Shatterglass
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
"They will never stop hunting you…" -Aragorn, "Lord of the Rings"
Chapter 4: Relentless Pursuit
Prologue
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
FBI Agent Thomas Brody glanced lazily out of the large aircraft's thick Plexiglass window, his ever-present cup of coffee still steaming in his hand. He had always enjoyed flying, even as a child, and now Brody watched, transfixed, as the cold currents of the seemingly endless ocean waves crest and roll as they had for time immemorial. The deep blue depths reflected the sun's light like a thousand sparkling diamonds, and Brody felt his eyes begin to water as the glare was reflected back at him.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for the philosophical type," Vlad Masters said casually, taking a seat next to him. "Ruminating on your troubles, eh?"
"No," Brody said, glancing at the businessman. "Just killing time, I suppose. And wondering how such a good kid could've turned into a murderer. You're an old friend of the Fentons, right?"
"Yes," Vlad said, his voice grave with fake concern. "Daniel's father and I are old acquaintances. I... I don't even want to think about how all of this has affected him."
"You never suspected?"
"Of course not," Vlad shook his head vigorously, slipping effortlessly into the role of a smooth, polished liar. "Daniel was the last person I'd suspect to be the infamous ghost boy."
"I do feel kinda sorry for him," Brody admitted, both to Vlad and to himself. "Hell, if I had this many people after me, I'd try to make myself scarce too. Maybe he'll get some leniency from the judge, considering the services he's rendered in the past," he added hopefully. "It's just… disillusioning, I guess, that a hero like Fenton could fall so far."
"It is at that," Vlad agreed with apparent fervor.
"Sooner or later, Fenton will be caught," Brody declared, his tone growing firm. "He can't outrun us for very much longer."
"You seem very certain."
"We received intelligence from Texas that Fenton had been seriously wounded while resisting arrest," Brody replied. "The injury will certainly throw him off of his game and slow him down."
"You're right, of course," Vlad sighed dramatically. "I am merely a humble businessman, after all. Who am I to question how you do your job, eh? I therefore defer to your expertise, Agent Brody."
Brody watched his colleague move back down the aisle in between the rows of seats before turning his attention back out of the window. The sight that greeted his wandering gaze would have been enough to chill the soul of even the most hardened criminal.
The C-17 was not alone as it rose like a primeval leviathan into the atmosphere, its engines shrieking a droning dirge of doom while wisps of white trailed over its silvery wings. That seemed to be some kind of signal, for it was not a moment later that it was joined by others of its kind.
In true cinematic fashion, the massive armada broke, one by one, through the icy-colored clouds. So great were they in number that the assembled mass of machinery and steel seemed almost like some terrible school of massive, predatory fish. In their dozens and scores they came, their tails and noses bristling with soot-black machine-gun barrels. In numbers beyond counting they gathered like wolves sensing a kill whilst making the very air throb with the pulse of the airplanes' mighty engines, and it was this relentless pulse that seemed to sound a knell of doom for the hapless hero they now pursued.
With Agent Brody in the lead, the arm of the law reached out, slowly but surely, to clutch Danny Fenton in its hard and unforgiving grasp…
Central Europe, the French-German Border…
It would be an understatement to say that Danny Fenton looked like hell. A more accurate description would be to state that he had been starved to the point of emaciation, used as Mike Tyson's substitute punching bag, and smeared with grime and dirt before being lashed by his heels to the back of a car and dragged through the infernal pits all willy-nilly until he collapsed on a bed of nails.
It had been with the last ounce of his once-vigorous strength that Danny had narrow eluded French authorities when the plane had touched down in Aachen. Danny's power was so depleted from constant, panicked flight that he had only managed to hang on to invisibility for several moments before finding his salvation.
That salvation came in the form of a German dairy farmer's battered old truck, and the square-shaped bales of hay that had been stacked high in the vehicle's bed provided the perfect cover. The fact that the elderly man lived in the forested German countryside was an added bonus.
Danny felt a twinge of guilt. The old man had certainly been rather surprised when Danny had so abruptly emerged from his hiding place.
The sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh made Danny turn, once again, to his injured arm. The mere sight of the now-festering wound made his stomach threaten to dislodge what little food he'd eaten.
The days and nights that had gone by since the incident in Laredo had taken their toll. The ragged sleeve of Danny's stained and torn shirt was yellow and stiff with the dried, vile discharge that now seeped slowly from the hole in his arm. The nauseating stench of rotting flesh and infected tissue heralded the onset of a serious infection, and Danny could hardly even move the injured limb without his nerves screaming in pain. Though the bone was still intact, the gangrenous nature of Danny's wound was becoming more serious with each passing day, and having a bum arm was the last thing he needed right now.
But sadly, this was not the only part of Danny that had deteriorated.
Danny was desperately hungry. His stomach felt almost sick after days of running on proverbial fumes, and the growls that now emanated from his hungry belly could easily be mistaken for the threatening growl of a ravenous bear. His burning throat was cracked and dry, but there was not a drop of water to assuage Danny's thirst.
The hero would have gladly cut off his ravaged arm in favor of a glass of water or a squall of rain, but the sunny sky overhead held no promise of Nature's handouts.
Inwardly, Danny cursed Vlad long and hard for putting him through all of this, and he felt the bile rise in his throat whenever he recalled the rantings and ravings of those who cried for his immediate demise. How many days could one take of hearing people all over the world denounce him as an abomination and freak of nature? How many times could one endure the tide of hate before it consumed him completely?
Danny could feel the torrent of fury and anger swell in his heart like a growing hurricane of darkness. Just wait until they need me to save the world or something¸ Danny thought, his expression made of granite. I'll bet they'll be singing a different tune then!
So absorbed was young Danny in his mental rant that he failed to notice the shriek of engines as a very familiar-looking jet drew closer and closer overhead…
At the same time…
"You're sure it's not another false reading?" Jazz Fenton made no attempt to conceal her doubtfulness as Tucker glanced once more at the small device that now guided their course. The three of them had spent what seemed to be an eternity combing through the most inaccessible and remote parts of the Old World, with no luck so far. They had searched Scotland and England, scoured Ireland, combed through Spain and flown through France, all the while praying that this innocuous-looking piece of Fenton hardware would pick up on Danny's ecto-signature.
But this technology was not precise by any means. Weather patterns and other environmental conditions could easily affect its sensors. Trying to find Danny, it seemed, was like trying to find a needle in a haystack with an even smaller needle while wearing a blindfold and facing backwards.
Tucker tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'm sure we've got something."
"That's what you said last time," Jazz pointed out.
"And the time before that," Sam added.
"All right, all right, so maybe we've had a few false starts."
"A few?"
Tucker glared at them both. "Are you gonna keep ragging on me or let me work?"
"Sorry."
The device beeped with a volume disproportionate to its size. "Ghost directly ahead."
"See?" Tucker grinned smugly.
"I'll believe it when we see Danny," Jazz snorted, guiding the sleek plane lower to the ground.
"Ghost directly ahead. You would have to be an idiot not to see the ghost directly ahead," the tracker stated in its mechanically feminine voice.
"Take us a little lower, Ensign Fenton," Tucker said to Sam, imitating the voice of Captain Kirk from Star Trek.
Sam scowled. "How about I aim my foot a lower?"
Tucker edged away and hastily changed the subject. "We, uh, should be right on top of it," he declared. "Keep an eye out."
Sam pressed her face to the viewport and was immediately rewarded. "No need! There he is!"
"Danny?" Jazz asked, her voice mirroring the wild hope she felt.
"I think so, yeah!" Sam exclaimed exuberantly, gripping the throttle hard to bring the craft in for an impromptu landing. The noise and wind generated by the Fenton Jet's propulsion systems obviously got Danny's attention, and his first logical conclusion was that his pursuers had caught up to him once more.
He ran for his life, to the consternation of his would-be liberators. But while Jazz and Tucker gave in to their surprise at Danny's unexpected reaction, Sam opened the side entrance to the jet with a swift push on an oversized button and yelled at the top of her lungs. The Goth's desperate cry was almost drowned out by the roaring engines.
Almost.
"DANNY!"
