other, the Box Ghost next to Skulker, quietly awaiting their turn for the gray, shapeless goo Klemper was serving.
Everything would have been perfect but for the little half ghost sitting in the corner of the especially made human/ghost proof cell, curled into a ball, his arms over his head, looking away from the white glow that came of the white prison ward. The boy offended his sense of order. There should be no such thing as a half ghost. In fact, he had made a rule about it, or better yet, two rules.
"Danny Phantom, alias Danny Fenton," Walker boomed, and the boy seemed to be trying to crawl into the wall, "You have broken rules 3412: No ghost can be a human, and 3413: No human can be a ghost. You have no right to an attorney. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner."
The boy actually looked up, his green eyes dull, his white hair dirty and stained with green from the wounds on his face, hazemat suit shredded and torn, showing bruised pale skin underneath. He started laughing.
Walker didn't like it. Prisoners were not supposed to laugh at him. He was sure he had a rule about it somewhere. He signaled at his deputies, and they rushed forward, dragged the boy up and slammed him against the wall, holding him in place with their night sticks. The boy started coughing.
"Walker," he croaked, "Have you ever considered going on stage? You're hilarious."
Walker floated closer and the boy had the decency to cringe.
"You have a big mouth," Walker said to him, "It's only been a day. We'll break you. And after we've broken you, I'll execute you personally. As a special favor to you."
"Gee, thanks," the boy managed to get out, before Walker hit him on the head.
The half ghost's head swung sidewards, and his knees buckled. He would have fallen down if he had not been held up by the two deputies, who looked at Walker questionably. He nodded.
"Work on him some more," he said.
He turned around and left the cell, closing the door behind him. For a moment, he just hovered there, listening to the screaming that came out of it, and then he left to oversee his more orderly part of the prison. The world was a complex place, only to be understood with rules. Rules were the pillar of his existence, and he was working hard to mold the world into his rules. And if something couldn't be molded into his rules, he removed it.
Breaking the rules was not an option.
