Here comes chapter 8! This is sort of another "get a feel for Wes" chapter, establishing some of his more research-oriented tendencies. So kind of a lot is going on here. Enjoy!

"Stupid Fenton. Stupid Fenton and his stupid teacher act."

Wes stormed into his house, not worrying about how much noise he made. His dad wouldn't be home for several hours yet. He stomped across the house to his room, slamming the door and throwing himself backwards onto his bed. "Who does he think he is, turning me into a ghost and then not showing me how to do all the cool ghost stuff?"

He understood why Danny had put a stop to their training sessions. Really, he did. Wes already knew how to use the powers he had, to some extent. At the moment, there wasn't much more Danny could teach him. But surely that didn't mean they couldn't have kept practicing? His core was supposed to get stronger over time, right? That meant there would be a lot of room for improvement, and therefore a need to constantly work on his powers.

...Maybe that was it? Did Danny want him to practice more on his own before returning to proper training? The other Halfa likely hadn't had anyone to teach him, if his prior comment about a general lack of Halfas was anything to go by. Not to mention that Amity Park had a marked shortage of friendly ghosts. And yet, Danny had gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time. Maybe training alone had something to do with that? Maybe Danny wanted him to do his own learning, figure out what he could do by himself?

Wes sat up, a thoughtful frown on his face. He didn't know what kind of powers he had, outside of what ghosts were universally capable of. Frankly, there was a lot he didn't know about ghosts in general. But he had his fair share of theories. And now, he had the means to actually test them out.

And he already had an idea of where to start.

Wes climbed off of the bed, rummaging through the organized chaos on top of his desk. Eventually he found what he was looking for: a small handheld digital camera. He turned it on, checking the battery and memory card before nodding in satisfaction, turning the device towards himself.

"...My name is Wesley Weston, and the date is November 4th, 2005. I am recording this, not to show anyone, but to keep record of my findings. So if you're seeing this, I'm probably dead... Or maybe I've just been exposed. Both are equally plausible. Actually, that first part might be kinda true. Because one week ago today, I became half ghost. A Halfa.

"I can't tell you how, or why, because it isn't just my safety on the line. But I have actual, real life ghost powers now. So to all you nonbelievers who said ghosts couldn't possibly exist, I say ha!" With that, Wes transformed, fixing the camera with a determined stare. He could already see on the screen that, while everything from the neck down was crisp and clean, his face remained indistinct, out of focus. So it wasn't just the newspaper, then. "As you can see, the camera isn't able to focus on my face, even with the field of depth set with me in mind. This might actually be something specific to me. I at least haven't seen it happen with any other ghosts. I'll have to use my own camera to find out for sure."

Wes changed back, and the focus immediately sharpened on his face once more. "Today, I'm going to be addressing different theories about ghost physiology. Since I just recently became a ghost, I can prove or disprove these theories myself, and know the results are reliable and true. And I plan to start with signs of vitality. I recognize that my results might not be totally universal, since I'm not a full ghost, but doing this should give me a starting point, should I ever get my hands on a proper ghost.

"The first thing I can tell you is that there's still color in my cheeks, and I can still bleed. This implies that I do still have a heartbeat. But I don't know how fast it is. If my hypothesis is correct, my heart rate should be slower than an average human. I must also take into consideration that I work out regularly, so my heart rate is going to be slow at rest to begin with. Therefore, I theorize that my actual heart rate will be roughly fifteen beats per minute."

Wes held two fingers to the side of his neck, going quiet for just a moment. His pulse thrummed under his skin, gentle but lively. His brows furrowed as he mentally counted out the beats. After about six seconds, he pulled his fingers away, giving the camera a curious look. "...So I was wrong. Just now, I measured about eighty beats per minute. So not only is it faster than I expected, it's close to double what it was when I was still human... I don't know why, but I'll be sure to do more tests periodically. Heart rates do change frequently, after all."