The sound of Sam's voice brought a halt to Danny's exodus as surely as any roadblock that could have been placed in his way. Slowly, as if fearing to be proved wrong, the ghost boy turned to lock his blue eyes with Sam's purple ones.
He had her in his arms so fast that Sam briefly wondered if she had gone through a time warp. Though the young man who had stolen her heart so long ago was bloodied, filthy, starved and smelly, Danny was alive.
That was all that mattered right now.
Danny sighed with happiness as Sam unconsciously snaked her arms around his neck, and he breathed in her scent as if it were the Almighty's own perfume. The ghost boy held Sam as if she were a priceless treasure that would break if he touched her too hard; his voice, coarse and thick, rasped in her ear as Danny spoke the name like a magic spell that would cure all of his problems.
"Sam…"
The Goth felt her face heat up at the sudden and unrestrained show of affection, but smiled despite her embarrassment. "I was so worried, Danny. I thought…" Sam couldn't bring herself to finish.
As usual, Tucker took it upon himself to ruin the moment. "Are you two done yet?"
Danny and Sam sprang apart like coiled springs, blushing furiously, and Tucker gave a low whistle at the sight of Danny's wretched state.
"You're a mess, dude."
"Thanks, Tuck," Danny said sarcastically, but his eyes showed a trace of his former good humor.
"Let's get you inside," Sam offered. "Are you hungry?"
A bitter smile crossed his face. "You have no idea."
"I'll get the first-aid kit from the jet," Tucker added. "If I remember correctly, there's something in there that might be of use to us."
"Band-aids?" Danny asked hopefully.
His friend winked as he darted inside. "Much better than that, Danny, assuming it works."
"Wait, what?" Danny demanded. "What do you mean, if it works?"
"Trust me, man," Tucker grinned, offering an arm to help Danny up the retractable metal ramp. "I've been saving this for a rainy day."
"And that would be…?"
Tucker scooted aside as Danny plopped exhaustedly into the copilot's chair, and the ghost boy didn't feel even remotely reassured as the self-proclaimed geek reached into the small refrigerator marked, "EXPERIMENTAL SUBSTANCES ONLY" in bold, blocky letters. A blast of cold air could be felt as the stainless steel door was wrenched open in Tucker's haste.
After a moment's rummaging, Tucker apparently found what he was looking for. His fist now clutched a wickedly pointed, glinting syringe that was filled with some kind of sickly green fluid, and the viscous liquid emanated an unsettling glow that made Tucker's excited face look rather deranged.
"W-What…Tucker, what is that?" Danny demanded.
"The future, Danny," the geek said proudly, looking at the serum with almost fatherly pride. "This bad boy is something I've been sneaking into the upstairs lab to work on whenever you and your folks aren't around."
"Okay…" Sam stared.
Tucker took the hint to continue his explanation. "You remember that G.I. Joe movie we saw a while back?"
"Yeah," Danny said, confused.
"Well, the nanomites used in the movie gave me an idea," his friend elaborated. "What if, instead of destroying stuff, the same technology could be used to repair instead?"
"You mean…?" Danny glanced at his infected arm.
"Exactly," Tucker nodded. "Each of the nanoTucks in this syringe carries a tiny sac into which I have injected small amounts of synthetic antibodies, Danny. I have pre-ordered them to destroy any infection they find in human tissue once they have entered your bloodstream. They'll even double as next year's booster shots. I'm not gonna say it's a cure-all," he added warningly. "This should get rid of the infection and bolster your glucose and fat reserves, but that hole is gonna need additional care. And it's still experimental. If my simulations are correct, and they always are, it should work. But even so, I can't be one hundred percent sure."
"What if it doesn't work?" Danny couldn't help but ask.
"Then the nanoTucks will destroy you from the inside."
"NanoTucks?"
The geek shrugged defensively. "It's my invention, man. I thought I'd take a few creative liberties."
"What do you want to do?" Jazz asked Danny softly. "It's your call."
A wry smile crossed the hero's face. "I've already dodged death twice. I don't think another shot would push my luck any further than it's already been."
"Okay," Tucker nodded, his voice shaking with anxiety as he lifted the evil-looking medical instrument.
