"Hello, you've reached the offices of Fenton Works. To whom am I speaking?" a voluptuous woman with dark blue eyes and auburn hair running down to her shoulders asked as she answered the phone.

"Miss Fenton, this is Coroner Forrest, and I'm here to talk about your son."

The woman gulped. "What about him?"

"Tell me– when was the last time he was at St. Luke's General?"

"Y-y-yesterday. Why?"

"They sent some cadavers to the county morgue overnight."

She went pale as a sheet. "He's…"

"No, he's alive as you or me."

"Then what's he doing at the morgue?"

"We think there may have been a mistake on the hospital's part. Right now, though, I need to ask if either you or another member of the family can pick him up as soon as possible. And bring some clothes for him too."

"Get a grip, Danny," the boy said as he continued to look at his reflection, trying his damnedest to not start hyperventilating. "There's got to be some sort of explanation here. All you need to do is remember…remember…"

The scent of ozone, the sound of unearthly screaming and the crackling of live wires, high voltage surging beneath his skin, something falling down and striking him, being pulled out of wherever he was, wailing sirens from outside…

Then nothing but void, until he awoke to the feel of plastic against his skin in that cold, dark, cramped drawer.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and he snapped out of his reverie. Looking into the mirror once more, he noticed that the white-haired reflection was gone, having somehow been replaced by the expected blue eyes and messy black hair.

"What…how…"

The door creaked open, and a middle-aged man with a head of thinning hair walked in, accompanied by a teenage girl with red hair.

"Jazz?" he asked. "What're you doing here?"

"Mom got a call from the coroner himself saying that you got sent here by mistake," the girl replied, "and seeing as how I was already in the neighborhood…"

"Sent here from where?"

Jazz took a deep breath. "Don't you remember anything about last night?"

"…no?" he asked, weakly.

She sighed. "Just put these on," she said, tossing a bundle of clothes at him. "I'll explain in the car."

"Put these…what're you talking about?"

The man who'd accompanied Jazz rolled his eyes. "Mister Fenton," he began, "when was the last time you ever saw a clothed body on an autopsy table?"

"You mean I'm…"

"The whole time you've been here."

Danny went red as a beet before promptly ducking into the nearby stall.

"You lying so low in the weeds/bet you gonna ambush me! You'd have me down, down, down, down on my knees– wouldn't you, Barracuda?"

Sam Manson let go of the pull-up bar in her home's workout room, the mats beneath her feet absorbing the bulk of the impact force. Almost as soon as she hit the ground, she heard her phone buzz.

Foley, if that's you, you'd better have a good reason for reaching out to me, she thought as she approached the device…only to notice the word "WORK" on the screen.

"Miss Wierzbowski?" she asked as she put it to her ear.

"The one and only," came the reply. "Listen, I know you're probably gonna be busy with school soon, but I still need a set of hands around the office, and–"

"Yeah, maybe you should consider getting some help that's actually able to work full time," she bluntly said.

"Would if I could, Samantha, but this town's lost its way– spiritually, that is. Though speaking of spirits, I need to tell you that there's something hinky going on with them."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I…felt something last night, like a hole being made in the barrier between our world and theirs."

Sam went pale as a sheet. "Are you sure it wasn't…I don't know, something you ate?"

"Trust me, it wasn't. Something's broken through the shroud, and if you think the denizens of the other side are going to just stay there, you're, ahem, dead wrong."

"So, let me get this straight," Danny said as downtown Amity Park passed by through the window. "You're saying that Mom and Dad's latest invention somehow worked after the first test proved a bust?"

"I don't know what happened," Jazz replied, eyes focused intently on the road. "All I know is that there was some kind of power surge, then we heard screaming, and next thing I know, Mom's called the paramedics, your friends are running around like headless chickens, and I'm helping Dad lift you off the floor." She sighed. "I swear, next chance I get, I'm making sure that thing never works again."

Danny blinked. "Isn't that a bit…drastic?"

"No!" came the blunt answer.