Wes cleared his throat. "Anyway. Another thing I wanted to figure out was whether or not I need to breathe. Ghosts were never alive as we understand it to begin with, and therefore don't require oxygen, outside of what's needed to be able to speak. I'm still alive, I'm pretty sure, but I imagine my need for oxygen is lower than what it originally was. Then again, if my heart rate's gone up, I may actually need more... So I'll time myself." The redhead disappeared off camera, returning seconds later with a stopwatch. "I'm going to start once I'm holding my breath. When I can't hold it anymore, I'll let go of the button, and show you the time." He revealed the dial set to zero to show he wasn't giving himself a head start. "My record is a minute twenty-three. Let's see if I do better or worse."

He sucked in an enormous breath, cheeks puffed out, then held down the button. He kept his eyes glued to the stopwatch, watching as the seconds ticked by. Ten, twenty, thirty... He quickly reached the one minute mark, and his lungs hadn't even started to itch yet. He flashed the camera a thumbs-up with his free hand. After that, he started counting the minutes rather than seconds. He finally grew mildly uncomfortable at six minutes. At ten, his chest started to burn. At thirteen, spots were creeping in at the corners of his eyes. When he started to sway where he sat, he finally inhaled again, releasing his hold on the button as he did so. Once he no longer felt like he was going to collapse, he dared a look at the stopwatch, his eyes bugging out of his skull.

"...N... Nineteen minutes, and... forty-one seconds... Incredible! I wasn't expecting my time to improve that much! Imagine how long I could hold my breath if I actually practiced!" He laughed airily, then gawked at his camera. "...Low battery already? This thing was at like half charge, I thought... Well. I guess I'll just have to pick this back up tomorrow. Wes Weston, Paranormal Investigator, out."

With that, Wes closed up his camera, locating its charger and plugging it in next to his bed. He laid down on top of the mattress, grinning at the ceiling. He didn't want to wait until tomorrow. But he didn't have much choice. So he spent the rest of the evening brainstorming even more theories to test out when he woke up.

Not that he actually slept.

({O})

The next time Wes turned on his camera, he was in the woods on the edge of town. "Wes Weston here. It is now November 5th, 2005. I have a full charge, and I'm gonna use it to try to replicate the powers of other ghosts. You see, every ghost has a... a theme of some sort. And frankly, I have no idea what mine is. Still, some ghosts are able to copy the powers of other ghosts, whether that power suits their theme or not. For example, Technus can hijack Skulker's weapons, which makes sense because both use technology. But Phantom developed cryokinesis a lot like Klemper's a few months ago, even though he's got more of a... superhero thing going on. I've done quite a bit of research on the local paranormal activity, so my hope is that I can do the same."

Wes transformed, his form once again going blurry on the screen. "Before I do that, though, I'm gonna measure my heartbeat again. I want to see if being in my ghost form actually changes anything." Just like the previous day, he held his fingers to his neck. "...Funny. I think my pulse actually got stronger. It's definitely faster, I measured around one-ten this time. Maybe it's because I just walked here, but man, that feels backwards."

He shook his head. "Anyway, powers. Most ghosts can shoot a beam out of their hands or eyes. The beam changes depending on the ghost, but it looks like most are capable of shooting something. Maybe, if I can pull it off, it'll give me an idea on what my other powers are like. See that tree over there?" Wes pointed at something off-screen, turning his camera a second later for the imaginary audience to see. "I'm gonna be aiming at that tree. Let's see if I can do anything to it."

Wes sucked in a breath, held it, and released it. He set down the camera, far enough back that both he and the tree were in view. He raised both hands, concentrating with all his might. "Come on, come on..."

Nothing happened at first, which was about what he had expected. But then, to his amazement, his aura slowly began to grow brighter. His eyes narrowed, and sweat began beading on his brow. He could hear blood roaring in his ears, but he refused to lose focus. Something stirred deep within him, a low thrum in time with his heartbeat, but he didn't waver. And still his aura increased in intensity, higher and higher.

And then, abruptly, it died.

"...Huh?"

Wes gaped, then looked at his shaking hands, and back at the tree. He'd felt... something, but the tree was still standing. He hadn't actually fired anything, that much he was sure of. But what had happened? He checked himself over, trying to see if anything was different, but nothing had visibly changed. That strange feeling in his chest dulled and settled, despite his attempts to cling to it. Whatever that was, it was gone.

He scrambled back to the camera, picking it up in a rush. "Okay. Okay, so the tree is fine. I don't know what I did, it wasn't a laser. And I can't bring whatever that was back, I tried. Maybe I'm just not ready for lasers quite yet." He grinned at the camera. "But I'll definitely be trying again soon.

"Okay. Next." Wes clapped his hands together. "So some ghosts seem to be in multiple places at once. You see it a lot with smaller or more animal-based ghosts, which might actually be some sort of species thing. But some, like Plasmius, have been known to actually clone themselves. So I'm gonna give it a shot. Fingers crossed!"

Wes shook his arms out, then screwed his eyes shut, focusing with everything he had. After several seconds of uneventful silence, he put his fingertips to his temples, but it didn't help. Even his aura remained unchanged. Eventually, he sighed, opening his eyes again. "...Well, it looks like that one was a dud. But that's okay! Because I have something else I want to try!"

The young Halfa picked up the camera, walking deeper into the woods. "It's basically common knowledge around here that ghosts are way stronger than humans are. Way more than they look like they should be. I'm talking demolishing buildings and bench-pressing cars kind of strong. And hey, I already work out a lot. I don't think I mentioned that yet. So this should be a cinch for me now!" Eventually, he came upon a decently sized rock, coming up just under his waist. "There, this looks like a good way to warm up, huh? Let's give this a shot."

Wes set the camera down once again, spitting into his hands and rubbing them together. He spread his feet shoulder width apart and crouched, hooking his fingers under the lip of the boulder. He heaved, his toes digging grooves in the dirt as he struggled to lift it up. But it didn't budge. He redoubled his efforts, his face going red, and then purple. The rock held fast.

One moment he was lightheaded with exertion, and the next he found himself spread-eagled, staring at the sky between the branches hanging overhead. He blinked a few times, wondering when he had ended up on his back. He sat up slowly, cradling his head when it throbbed in protest. After a taking a second to regain his bearings, he pulled his hand away, taking note of the fact that the freckles on his hand were a light reddish-brown, not the sickly green he was expecting. He'd changed back without realizing it. "...Did I just... pass out? From lifting?"

Wes flushed, spotting and reaching for his camera. 18 percent. The battery must have been shot if it was already running low. It was an older camera, he could probably stand to replace the battery. He frowned, and without a word, he closed the display and shut it off.

({O})

When Wes started recording the following morning, he was sitting in his room, already in his ghost form. His shoulders were slumped, and bags were forming under his eyes, but he was smiling happily. "Morning. Wes again, and it's November 6th, 2005. It is 9:42 in the morning, and I have been holding this form for seven hours and three minutes. I'm really freaking tired right now, and I don't know if that's because of core exhaustion, or the fact that I have not slept in two days. So I will be trying this again at a later date. But I'm not changing back yet, because I want to try one last thing before I try to get some sleep.

"So. I was thinking about other ghost powers, and I thought I'd covered the basics already. But then I remembered that ghost isn't the only technical term for these creatures. Specter. Wraith. Spirit. Poltergeist. All are basically synonymous, but each has their own implications of the nature of what they are. And I figured, hey, poltergeists are known for moving the objects around them, right? Of course, I can easily do that just by turning invisible and picking something up. But what if I could do it... with my mind? That's right, I'm talking telekinesis."

Wes reached off camera for something, fumbling sluggishly, before showing the audience an apple. "See this? I'm gonna set it down across the room, and I'm gonna see if I can pick it up, or make it move, all without touching it." He got up to place the apple, then adjusted the camera so that it could see both him and the fruit. He stood at the opposite end of the room, blinking tiredly before taking a deep breath.

The Halfa started with a fierce stare, willing the apple to move. Naturally, it didn't, so he extended a hand towards it. It still didn't budge. He put his free hand to his temple, grunting and groaning with effort. But no matter how hard he tried, the apple remained motionless on his desk.

So focused was he, that he didn't hear footsteps coming down the hall until it was too late. His door swung open, and he froze. In the doorway stood his father, already dressed in his work attire save for his shoes and an undone tie, looking just as stunned as Wes.

"...Who are you?"

Am I going to leave you guys right here? Why, yes. Yes I am.