The geek knelt to administer his pride and joy, and the stench of infection made Danny's friend cover his nose. "This will hurt," he said flatly, before turning to Jazz. "You're the med school hopeful, right? Then help me find a vein or something."
The older girl clasped Danny's arm tightly, eliciting a hissing intake of breath through his gritted teeth. "Here," Jazz pointed to a spidery blue line that rewarded her efforts.
Tucker didn't waste any more time. The ridiculously oversized needle plunged into the tender flesh, and a squeezing sound reached Danny's ears as the geek sent a swarm of infinitely tiny machines swarming into his blood like some tiny Biblical plague.
White spots of agony danced across Danny's vision as he felt the needle break through the epicenter of his injury. The pain of Tucker's ministrations was so unimaginably torturous that Danny was half-convinced he'd die before the questionable medicine even had a chance to do its job.
Then the moment ended as Tucker withdrew the syringe, and Danny glanced at his arm. "What now?"
"We wait," Tucker said simply. "You should be feeling the effects right about…now."
As if on cue, Danny suddenly noticed a burning, tingling itch spreading from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, as if a pack of rabid fleas were crawling inside of his skin. Everyone present watched in amazement as the pus-ridden, gangrenous filth that had infested the wound on Danny's upper arm receded and then faded altogether before their very eyes. Danny could feel the "nanoTucks" attacking and destroying the bacteria-laden pestilence at an astonishing rate, and the strength and mobility that his arm had lost so dearly now returned in leaps and bounds.
Tucker sniffed. "It worked," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "I'm so happy I could cry."
Danny flexed his hand gently, and was delighted when it responded with no more than a slight twinge. "Thanks, Tuck," he said sincerely.
"No prob," Tucker replied. "Just remember who holds the copyrights for those in case your parents get any ideas."
"Deal," Danny laughed, but he stiffened in shock and pain as Sam slathered antiseptic on what remained of his injury. "That stings!"
"Cry me a river," Sam retorted good-naturedly. Her slender fingers worked with dexterity and speed as she bound a generous amount of clean white bandages on Danny's arm.
Jazz plopped a C-ration into Danny's lap, and her brother was tearing through the plastic container before she could even open her mouth. Danny ate with ravenous abandon, his normal cheery demeanor reasserting itself in the presence of those he cared about. The ghost boy felt new energy coursing through his veins, and he took a moment to thank the Powers that Be for having such staunch and faithful friends beside him.
A distant noise, almost like a high-pitched shriek, momentarily diverted Danny's attention. "What's that?" he asked, looking somewhat bemused.
The inquiry was implicitly answered as the deadly artillery shell slammed into the Fenton Jet's starboard engine with debilitating force. The effect was not unlike a puppy being smacked by an eighteen-wheeler, and the sleek plane was almost tipped completely over as smoke and fire belched from its metal plating…
Not too far away, FBI Agent Thomas Brody lowered his pair of Army-issue binoculars and nodded his approval to the smiling gunner of the M1 Abrams tank that had lobbed the offending missile. "One more shot should do it," he instructed without raising his voice. "O'Malley?"
"Yes, sir?" the dour-faced operative asked.
"Once that aircraft is grounded, move in and surround them," Brody ordered. "Take them alive. I need Fenton in one piece for interrogation later."
"Do we get to torture it?" the haughty Major Skyrme asked with barely concealed delight. "I was under the impression that that…thing's civil rights had been suspended. I think a water-boarding or two would suffice to get a confession from that freak. Maybe we can even get him convicted without a trial! It'd save so much paperwork, and we can skip right to the execu-"
POW!
The Major staggered as Brody's fist connected with the side of his face. The FBI agent's whole body shook with anger. "You sadistic son of a bitch," he snarled. "If you even think of talking like that again, I'll have you put up against a wall and shot! No matter his crimes, Fenton is still a citizen of the United States and he will be given a fair trial even if I have to go to the President himself to get it! How dare you speak of torture and death like some kind of game? Just let me catch you calling Fenton an 'it,' and I swear to God I'll personally sign the death warrant on your career, Major! Do I make myself clear?"
