Chapter 3

Lawson didn't like to make a habit out of being late. In fact, he much preferred being on time and prepared. However, it just so happened that every single time he tried to be on time, somehow, he was swept up in a situation where lateness would tag along like a haunt.

On this particular occasion, he blamed it on the timetabling faculty's lack of consideration in assigning rooms. Especially giving him a class on the other side of the goddam building! Evil witches.

Realistically, he should have expected it –left early or something – he'd been assigned Lancers room enough that it should be normal by now, but he had held out some comical hope that whoever was messing with his timetable might understand how hard it was to get to the rooms on that side. But, he had no say in it, instead he could only despise the trek to Lancers classroom, and ergo – considering it was right next to it – Mr. Fenton's.

"What do you think he'll be like?" Sloane said absently, fiddling with the strap of her blue backpack, which ironically, matched the shade of her lips.

"I don't know, but I can only picture Jack Fenton. Broad, tall, bubbly, sociable…" Link yawned, covering his mouth, his next words muffled. "Although, if Amelia thought he was hot…it could be anyone's guess really."

Lawson nodded to himself, Jack Fenton, renowned engineer and ghost enthusiast swirling into frame. If their teacher was anything like the brilliant minded, but simple man…it would be an interesting year. Not that it would be a bad thing.

Then again, he could be like Madeline Fenton. Despite her intelligence ranging higher than her husband, she didn't claim the limelight all that often. Her slim figure often hidden behind Jack's gigantic form. A quiet achiever he guessed.

It was strange though. He'd never heard of the Fenton's having kids.

"I don't care what he's like, just as long as he doesn't give us detention for being late." He grumbled, shifting his black backpack into a more comfortable position. With the amount of textbooks, he was carrying today, it was a wonder he hadn't thrown his back out yet.

The warning bell had gone off exactly four minutes ago, so arriving into class at this time was practically a death sentence, with Lancer as your teacher at least. He didn't have much to go on with Mr Fenton, but he was hoping the guy was nice enough to let it slide for the first day.

Sloane scoffed. "Told you we should have left early."

"Not everyone gets what they want." Lincoln fired back, a singular eye sliding to glare at her while his glass one stayed looking eerily ahead.

"You wanna go?"

"Do you?"

Lawson pinched the bridge of his nose trying to quell the headache scratching at his skull. "No blood please." Blood made him queasy.

In sync they both turned to him, the exact same sentence spoken by both simultaneously. "Where's the fun in that?"

He could only stare at them as they both realised what had happened.

There's going to be an assault charge somewhere here.

"STOP COPYING ME"

He wanted to bash his head against a wall. Smack it until his brain rattled.

"Shut up." He hissed at pair, his hand brushing the door of room 201. Home of their new science class.

"Yeah, shut up Sloane."

"Testicles are sensitive, aren't they Link? I'm not really sure. Let's demonstrate." He didn't hear the rest of their conversation, because he pushed the door open to enter a bustling classroom.

The noise level was his first indication of a missing teacher, the second was the students milling around the desks and lingering by the windows in their own little cliques, not a single piece of paper in hand.

He liked Mr. Fenton already.

Sloane and Link halted by his side.

"Well then. Can't say I'm displeased." His one-eyed friend commented, surveying the room with a grin. "After you milady." Link said, stepping aside and motioning for Sloane to enter first. She glared at him, but nonetheless trekked ahead, filing into the room first. Lincoln following just after with a stupid grin.

Lawson sighed at his irritating friends and went to follow.

"Well, hello there, equally late student." He froze mid-step, a chill washing over him.

Cool air crawled down his spine, under his shirt, sneaking over his sensitive skin and sending the hair on his arms and legs vertical. He willed his legs to move, forwards, backwards, anywhere, but they were stuck fast to the ground, as if glued down by tar. What was going on?

The world was too close, like he was viewing everything inside out. His vision tunnelled and his ears were filled with liquid, sound muffled and inaudible as it drifted past in a gibberish garble. He couldn't feel his hands. They were there. He could see that. But, were they? Didn't feel like it.

He felt gagged, something was covering his mouth, smothering it like a big hand, or a piece of cloth. He wanted to scream, yell, cry out, anything that would make the moment feel real, only his throat wouldn't work.

What the fuck was happening to him? Was it the lunch?

"aRE YOu OKAY?"

Everything snapped back in a rush like a ceramic plate smashing on tiles, sending him back into tangible reality. Sound spilled into his ear canals, booming into his skull like a thousand speakers had connected. The world cleared like someone had wiped a dirt covered mirror with cleaner and feeling seeped back into his numb body.

He jumped, and spun on a dime, launching himself a few steps backward, an apology already spilling from his lips and his eyes downcast. "Sorry, I didn't-

"Woah there. I should be the one apologising. I spooked you." The voice was light, airy – almost like it wasn't quite there. "Why don't you sit down?"

Lawsons face heated hearing the snickers, and he dashed to his desk, keeping his face down in an effort to hide his read. He sort of wished the world would just swallow him up.

Lincoln nudged him with his elbow and he looked at his friend who sat at the desk beside him. "What was that?"

"Just a shiver." Lawson shrugged. He twisted his head slightly, only to capture Sloane looking at him in confusion as well from his other side. It was then that he realised he was sitting between the pair.

They'd always done that, placed Lawson in the middle as the buffer. The last time they'd sat together, Lincoln pulled Sloane's hair so hard she fell out of her chair and she'd given him a broken cheek bone in return.

Oddly, they were still friends.

Link frowned, but didn't question it. "Better not do that from now on. Sir will think something's wrong with you."

"Sir?"

"Yeah, that's the new teacher you were talking to. At least, I think it is."

Lawson felt his eyes bug at the revelation, and Link blinked at him in disgusted confusion. "Ew, don't do that."

"Amelia was right." Sloane droned absently from his other side and they both turned to her. Her gaze slid in their direction and she raised a well sculpted brow, blue lips tilting downwards slightly. "What?"

"Well it's just that…"

Lawson didn't hear the rest of what Lincoln was saying. Instead he was focused on their new teacher, because holy shit he'd never seen anyone like the guy.

Mr Fenton slunk languidly into the room and the noise quietened into a silent, but wary curiosity. His lean figure bent under the doorway, inky hair just shy of brushing the top of the frame. No wonder Colin had liked this guy, they were both rather tall and lanky. Colin might have even been the same height. Lawson inwardly chuckled at that, he never thought he'd see the day.

Mr Fenton didn't dress like a science teacher. His blue jeans were pale and worn, bunching slightly where they met his black converse and his red crewneck hung lazily on his top half, faded white scripture sprawling across the front. He could just make out the letters N and A. What it was supposed to say, he couldn't tell.

The teacher stopped at the desk at the front of the room and gave a single questioning once over to the comfy leather chair before unceremoniously dumping his briefcase on it – silver watch glinting from the movement – and making himself comfortable instead, on top the mahogany desk itself.

He crossed his long, lanky legs, perfectly imitating a pre-schooler, and wiggled for a few moments, trying to get into a comfortable spot or testing how much weight the desk could hold.

It was then that the elusive Fenton looked up at them. Lawson could almost feel Lincolns intake of breathe like it was his own. The temperature of the classroom plummeted like it had just before, and a sudden anxiety bloomed at the centre of his chest.

Mr Fenton's gaze was paralysing, his eyes were so incredibly terrifying that they were almost beautiful. It was a natural sublimity, an inhumane shine, like staring into a frozen lake the moment before the ice collapses beneath you, dragging your defenceless body into its depths.

They stripped away his shields, like peeling off flaying skin until there was just bone left, just him and nothing else – it was the most vulnerable he had ever felt, like Mr Fenton was staring through him and at him at the exact same time. But, as he looked past that frozen layer, past the glacial blue, there was nothing. It was empty, like looking into Lincolns glass eye and watching it look sightlessly back. A dead gaze.

He felt sick.

Mr Fenton blinked, "Hey"

The room was dead silent and not a muscle moved.

He searched their faces, like a mother trying to find the lie in her children's facial features. He did this for a few moments, letting the awkward silence plague the room, then he sighed and reached a long-fingered hand up to scratch the back of his neck. "Yikes, what's the matter with you lot? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Silence.

"Wow, tough crowd." He muttered flatly, more so to himself than the class, Lawson suspected.

"I thought it was funny Sir." Echoed a small female voice from the back corner, Lawson titled his head to catch Nancy Michaels' wide eye's staring right back at him, and she quirked a nervous smile. He returned it with one of his own.

So, it wasn't just him. There was something off about Mr Fenton.

The teacher sighed, again. "At least someone did. Thank you for your honesty person at the back who's name I have yet to ask." He propped his elbow up on his leg, and rested his chin against his hand while he scanned them over, blue eyes bored.

"Well seeing as none of you are going to make the first move, it seems I'll have to." He chuckled and sat up a little straighter. "I'm Mr. Fenton, if you haven't already heard, or Mr. F if it's easier, pick one, or don't. I don't really care. Welcome to this year's science class, I'm your new teacher."

Lawson titled his head. Strange introduction.

"Before we start anything, I need to address… a thing, real quick." His eyes twinkled like light catching on an icicle and he gestured to the room around him with a small mischievous grin. "I have two rules in this room – the holy grail of all rules – break the school ones at your leisure, but never these two, yeah?" He questioned, watching for the room's response – a few small nods from Lawson's fellow stunned-into-silence classmates.

"Cool, Okay. First – you need be as creative as possible in the time you spend in here." Lawson actually gaped, just a little bit. He was expecting the typical 'show respect to each other', 'don't talk over the top of people', 'hand in your homework on time' etc. Typical Lancer stuff. But this… "Sure, science is about proving theories and discovery, but to do that you've got to find things to prove. So, pick something interesting or leave."

The room was buzzing just a little at the announcement, he could feel it.

Mr. Fenton was grinning now, maybe it was a little too wide, with a few too many teeth, but he was smiling. "Second." He held two fingers, and made a quick show of flaunting the piece sign. "If you're going to cause an explosion, let the class know early. That way, I can make sure all the safety measures are in place, so I don't, ya'know… get sued or anything" He chuckled, like that was something he dealt with often, "and so I have time to get the message to Mr. Millers class across the hall so they can watch."

A rumble of laughter bounced through the room, and Lawsons lips twitched into a grin. He exchanged an excited glance with Lincoln and Sloane.

"That being said, if it's a crap explosion, I'll give you detention for wasting my time." Fenton continued, with an evil little smirk. "So that's it. Questions?"

With the awkwardness now mostly dispersed, a few tentative hands raised. Fenton waved at one of them, and Beth Graham, a red head with possibly the best pair of boobs on the entire planet, spoke. "What if the explosions an accident?"

Unlike most, Mr. Fenton's gaze did not stray to look at her chest and if that wasn't an indication that this guy was decent he didn't know what was. "I don't have an issue with an accidental explosion, they happen and that's your problem." He put a hand to his chin, thinking. "But you do still need to be punished somewhat." He mumbled contemplatively before springing up with an idea. "I'll tell you what. I'll rate it out of ten. Anything below seven means you're cleaning it up, anything above and I'll clean it up as a thank you for making my day more interesting. That answer your question?'"

"U-uh. Yeah." Beth replied, brows drawn in confusion, and a tentative smile on her face. "Thanks."

"Cool. Anything else?"

Henry Banks, self-appointed king of the football team, but in reality, the team's best bench warmer, put up a hand, swinging back in his chair. "Um, no offence Mr. F, but are you even a real teacher?"

"Real enough to tell you not to swing on your chair unless you want to crack your head open. Been there, done that." The science teacher said nonchalantly and Henry's chair legs hit the floor with a decisive bang. "But to answer your question, probationally yes, realistically no. I'm actually an engineer."

"Oh. Why are you here then?" The footy player asked bluntly, like he could pry into the man's business as if it was his own. Nosy Prick.

Mr. Fenton tapped his chin with a bony finger and Lawson noticed the bruising and scarring on the man's knuckles. "Seemed like fun at the time."

Surprisingly, Sloane raised a hand. "It's not anymore?"

"Well not yet. You guys could always change that though." Fenton said, tone suggestive.

"What–"

"Figure it out yourselves, I've got a class to run." He interrupted, before reaching into his desk draw, whilst still sitting on said desk, and pulled out a stack of papers. After having successfully done so, he vaulted off the piece of furniture and walked the isles, handing the pages out swiftly to each student.

"This is your syllabus. Sorry to ruin your day but it is pretty important." He stalked back to the front of the room, and held one up, pointing to various blocks of writing. "As you can see it's got four different areas that we'll be working through; Chemistry, Biology, Physics and then there's an option below for us to do either Investigative Science or Astronomy as an extra. We'll pick that as a class, it better be Astronomy, if not…well, it is your choice I suppose."

"You mean astronomy like–" Nancy started.

"Stars, the universe, planets, all that fun stuff. You'll like it as much as I do by the end, I can promise you that." Mr. Fenton said, tugging at a loose stitch on the front of this jacket.

Heads turned and Lawson caught himself making eye contact with the rest of his classmates in a silent agreement. Astronomy would be way better than investigative science. Were they bias because their teacher had just causally convinced them? Most likely.

"Anyway, from now I'm going to give you say… ten minutes, to read over that, highlight what areas you think are important and ask me any questions on it. And before you ask, yes, this is something that you normally do at home, but I despise homework. Don't expect any from me for the remainder of the year."

Lawson's eyes nearly fell out of his head, and the room erupted with whispers and enthused chatter. He turned to Link. "He's not serious."

"I think he might be" His friend said, a massive grin on his face. "No homework dude! It's a dream come true!"

Even Sloane was smiling. "You boys thinking what I'm thinking?"

Yes. Yes, they were. Phantom hunting would be taking on a whole new definition now.

"Oh yeah." Lawson beamed.

Mr. Fenton checked his watch, then quickly snapped his fingers once to silence the class. Lawson was almost in disbelief when it worked. Falluca had never been able to quiet a class that quickly, even Lancer had trouble. Talk about respect.

"Yes, I know. Super exciting and all that." He said flatly, but humor swirled in his eyes. "But, there's a catch." A few groans rang out, and even Lawson felt his heart drop.

"Oh hush. All I ask is some reciprocation. We're going to be a team this year, and we've got two other classes to beat in regards to grades." His eyes narrowed, darkening with competitive drive. "And I am not losing to Miller, so you lot better cooperate."

"This year, we are only as strong as our weakest grade. What I want you all to do is work together, share your notes, tutor each other, pick up those who are falling down and come out on top. That doable?" Mr. Fenton asked, a challenging gleam in his eyes.

Lawson didn't know how the guy did it, but somehow, through just a few simple words, he'd managed to motivate an entire class. A class that had never wanted to work together, never wanted good grades and above all, never tried. Students stopped fiddling with things, cut out the day dreaming and actually started paying attention to the last class of the day like it was the last piece of information they'd get before the apocalypse.

Fenton had provided a challenge. This was the return.

Henry sat up straight in his chair. "Of course, we can. We're not stupid."

Mr. Fenton quirked a brow. "Is that so? I see you had a few struggles last term Mr. Banks, a C minus average. That couldn't have helped with your football career. How are you going to fix that huh?"

Henry sunk in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and Lawson imagined he was thinking about being benched this year. "I dunno." He muttered unhappily.

That was when a miracle happened. Nancy reached across the front of her desk, which was just behind Henry's, to tap his shoulder softly. He turned slightly. "You can come and study in the library with me at lunch, I'll give you a hand if you want." She offered kindly.

Despite being the arrogant jock he was, Lawson saw the hope glimmer in Henry's brown eyes, and as he opened his mouth the entire class seemed to hold their breath. "Really?"

Nancy blushed bright pink at the attention, and nodded quickly. "Sure."

"That would be great. Thanks." Henry smiled, and it was so genuine that Lawson couldn't help but join him. Then he turned back to see the entire class watching him and scowled. "What are you looking at?"

Mr. Fenton cut in then. "By the looks of things… I think you guys have a good chance this year" He smirked and leaned back against the desk lazily, checking his watch. "So, we've got about twenty minutes left after you guys looks over that syllabus, and I'm going to give you a choice on what we do. I can stand up here in front of you all and run an entire lesson, you'll take notes, participate and learn as much as I can teach you in that time, then come tomorrow we'll do a quiz on it."

There was a massive, collective groan from the room, Lawson added to it.

Mr. Fenton chuckled, but held up a silencing finger. "Or…We can have a chill lesson, get to know each another for a bit, and then at the end I'll show you how to hold fire. Thoughts?"

There was a loud cheer, and Mr. Fenton nodded. "Gotcha. Fire it is then."

Lawson laughed, and Lincoln elbowed him, speaking over the excited noise. "Colin was right. This is going to be my favorite class."

It certainly would be. He thought excitedly, deciding to ignore that nagging, negative thought in the back of his brain.

oOo

Danny was exhausted. Right down to his very bones. However, that was offset by the massive happy smile that was strung over his face as he walked home from Casper High.

It had been a good first day. Maybe the best first day he'd ever had.

He'd enjoyed teaching. Not that he'd really done much actual work with his classes, but giving a good first impression and a motivating introduction was just as important.

He had worked on the approach as the day progressed, trying a different tactic with each class. Some has been more responsive than others. The rules and the homework deal he'd offered to his last class was an idea from Sam that they'd come up with together on a call during his lunch break. She was a reliable source for that kind of stuff, after all, she'd managed to motivate enough people to start a protest against all thing's 'meat' in just a single night.

But right now, he was proud, beyond proud, of how well his junior class responded to it. That football guy, Henry or whatever his name was, he was almost positive that he was going to be a problem. After all, the deal was a bit of a gamble. But that girl offering to spend her time with him in the library…that had made his entire day. A little miracle.

He was going to like that Junior class, a lot.

Although, he did feel sorry for spooking that kid in the doorway at the start. The blonde one, with the crooked nose. Some people were just a little more sensitive to his presence than others. Ooops.

He could see his house now and a wave of excitement hit him all at once, banishing the exhaustion. Tonight, was date night and he couldn't wait to show Sam the restaurant he'd picked out.

It was an 'eat in the dark' experience, an idea that he'd had up his sleeve for a couple of months now. Essentially, guests dined in a five-star restaurant, enjoying some of the towns more delicious meals and fine wine, in the dark. Sam was going to freak the hell out when they arrived, it was right up her alley.

In his excited daze, he didn't pay attention to the early warning signs of an ecto-signature nearby until he was making his way up to the front door steps and the cold was already worming up his throat and misting into reality in front of him. Ghost sense, a sensation so familiar, yet so concerning.

He didn't waste a moment; his hand found the doorknob and he flung the door open, using nearly enough force to throw the thick slab of wood completely off its hinges.

He stalked inside, body casting a long shadow down the hallway, where a shaking form was lumped on the floor boards. His fingers prickled and smoked, an ecto-blast teasing the tips of his digits, ready to be formed and flung.

