This emotional horror piece is something I wrote ages ago (like three months ago or so). But I thought it would fit right in here, in this story. I think.

Anyways, be prepared; it includes Horror/Pain/Angst.

AU — OOC

TW: Violence — Physical Abuse — Graphic Content — Emotional Distress

~ Monster, How Should I Feel? ~

Creatures lie here, looking through the window

- LUM!X

Danny's eyes fluttered open with effort, but his vision was a blur of harsh, blinding lights searing into his retinas. He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked again, hoping the disorientation would fade—but it only grew worse. His head felt heavy and throbbing, as though an unbearable pressure was pressing against his skull. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears—ragged, uneven, and frantic.

His breath hitched as the cold iron beneath his back pressed sharply against him, slicing and stabbing as if it were cutting into his skin. The sterile scent of chemicals lingered in the air, invasive and suffocating as it filled his nostrils. Panic began to spread like a heavy fog through his scrambled thoughts.

He tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through his wrists and ankles. Restrained. Of course he was. The hard, metallic iron pressed cold and unrelenting against his skin. When he suddenly realized he was half-naked, a jolt of new panic surged through him, and still, lut of instinct—he struggled with all his strength to break free, even when he felt weak. But all he achieved was more pain as tiny electric shocks pulsed through his body, caused by the heavy collar around his neck, leaving him trembling and gasping.

The sudden realization of the taste in his mouth was almost unbearable. The sharp tang of acid and bitter metal, the distinct flavor of pure ectoplasmic fluid mixed with an ethanol-like note, lingered on his tongue. He swallowed with difficulty as his throat felt like sandpaper. His vision slowly adjusted to the bright room. Sterile, cold walls surrounded him, and the ominous hum of distant machines filled the air. This was a definitely a laboratory.

No, please. Not again.

Danny's breath hitched as he heard footsteps approaching. Each step echoed like a haunting memory—that one memory. The one he had spent years trying to suppress, to bury deep within himself. The one that never truly left him. Bound, powerless, on that icy cold metal table in the GiW lab. Just the thought of it was enough to send a wave of fear through him.

Gasping for air, his chest felt as though it might explode at any moment. His eyes darted frantically, desperately around the room, searching for an escape, anything—anything that might save him. But deep down, he knew it was futile. It hadn't been possible then, and it wasn't possible now. How did it come to this again? How did he end up here—again? But still, somewhere else? A hollow sigh escaping him as his gaze drifted toward a tiny window, bouncing a fade white light through it, just underneath the white ceiling, meaning—he was above ground level.

A sudden shadow blocked his view, and he looked up, his breath catching as he met familiar violet eyes. "M—Mo—Maddie?" His voice was barely audible, choked with a sudden wave of panic surging through his entire body. What—what now?

"…And now we are going to make a Y-cut on his torso, in the hopes of uncovering what makes Subject Zero-Seven such a brilliantly intelligent and unknown specimen—not to mention, something far beyond a mere ghost," he heard his mother say.

Before he could process her words, a sharp sting tore through him—a precise, cutting pressure starting at his collarbones on each shoulder. The scalpel dragged diagonally downward, carving toward the center of his chest, where his purring core lay, forming the top of a V-shape.

The pain was indescribable, an agony that shattered every nerve in his body. He screamed, his voice raw and filled with despair, his lungs straining against the unbearable torment. He couldn't endure it—of course he couldn't. Who could?

"Ghost like you can't feel pain, Phantom. Don't fool yourself." She said, cold as ice.

"Danny," his mother said softly, almost clinically, her gaze piercing straight into his soul. But her eyes held no warmth, no compassion—nothing. Just emptiness. "This is the only way to save you, sweetie. There's… no other choice."

She knew? Oh no, she knew?! How?

It felt as if an icy hand was gripping his purring core, squeezing tighter with every passing second. "S—Save me? Wh—what do you mean, Ma'am?" His voice sounded hysterical in his ears, yet his vocal cords barely managed to produce a sound, blocked by a suffocating lump of ectoplasm that stifled every word. A tidal wave of traumatic memories—pain and fear—crashed over him, drowning him. "what are you going to do?" he choked out, his voice trembling with desperation.

The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced, a physical torment unlike anything in his entire life. She sliced again—this time starting from the point where the two diagonal cuts met at his chest. The scalpel traveled vertically downward in a single, unrelenting line through his abdomen, stopping just above his pubic bone.

He gasped for air, each breath ragged and uneven, his vision swimming as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, and he clenched his teeth so hard it felt as though they might shatter.

Why? Why was she doing this? And why—oh god, why—was she doing it while he was still conscious?

"Don't fool me, Danny Phantom," she said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion as she turned and walked toward the other side of the lab, "I know one and one is two."

There where she stood, a sterile white table gleamed under the harsh lights, littered with various shiny tools that sent a shiver of dread through him.

Danny curled his bare fingers into his palms, forming fists so tight his nails dug into his skin, threatening to pierce it. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, he yanked at the metal restraints with all his strength. But the cold metal iron bit into his wrists, cutting deep as another jolt of electricity shot through his body. It drained him further, leaving him trembling with exhaustion. It was useless.

"Please, not again. You—you did this to me before—"

"I did back then what I was ordered to do," she interrupted, her voice sharp and devoid of warmth. "I did what was necessary." She turned her piercing gaze back to him, colder than ice. "You're a dangerous entity. You, as I mean, Phantom, took my son from me. This is the only way. And you will give my Danny back to me."

"…the most interesting part of Subject zero seven examines, appears to be a bright glowing light that is shimmering underneath his ribcage, just in the middle near it's heart. The heart itself is slightly silent, yet mimicking a beat. The light—a core, perhaps? Seems to vibrate on a specific frequency. Must be studied under further notice…" She said. Danny felt himself weak—vulnerable in front of his own mother, that cut him open, examine him, study him, like he was a wild animal. Dissected—vivisected him.

"Y—you really don't get it, do you?" Danny gasped, his voice cracking as he struggled against the restraints, desperate to reach her. "I—I am your son, Danny. Come on, Mom. Please!"

His mother turned to look at him, her eyes flickering with a moment of doubt, "Yes you are, Danny. He—you are my son. Phantom the other hand…" a fleeting crack in her cold resolve. But then, she turned away again. The chilling screech of a metal cart echoed through the lab as it was rolled toward him. Filled with sterile torture tools, Danny thought, dread clawing at his mind.

"…The rhythmic vibrating pulsation seems to conjure a symphony of resonance, as if energy merges to create a unique dual harmonic frequency, an interference pattern between two sounds, ebbing and flowing like a vital force coursing through its ectoplasmic veins, a sound and feel like a pounding heart…"

"No, no, no. Not again. Mom, please, don't do this!" His cries of fear turned into anguished screams, his voice raw and breaking as tears filled his eyes. The memories flooded back in an unstoppable wave—the excruciating, nerve-shattering pain his body had endured before. The kind of heartbreak that broke not just bones, but the soul itself. It consumed him, leaving him trembling and pleading with every ounce of strength he had left.

"…Its lungs seem to mimic breathing, yet—such entities as a ghost don't require air, despite being dead. As for the organs, intestines and further anatomy, it is identical to that of Homo sapiens. Subject Zero-Seven mimics a child between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. I will now conclude this examination," she stated clinically, her tone detached and emotionless.

If only she knew the truth—if only she realized he was her son. She would be devastated, torn apart by guilt, her very heart shattered by the unimaginable cruelty of her actions. But she didn't know. And so, she continued.

A sudden shockwave entered again from the collar, building up, harder this time, making his vision blur again. He pinched his eyes closed and gritted his teeth together.

A raw scream tore from his throat, but the sound felt distant, as though it had to break through layers of pain and shock. His back arched, his wrists and ankles strained against the metal restraints, as if he might shatter at any moment. It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, an endless wave of pain crashing through his bones and twisting his muscles to the brink of tearing.

Why? What was the purpose of these electric shocks? Just to make him weaker? To make sure he couldn't escape? For whatever what was coming next, to prepare him for it?

A second surge of electricity ripped through his body, and his thoughts were torn apart. He screamed again, but the sound clung to the air, lost in the vortex of his pain. His back bent once more into an unnatural curve, his head snapping backward, jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other.

His body no longer obeyed him. He couldn't breathe—his lungs refused to draw in air. It felt like he was drowning in a sea of electricity, every cell in his body overwhelmed by a storm that destroyed everything in its path.

"S—Stop—please—stop…" The words were barely audible, lost in the hum of the machine and the sound of his own screams.

It stopped. Danny's body fell back into a normal position on the table with a deadly silence. His chest rose and fell rapidly, gasping for air as though he had drowned and just surfaced again. His muscles were painfully stiff, his limbs burning from the energy that had just surged through them. But the aftermath of pain and numbness lingered, each breath bringing sharp, stinging aches.

"Why, just—why? What did I ever do wrong?"

He didn't get an answer back.

He could barely turn his head, but his eyes darted toward the dark shapes moving above him. Black dots blurring his vision yet again.

"M—mom?" Danny's voice was weak, barely recognizable from the fear, the pain, the edge of unconsciousness. His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

Through the black blur he saw his mother looking at him, her gaze rigid, as if she was fighting her own emotions.

"Danny," she said softly, almost mechanically. "I have to do this. It's the only way to free you from this hideous monster and the creatures it's created inside you."

"What? Monster? How should I feel, huh?" Danny's voice cracked, trembling with anguish as his eyes filled with tears once more. Is that how she sees him?The thought pierced his heart like a dagger. Is this how she thinks of him? How she feels about him?

How was he supposed to feel about that? This was his mother—the woman who had raised him, protected him, loved him. Or at least, she had once. But now… now her cold, unyielding gaze felt like a stranger's. He couldn't bear to meet her eyes any longer, couldn't reconcile the face of the woman he once adored with the one staring back at him now.

"Mom—please, don't do this," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with desperation. "You can stop this. You don't have to do this." His words hung in the air, fragile and raw, like a lifeline that could snap at any moment.

Her hand trembled briefly, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes. But then she bowed her head, resolute. "I'm sorry, Danny—Phantom. But this has to happen. I want my son back."

Without warning, she pressed the scalpel against his bare skin, just below his right collarbone. The icy touch of the blade made his breath hitch sharply, his chest heaving in response. A wave of raw panic crashed over him, flooding his senses, his muscles instinctively tensing as if he could somehow escape. But he couldn't. He was restrained, just like before—back in the Guys in White's lab.

As she finally began stitching the Y-cut, he felt every agonizing press of the needle piercing his raw, torn skin. The pain was a dull, distant throb now, overshadowed by the deeper agony within him. He had been ripped apart—his body broken, his soul fractured. His consciousness splintered into pieces, leaving him trapped in a fog of unbearable torment.

He lay there, powerless and paralyzed, the cold, sterile metal beneath him pressing cruelly against his back. His own body had betrayed him, abandoning him to this hellish vulnerability. He felt hollow, empty, like the very essence of who he was had been stripped away.

The weight of it all crushed him—the searing pain, the violation, the trauma that clawed at his mind like a relentless specter. He was nothing now. Just a broken shell, left behind to bear the scars of something no one should ever endure. Desperate, trembling, and numb in every possible way, he could only drown in the darkness that consumed him, alone with the unbearable truth of what had been done.

Back then, he had no control over his own body, no way to stop what was happening. And now? Maybe he was there again. He didn't know. He couldn't know. Reality blurred, merging with memory, as fear tightened its grip on him.

His mother pushed the blade down, and the first cut was like fire ripping through his chest. Danny gasped, a raw scream tearing from his throat. The scalpel moved slowly downward, from his chest to his sternum, and with each careful inch, it felt as though his flesh was being stripped from his soul. His skin split open, ectoplasm mixing into a sticky substance that dripped down on the sides.

Didn't she care at all? It was as if her feelings, her emotions were completely turned off.

"A-ah. M-Mom… please…" Danny's voice was hoarse, his breathing rapid and labored. He couldn't endure it—the physical pain was overwhelming, but the fact that it was his mother doing this to him again was unbearable. It felt as though he was being torn apart, not just by the sharp scalpel, but by the emptiness in her eyes.

"Don't try to fool me again, Phantom. Ghosts can't feel pain. They're just mimicking human behavior."

She took a deep breath, her movements mechanical, her gloved hands working with precision, as if trying to convince herself this was just another routine procedure. But to Danny, it was anything but.

He felt her hands press firmly against his chest, methodically widening the incision, the cold scalpel slicing deeper. His ribs were exposed now, his body fully split open in a brutal Y-shape. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it—every unbearable sensation. The wet, sickening sound of his flesh being peeled from bone made him shudder. His body convulsed involuntarily beneath her touch, a desperate, futile response to the violation he was powerless to stop.

Didn't she realize she was hurting him? Scarring him—not just his body, but his very soul? Her own son? It was as if all her empathy, all her love, had vanished, leaving behind only cold indifference. How could she not see what she was doing to him? How could she not feel the weight of his pain? The thoughts tore at him, sharper than any blade ever could.

