Sort-of sequel to 75. I don't know if I'll consider this the 'real' continuation of that.
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Danny had a lot of problems with the 'powers' the accident had given him. Mainly, that they were less 'useful powers' and more 'ironic curse.' It wasn't bad enough that he would, without warning, slip out of phase with reality, losing, in turn, visibility, solidity, and weight, but he was also periodically forced to turn into a tiny ghost with the general shape and consistency of a jelly-filled balloon.
That, at least, he had warning for. A slow, steady build up of not-quite-pressure and not-quite-electricity to the point of almost-pain over the course of days, culminating in a schism of light and an echo of agony.
He'd been getting better at controlling it, at releasing that energy when he was somewhere safe, like at Sam or Tucker's house, and, after it passed, pulling himself back together. He hadn't really wanted to practice with it, but Sam had insisted. It helped a little that both she and Tucker thought that the shape he was forced into was 'kind of cute' rather than an 'abomination of ectoplasm and post-human consciousness,' which is what his parents had called it the one time he had the misfortune to be spotted by them in that shape.
Stupidly, he'd thought that his practice would be useful, but no. Maybe he'd been able to get out of those chains, but he'd been caught literally seconds after. And now this stupid ghost body he'd been forced into was responding to the firm, steady pressure of Walker's giant hand with instinctive docility. Walker was big. Walker was strong. Walker radiated ectoplasmic power like a bonfire radiated heat. Walker could squish him to bits whenever he wanted.
Walker - and, admittedly, Danny's ability to read faces suffered when he was like this - looked like he was having a crisis. The fact he had his head on his desk seemed to support that.
Tentatively, Danny tried to bite Walker again. As before, he was foiled by the man's gloves.
Walker picked himself up and started looking through his desk. After a few minutes, he retrieved a jar from the back of a drawer.
Danny squeaked in alarm and tried to squirm away. In another few minutes, when he was recovered, he might have tried to transform back and break Walker's grip, but if he was put in a jar like that? He wouldn't dare risk it. He didn't know if the transformation would break it or... not.
"Don't give me that," growled Walker. "If I could trust you to stay put, I wouldn't have to." He unscrewed the lid one handed, inserted Danny with something approaching gentleness, then slammed the lid back on and rapidly screwed it closed.
Danny squeaked again, glad that he didn't need to breathe when he was like this, because it looked like Walker wasn't going to poke any holes in that lid.
He pooled sadly in the bottom of the jar, his stubby tail lashing with anxiety. He knew that his thought process tended to shift the longer he was like this, to the point where Sam and Tucker had a hard time getting him to turn back after their 'endurance test.' They weren't here. How long would Walker leave him in this? His whole 'sentence?' Would Danny even last that long in a little jar like this? He didn't have to breath. Did he have to eat? He didn't know.
Walker was carrying the jar. Where was he taking him?
Lashing his tail in anxiety had morphed into a whole-body ripple. This evolved to pure, keening, panic when Walker opened a door and Danny saw, warped by the walls of his glass prison, the characteristic equipment of an infirmary.
Oh, no, they were going to dissect him. They'd found out how much of a freak he was and they were going to pull him apart.
However, his all-encompassing panic was overtaken by a novel sensation. Something calming. Filling? Good. Something good that traveled through the glass beneath him and hit him in gentle waves that made him wiggle. This was good. This was nice.
Very distantly, the part of him that was familiar with the more technical, theoretical side of ectology recognized that he must have been placed on a source of ectoenergy the he was now... feeding on.
There was a grinding sound from above, and he looked up. The lid had been taken off. He'd wanted to go that way before. Why? He wasn't sure. The happy feeling was down here. He wasn't going to leave the good happy feeling.
A spoon full of something green was lowered into the jar. Ectoplasm! It got close enough to Danny that he didn't have to move away from the happy feeling to lick it clean. It was tasty and green. There was something else in it, though. Like an instruction, maybe.
The instruction was something very much like 'fall asleep.' So he did.
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"What's the damage, doc?" asked Walker.
"Not much," said the prison doctor, washing his hands. "Malnourished, maybe. Fairly complex thought for someone at this stage of formation, but that might be 'cause he's a halfa or whatever you wanna call 'em." He turned off the sink and reached for a towel.
"Not what I meant."
"Yeah, I know. Kid isn't more than a few months old at the outside, and he's an actual kid on top of that. Probably not even a little over his death yet."
"Crap," said Walker. "What're we supposed to do with this? I run a prison." Not a great place for babies, all told.
The doctor shrugged. "Dunno that you have much choice."
"I don't know if I can even keep him here, if I let him out of that jar."
"Then you'll just have to keep catchin' him, I guess. Or, we've got those shapeshifter bracelets, for that Amorpho fellow. Maybe we can put one of those on? Round the main body part, maybe? Since he doesn't have hands?"
"He'd phase through when he turns human," grumbled Walker.
"Weld it to those specialty chains you've got or something. Gotta do something, right? He isn't going to learn how to be a ghost in the human world." The doctor snorted. "Maybe that's why he's so small, though. Trying to stay over there."
"Ancients," said Walker, rubbing his face. "He beat Plasmius. Bunch of the inmates here, too. He probably doesn't even know what an Obsession is. He already hates me. This is going to be hell."
"Eh. There are worse afterlives."