Skyrme looked away. "Yes, sir."
"Get out of my sight," Brody growled.
Like a hideous insect, the Major skulked away to brood, and Brody smiled sadly as the tank slowly brought its turret to bear once more. When next he spoke, Brody's voice was loud and clear.
"Ready! Take aim! Set! FIRE!"
With a puff of stinging smoke, the sinister machine sent another messenger of death screaming on its way…
At the same time…
Tucker groggily righted himself as the Fenton Jet's alarms blared shrilly in his ears. "What was that?"
"Not what," Danny said grimly. "Who."
Jazz consulted the computer read out. "They've taken out our starboard engine! If I can just get this thing airborne-"
Any further speech was cut off when a second, remorseless piece of metal peeled black the jet's titanium armor as easily as a can of tuna fish. The four teens were tossed about like beans in a jar, and the acrid stench of fumes made Danny's eyes sting.
Tucker, being well-versed in electronics, was seized with panic as flames began to lick hungrily from beneath the jet's metal floor.
"Oh, crap…EVERYBODY OUT!"
Sam kicked at pneumatically sealed door. "It's locked!"
"Move," Danny murmured, pushing her gently aside as he tried to maintain his focus. The thought of a fiery demise, after all, did little to help one's concentration. The renewed vigor in his body made the ectoplasm in Danny's blood sing a joyous song as he gathered his power about him like a great enveloping cloak.
The instant in which Danny let a blinding burst of ghostly energy explode from his palms was a unit of time to miniscule to measure. The offending door, now heavily dented and battered, sailed skyward as all four of the jet's occupants threw themselves upon the moist, dewy grass.
It was by a hair's breadth that Danny and his companions avoided the scythe of Death that day. No sooner had they exited the plane than it practically disintegrated with the force of the explosion, and the ultra-refined gasoline in the Fenton Jet's engines made the air painful to breathe with its pungent stench. Unlike the explosion in Texas, this work of pyrotechnics gave off more of a sharp crack rather than a thunderous boom. It almost sounded as if someone had fired an oversized rifle somewhere in the vicinity. The jet's mangled and torn remnants were scattered in all directions, not unlike bolts of hellfire with tails of ash and smoke that spawned from the womb of a blazing, roiling fireball that for a brief instant outshone the noonday sun. Danny winced as a jagged piece of searing-hot metal landed only inches away from his exposed face.
Brody scowled at the tanker. "Idiot! I said disable them, not blow them to kingdom come!" Pressing a button on his radio, he asked, "Is everything ready on your end, O'Malley?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then take them down."
O'Malley glanced at the grim-faced Spetsnaz operative on his right, and then to the Mossad agent on his left. "Go," he said simply.
Like a scene from a futuristic "Lord of the Rings," the assembled task force moved in for the kill among rank upon rank of hard, Plexiglass shields…
Sam was the first to notice the dire state of her friend's predicament. "Danny, get out of here."
"What? No! I can't just-"
"Do it!" Jazz said harshly. "There's still time for you to escape! We'll be fine!"
"Yeah, man," Tucker agreed, glancing despairingly at the overwhelming odds. "It's over for us."
"But…" Danny felt despair seize him. How could he be parted from his friends so soon after their reunion?
"GO!" Sam shouted.
Resignation and bone-deep sadness made Danny's heart sink. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he faded out of the visible spectrum.
Sam felt her eyes begin to water. "Don't be, Danny," she murmured.
O'Malley lunged for his walkie-talkie. "Brody! Fenton's escaped!"
"DAMMIT!" Brody pounded his fist on the tank's metal surface. "Secure the prisoners and fan out! He can't have gone far!"
"Too late," Tucker called to him jeeringly. "Danny's long gone by now."
"You should save your witticisms for the judge, kid," Brody growled. "because by aiding and abetting a known criminal, you've bought yourselves a world of trouble…"
A/N: WHEW! That was along chapter! Poor Danny! He just can't catch a break, can he? Will he ever clear his name? What vile plot has Vlad set in motion? And will the world ever trust our hero again? Find out in coming chapters. And PLEASE REVIEW! I want to hear what you have to say!
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque