2019

Mr. Lancer isn't who he says, and has to help dump a body.

Enjoy.

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Glancing up at the clock hanging above the doorframe, Ron P. Lancer took note of his time and closed the desk drawer he had been rifling through, quickly locking it with the turn of a key. Soon students would be filing into his classroom, for the first bell would soon ring, initiating the start of the school day and his first-period English class.

Swiveling around in his chair, he faced his blackboard, stood up, and began erasing the 6th-period teacher's astronomy notes from the day before. The old buzzard never cared to clear the board, so Lancer became accustomed to erasing it each morning. He hated sharing a classroom with another teacher, but due to his circumstances, he had no choice.

Mindlessly swiping chalk from the board, Ron struggled to think straight. He had been up the last few nights, tirelessly working on grading piss-poor essays, among other more pressing matters. It all started to eat at him. Sporting dark, deep-set eye-bags and a few patches of stubble fashioning his face, Lancer did not want to deal with a class of rowdy sixteen-year-olds.

As Ron finished slowly cleaning off his board, the first bell rang and a stream of students poured out from the hallways and into his classroom. Lancer knew he had at least five minutes until the last bell rang, so he took those five minutes to straighten out the stacks of papers on his desk, and, more importantly, find the packets that he had put together for his first-period class. After picking up several stacks of folders and books, he finally found the ones he was looking for.

Opting to sit back down, Lancer reached out to grab his mug of tea that sat on top of a coaster on his desk, but because the world was against him, it slipped out of his fingers and spilled all over his favorite blue button-up. The last bell rang signaling the start of class, but Ron Lancer was not ready to begin.

Still slumped in his swivel chair, Lancer ran a hand across his rough face, rubbing his tired eyes before addressing his students. "Alright, class—"

Lancer was cut off by the sounds of fast footsteps barging into the classroom; heavy breathing and a meek 'sorry' accompanied them. Shaking his head with a heavy sigh, Ron Lancer did not have time to deal with Daniel Fenton being late once again.

"As I was saying, class, I have put together five different packets for each of you. Each contains a different short story and a list of questions you all need to address. But this will be done in groups of four, you will know which group you're in when you get your packet." Lancer motioned to one of his prize pupils, Mikey Mikalester, to grab the stack of work and hand it out to each student.

Once he saw that each of his students had a packet and moved into their groups, Lancer excused himself to the restroom to hopefully clean out some of the tea stains left on his shirt.

Frustrated, Ron grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and walked over to the sinks. After wetting his paper towel stack, he lazily dabbed at the blotchy patch of black tea.

Maybe I'm not cut out for this job, Ron Lancer thought to himself in the empty bathroom. Going undercover at a high school seemed like a good idea at the time, he had been a teacher before being in the force, but now he regretted it and remembered why he quit. There was so much paperwork: from his firm and the students.

Lancer looked at himself in the mirror as he continued to dab the damp towel on his shirt; he took note of the new wrinkles that had started to take root on his forehead. With a sigh, he hung his head and supported his upper body with his hands atop the counter. He needed to go to the lieutenant and request a job transfer, or at least a vacation.

Before leaving the restroom to return to his classroom, Lancer splashed a good load of cold water onto his face, deeming it necessary if he were to brighten up.

Finding it pleasantly quiet as he walked in, he observed his students from his desk, making sure they were on task. His gaze lingered, however, on Daniel: the most problematic of the group. Consistently late, falling asleep in class, showing signs of moodiness, and socially withdrawing, he was the perfect candidate for an avid drug user, which is exactly what Detective Ron P. Lancer was assigned to look for.

After coming onto the school's staff late last year as an undercover cop for the local precinct, it had been Lancer's duty to scout for the delinquents—drug users or those affiliated with any local gang—and report back to his superiors. Rumors floated in and out that mentioned a giant drug ring inside Casper High's hallways, others said there were a lot of students taking part in the town's gangs. It was Lancer's job, though, to find out what and who.

Bringing Ron out of his thoughts, the bell rang through the room, ending the class period. Quickly thinking, Lancer called out to Daniel to stay behind and chat. Det. Lancer was determined to have a heart-to-heart with his student/prime suspect.