He would regret it later; his human body didn't cope well with the ghostly energy being released in such a way. Those fingers would sting tomorrow.

He put it out of his mind, and approached the figure, mind sharp and body tingling with the urge to feel those rings slide over his middle. He felt electric, his hair might have even been standing on end.

"s-SORRY B-BOS-s" Came an echoic, inhuman voice. It bounced off the walls, like a hundred people were speaking at once, each yelling, screaming, mumbling from the depths of the underworld itself. He knew that voice – heard it nearly every day.

He stepped out of the lights path, and it illuminated the shaking figure.

His duplicate was a mess.

The familiar jumpsuit, black and white, was scorched to death. Parts that were completely burnt off revealed skin singed in beautiful but painful lightning like patterns – the telltale mark of ectoplasm burns. The small utility belt was missing, which meant the thermos he normally kept there was long gone as well.

He had never seen a duplicate so damaged. That unearthly ghostly glow was so horrifically weak, it looked a second from fading completely. He was struggling to stay visible, flicking in and out of view every few seconds like a faulty light globe.

There was a pool of ectoplasm at his side, where he was clasping an ungloved hand to a deep cut that just wasn't closing, despite the healing powers. His face was splattered with the stuff, probably from the clearly broken nose, which was bent sickeningly to the left.

The duplicate coughed, body flickering. "s-SORRY. nOT EN-nOUgH JUICE."

Danny was trembling, his fingers clasped tightly at his side as rage burned hot in his chest, conflicting with the frigid temperature of his core as evident by the thin sheet of ice forming at his feet. "Who" he bit out, barely keeping his transformation at bay, but he could see the hue of his green eyes glowing onto the floorboards.

"sK-SKULkeR"

With a sharp nod, Danny knelt by the duplicates side, resting a hand on his head gently, soothingly. "I'm so sorry. Your work is done. Rest"

The clone nodded, before wordlessly merging into Danny's body, the only sign it had ever been was the ectoplasm residue on the floorboards. Unfortunately, he'd have to clean it up later.

He turned to face the door, feeling the cool rings rush out from his middle, unable to contain the change any longer. He was just about to fall through the floor before he noticed the figure standing in the doorway.

Sam's violet gaze showered him with worry, before it flicked to the ectoplasm on the floor. How long had she been standing there?

"I saw. You need to–"

He was in front of her in seconds, frigid hands straining not to cup her face in comfort as he wondered absently at her being a mind reader, "I know. It's okay. It shouldn't be long, promise."

She reached for his gloved hands and gave them a squeeze despite the temperature. "Be careful out there. Don't give Skulker too hard of a time."

He chuckled, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I have to go, If I don't make it back in time…I'm so sorry." He apologized and Sam patted his back, before he slipped beneath the floor and out onto the street.

Skulker was going to get what was coming to him and Danny was not in the mood.

No one, dead or alive, messed with his duplicates like that.

oOo

Skulker was having a wonderful evening, in fact, it may have been the best he'd had for a while. It wasn't often that he was able to relish in beating the Whelp to an absolute pulp.

His new ectoblasts packed a serious punch, exactly as he'd needed, curtesy of the new blasters he'd added to his suit that just about doubled the energy output of his own power – they'd been a bitch to build, but it was worth it. Against Phantom? It was his most effective weapon yet.

However, despite his success, the lanky ghost had disappeared. Run like a coward the second there was an opening and hightailed it out of there. Not very noble. What type of hero abandoned the enemy and left his town to crumble?

Skulker didn't understand the hero complex very well. But he did know Phantom well enough to recognize that he had one the size of a planet. The younger ghost would look awfully defeated as a pelt on his wall.

Shame that wasn't why he was here today. He sulked slightly as he thought about returning home empty handed, but without Phantom there really was no point. A progress report would have to do.

"Hey Tin Can!" He barely registered the arrogant voice before a single punch caved in the side of his metal head, the alloy bending horrifically under such force.