"I—I don't fool you, Mom. Just—stop. Please. You're scarring me." His voice was a desperate plea, trembling with pain and fear, but deep down, he knew it was pointless.

"I'm doing this to save you, Danny. You don't understand. This is the only thing I can do, I want my little boy back," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Her little boy? She could never have her little boy back—not now, not ever. He was seventeen, for god's sake—almost an adult, a young man standing on the edge of independence! What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she see him for who and what he was now? Why couldn't she accept it? Was she stuck in the past, clinging to a version of him that no longer existed?

His chest was pried open, the edges of the wound held apart by metal hooks. His ribs were now clearly visible, like white, gleaming arcs of bone jutting out beneath a thin layer of green ectoplasm. He felt every detail—how the cold air touched his exposed organs, how the flesh around his ribs tightened under the strain.

The pain was overwhelming, searing through every nerve in his body. But what terrified him most wasn't the agony—it was what he felt deep inside himself. Something weak, yet undeniably alive. A glowing light nestled beneath his ribs, faint and flickering, as if it were struggling to survive. That fragile white light pulsed ever so softly, its energy trembling and unsteady. But it was growing. Slowly, it grew stronger, vibrating with a fragile hum, a purr of life that felt comforting.

His core.

She was after his core, wasn't she? The very thing that kept him alive? She wanted to take that from him? Did she truly believe this was the way to save her son? When there was even no saving needed, at all?

His ghostly core—the source of his life, his soul, the very essence of his being as a halfa, a hybrid. It pulsed faintly beneath the crushing weight of agony, fragile and flickering. Almost drowned in the sea of pain and blood that consumed him, but still there. Still fighting. A small, defiant light in the overwhelming darkness.

Danny's eyes filled with more tears as he helplessly watched his own mother hold his ribs wide apart, staring at his core as if it were nothing more than an object, a substance.

"I'm not an—" he paused, thinking barely what he was going to say again, to convince her to stop this, before it would be to late, "I'm your son! Your—very own son. Why wouldn't you—just listen to me?" his voice trembling with sobs.

He could only watch, trapped in the nightmare of his own dissection—vivisection. His chest was torn open, his ribs spread wide, and now his core—the most fundamental part of him—was… exposed. He wasn't just being physically destroyed; he was on the verge of losing everything that made him who he was.

"Mom! S—stop—please!" he cried, his broken voice pushing through his shredded vocal cords, filled with desperation.

But his mother only looked at his core, her eyes shining with cold professionalism and a tiny hint of emotion.

"Phantom," she whispered, her voice taut with tension. "I'm not your mother. I'm doing this for my son. This is to heal him."

Danny's body tensed at her words, a cold dread washing over him. "You mean—for me? To—heal?" he gasped, his voice weak, trembling with disbelief. "You're—breaking me—this isn't—" but his words faltered, his breath catching as the overwhelming pain stole what little strength he had left. His cry cut off abruptly, and his wide, desperate eyes began to lose focus. The world around him blurred, his consciousness slipping away like a fragile thread unraveling into... nothingness yet again.

I'm so sorry, Danny. I didn't want to hurt you. It's your Mom, not me. She and your father are the ones who would do this to you, or maybe not, we will never know.

The GiW on the other hand, that's a different story.

Maddie just wants her son back, she doesn't want that her Danny and Phantom are being one person… she thinks by ripping out his core, the part she thinks is Phantom, it would fix all the problems!

But little did she know… just as in my other story 'Lost In The Stars', it can't end well.

I am not going to do that again. It hurts the deepest of my own core.

The cursive paragraphs are flashbacks, as you may have noticed. Danny was already being captured once by the GiW, a few years ago.

———

Was Danny in a GiW facility? A lab? Or was he trapped in some restricted area like Area 51 by the GiW? The questions swirled in his mind, each one sharper than the last. Did only his mother know where he was and what he was—or did they know too? The thought sent a chill through him, colder than any ghostly power ever could.

And how did he even get here—there? The memory was a void, swallowed by confusion. Everything felt so horribly messed up, his mind a tangled blur of fragmented thoughts and hollow sensations. A thick fog clouded his brain, suffocating every attempt to make sense of it all. Every answer slipped through his grasp, leaving only the suffocating weight of the unknown.