"Mr. Lancer, you wanted to see me?" Daniel Fenton stood a few feet away from the acting teacher, but it was close enough for Ron Lancer to get a good look at the kid. His hair was a completely unwashed mess, his eyes were bloodshot, possibly due to drugs, and his clothes sat rumpled on an all-too-lean frame.

"Yes, Mr. Fenton. I am concerned for you: you're constantly coming to class late and disheveled—Is everything alright at home?"

Lancer could see his student stumble for a moment, his eyes wide, "uh, n-no, I mean yes! Everything's fine—I'm fine. I just overslept is all."

"Overslept? For the fifth Monday in a row? That's not counting all the other days in between."

"I, uhm, broke my alarm clock a while back, so—" Lancer could see his student trying to make an excuse, "I-I have to get to class."

"Dismissed for now Mr. Fenton. But don't think for a second that I will drop this." Lancer said to him as he started to rush out the door.

Plopping back down into his chair, Ron sighed heavily. It wasn't his fault he was stationed at the school for undercover work, though it didn't help he had failed his psych evaluation after a stressful, mentally damning mission a few years back. Of the several months, he had been undercover, Ron had found maybe three or four potheads toking it up behind the school's bleachers, and there was evidence of gang affiliation among several students, but Lancer didn't have the required information to bring those specific students to the station—nor did he have their parental consent.

Lancer didn't have time to think about it more as the following class' bell loudly rang and his next set of students swarmed in. Lunch, he thought to himself, lunch will prove a good time to think about these things.

Standing up from his chair, ready to address the class, a beam of red-hot energy suddenly shot through the outside wall of Lancer's classroom. Hastily ducking behind his desk, Lancer shouted for the rest of his class to get down and slowly evacuate. That was another problem with the school: the frequent ghost attacks. Ron may have been a little put off when the sergeant requested he not look into the ghost attacks, even though so many occurred around the school's campus.

Disregarding those thoughts, Lancer, still crouching down, looked around the room to make sure all of his students escaped safely. The last few were just heading out of the door when the town's hero was thrown through the outside wall and into the classroom. Detective Ron Lancer hated the idea of an unnamed vigilante running around the town, thinking he was above the law, but at the same time, he was glad he never needed to deal with the ghosts himself.

Looking at the crumpled beat-up form from his perch, Lancer felt sorry for the kid. Hell, the ghost was a kid! I have to do something, Ron pondered. He knew his students were fine: the school held ghost drills every few weeks due to the constant activity.

Lancer saw the supposed ghost-villain flying a few feet away, still outside, its cape billowing in the wind. From Lancer's point of view, it looked as if the ghost-kid could barely stand up as he struggled to move from the spot he was thrown into.

"Hey," Lancer called out quietly, still crouching by his desk, "are you okay?"

The hero looked around for a moment before finding Ron and locking in with wide eyes. The teen looked back at the villain before addressing Ron."What are you doing? You need to leave!" He whisper-shouted to not bring attention to the teacher.

Lancer thought for a moment. The look the teen gave him tugged at his heart; he couldn't leave a child to do a man's job, not when it was his duty to protect the people of his town—even if the kid was a ghost.

Quickly, Ron Lancer moved behind his desk, unlocking one of the drawers to retrieve a few of his police-sanctioned weapons. Lucky for him, the Amity Park Police Department issued each officer with ghost weaponry should the need arise, and today was a day Ron needed it.

Grasping his handgun, fed with ecto-bullets, Lancer prepared himself for what he was about to do. "You—" he pointed to the hero standing on wobbly legs. "Get the hell out of here—that's an order." Lancer swiftly pulled out his gold detective's badge. He saw the teen's eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of the ID.

The kid, with disbelief still in his eyes, shook his head at the officer. With a serious face, Detective Lancer quickly thought of a plan that would include the both of them, but he needed to act fast. Then, with haste, Lancer moved from around his desk and to the side of the wall where the ghost perp wouldn't be able to see him. Danny Phantom, however, still held scared wide eyes that pleaded for Lancer to leave. Ron put a finger to his lips to quiet the boy so he could proceed with his plan.

From the other side of the wall, Lancer could hear the other ghost start to monologue, "well young Daniel, it seems even after saving the world, you're still no match for me."

"Oh, yeah?" Phantom began to retort. Lancer saw the kid glance at his form ever so slightly, but it made him worry that the teen would blow his position. "Well, at least I have others to back me up."

Taking that as a signal, Lancer jumped from around the corner and quickly fired a few rounds square in the chest of the floating ghost, causing it to fall to the ground outside rather ungracefully. Ron stood at the edge, watching the (more than normal) lifeless body of the ghost. Feeling a presence, the ghost boy stood beside Lancer, too staring at his fallen enemy.

"T-thank you, Mr. Lancer," he said with a gravelly voice.

"I took an oath when I graduated the police academy that I would do everything in my power to protect those around me: I was just doing my job," Lancer said as he looked back at Danny Phantom, who held the same tired expression as Mr. Fenton from the first period. Ron shook the ideas out of his head—that was something to think of at a different time.

"What are we supposed to do with him? He's obviously not dead, but" The boy asked suddenly, his eyes doe-like. "Oh no."

"What's "oh no"?" Suddenly starting to worry, Lancer asked.

Pham still had his gaze trained on the grass below, and the figure still stood motionless, but it looked different than before. "You see, this particular ghost, isn't a regular ghost—come on." The teen grabbed Ron by the hand and took him down to the grass where the villain sat knocked out. Except, instead of the ghost Plasmius, it was the town's Mayor: Vlad Masters.

"Vlad's only a half-ghost. And, even though you saved the day, it now looks like you shot the mayor."

"Here, let me call it in," Lancer suggested.

"No! No, don't do that. I'd rather the public not catch wind of this, nor do I want your public image to be ruined. I can handle it."

Ron stared at Phantom, pursing his lips in thought. He would probably regret it, but he'd feel bad if he didn't help him out. "Okay, come on kid. If you can turn yourself and Mr. Masters invisible, we can at least take him to my car for now. That way whatever secrets you all have can stay hidden."

Nodding his head, the teen obliged, turning himself and the unconscious villain invisible. Lancer began walking toward his car, hoping that the ghost was following. However, he was unsure what he was supposed to do after that—as a member of the police force, it was his duty to report any shooting even if it wasn't fatal, and against a ghost. But, Phantom seemed adamant that that shouldn't happen.

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, Lancer popped the trunk of his minivan—his wife wanted a sports car but they needed room for the kiddos. "You still there?" Ron whispered as he began unfolding the tarp he always kept in his trunk for emergencies.

"Yeah," a meek voice said behind him. Lancer turned with a raised eyebrow, and the ghost-teen dropped back into the visible spectrum. Gesturing to the now tarped back seat, Ron helped the kid lay the mayor inside of it.

Lancer closed the trunk and faced Phantom with crossed arms. "Since you don't want me to report this to the station, are you willing to help me cover this up?"

"Don't you have a class to get to? To teach?" He hesitantly voiced.

"My classroom is destroyed, I'm sure the school will understand if I am missing for an hour or two—unless you have a class to get to, Mr. Fenton."

The teen's eyes widened fearfully as Lancer cracked a smile. "I made detective for a reason, Daniel. I'll call the school and tell them something happened, but for now, we have a body to dump."

Lancer hopped into the driver's side of the minivan and was slightly startled to see a familiar blue-eyed black-haired student on the passenger's side. "I hope this explains why I'm late to class. I don't do drugs, I swear," he said hastily. With a sly smile, Lancer backed out of the parking lot and drove away.

Danny insisted that he take care of Vlad, so Ron let him. And, the kid must've done a good job keeping his name out of things because there were no lawsuits filed against him and no sudden news reports. Even when the mayor made an appearance at the school for an assembly, Lancer didn't get more than a glance.

Though, it was strange knowing that a villainous ghost was in charge of the city. But, Detective Lancer's job was to only deal with the underage drug problem. The big guys at the office could handle the ghost stuff.

———•E•N•D•———