"Argh!" With a furious yell he spiraled, vision spinning and suit unresponsive for a few moments until he could right himself and reboot it. "What the–Phantom!" He yelled, gaze zeroing in on the floating figure above. Confusion quashed over his face as he took in the ghosts-boys' appearance, there wasn't a speck of ectoplasm, no burns, nothing. How had he healed so soon?

"Yes!" Phantom pumped a victorious fist in the air, "Headshot! How's the can buddy? Bit sore?" he jeered, but there was no humor in his tone.

"I'll make you pay for that Welp!" he roared, ectoplasm flooding the rocket boosters at the suits heels and launching him upwards towards the young ghost, an ectoblast already firing from his left palm.

Phantom grinned, but it was too wide and his eyes were too dark for it to be anything but sinister. "Well it's a damn shame I don't have any cash on me." He waved a hand at the ectoblast, swatting it out of the way with a half-formed shield, as if it was merely a pesky fly. "But we can compromise."

Skulkers mouth went dry, and he nearly halted completely as the twerp brushed off his new ectoblast. What was going on? They had hit perfectly before. Heck, they'd even downed the whelp in a shot or two. What had changed?

He dove to the right, two more shooting out in sync.

Phantom didn't flinch and bent his body sideways, effortlessly avoiding them while still blabbering on. "I believe you actually owe me."

Skulker quirked a brow, "I don't owe you anything pathetic ghost-child" He snarked, flicking imaginary dust off his chest in an effort to look nonchalant.

"Oh?" Phantom questioned, now floating upside-down causally, fierce neon eyes flickering over to behold him. "So, it wasn't you who tortured my duplicate then? You weren't the one that shot another ghost, my duplicate, at point blank with an ectoblast? I'm sorry about that, must have gotten the wrong person. Please forgive my idiocy." He snarled, bearing a few teeth that were just a little too pointed for the average human, and too short for a demonic ghost.

Skulker felt like he'd been punched in the gut, a feeling that forced all the air from his lungs and nearly made him stutter over his question. "A duplicate?"

"Mm…Yes. My duplicate." Phantom flipped over, walking on air towards him. "But Imagine if it wasn't. You could be sent right to the Black Lands for a stunt like that, right? You never know, I could've very well faded, after all, I'm not a full ghost. The same qualities don't always apply to my being."

His chest pinched but Skulker brushed it off. He had a job to do. "I have no interest in your knowledge of ghostly law. I only care for your pelt"

The younger ghost tilted his head curiously. "Sounds like a you problem."

"I will–"

"Um no. You won't." Phantom interrupted, holding up a finger. "You tortured and nearly faded one of my clones, under the assumption that it was me. That's not something I take lightly. However, if you can show me that you understand how wrong that was, I'll let you leave right here and now, no questions asked."

Skulker rolled his mechanical shoulders, scowl deepening. He would not succumb to the point of mercy. "I will destroy you, whelp." He prepared for another ectoblast.

Phantom sighed, reached into his utility belt and brought out a familiar cylindrical object. "I see. Then I suppose you'll have to learn your lesson from inside the thermos."

He wasn't quite agile enough to avoid the duplicate that came crashing down on top of his shoulders before it snapped open his compartment, leaving his smaller ghostly form vulnerable to the magnificent white of the ghost catcher.

Next time. Next time, for sure.

A/N

Well. Chapter 3, what do you know.

I hope you like Danny's teaching style. I'd never really pictured him as a super responsible or strict teacher, he's too lazy and empathetic to keep up that charade. I do however, see him as someone to challenge his students, especially with that damn hero complex of his. Although will the class continue to cooperate? Or will Danny have his own challenge on his hands? We'll find out.

As for Skulker, what's up with that dude? Ruining date night. Low blow. A little more suspicious than normal though, or maybe that's just me…

Lots more to come. I've got big plans for this.

Skirter