Frozen Fire
Chapter Two: Gray Hues
xXx
Sam's steps were unhurried but purposeful.
She always found the best way to avoid any unwanted conversation with the other residents was to look like she had somewhere superimportant to be. Without pleasantries like the weather to talk about, things typically steered towards death and gloom and the shitty food, which was both predictive and depressing.
Around her, people clad in grey jumpsuits blurred, almost amorphous against the greyness of the walls. Aside from curious glances in her direction, they ignored her, which she was grateful for.
The walk from the top-level elevator shaft wasn't long to where she was going in the combat training sector. As she entered the facility, she quickly became engulfed with the familiar smell of sweat and the sounds of people sparring. The room was large, with multiple corridors for different training specialties. Sam's personal favorite, outside of traditional sparring, was the virtual shooting range, which she passed on her way to the locker rooms. The ratatat of discharging weapons could be heard as she passed it.
A couple of her fellow sweepers were there, as well as some of Damon's military cadets, firing beams of simulated ectoplasmic energy into virtual targets. One of the cadets noticed her. He turned and waved as she walked by. "Hey, Manson! Saw you had a patrol today! Glad to see you made it back alive!"
She waved at him over her shoulder. "Same to you, Baxter. Let's try to do the same tomorrow, yeah?"
"Awe, hell yeah!" Dash Baxter called back.
Sam entered the locker area with a sigh and trudged to her assigned unit. She scanned her card key into its reader and stepped back, waiting for the door to open automatically as it was supposed to. When it didn't, she groaned and persuaded the locking mechanism to engage with her fist, several times, until it finally released and opened with a shuddering jolt. She then removed her gear and weaponry, depositing them each into their respective places. When she was done, she checked herself in the little magnetic mirror she kept on the inside of the door and finger-combed her dark, shoulder-length hair until it was somewhat presentable.
Her dead violet eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She noted her too sharp cheek bones that highlighted the general gauntness of her face, the bags under her eyes, the lips set in a thin, unhappy line that reminded her of her mother—she slammed the door shut.
Now sans weapons and adorned in her compound issued jumpsuit, she trekked to the lower level to where she was to meet up with Tucker.
Tucker waved her over the moment she appeared in the entrance to the large communal room they used as a cafeteria (and funeral parlor, and informational briefing from the higher ups—and whatever the hell else they needed it for). She slumped into the bench seat next to him.
With a grin that was suspiciously cheerful, he slid one of the two trays of food that were in front of him in her direction. She wrinkled her nose at its contents, not even sure what it was on her tray, other than it was brown, shapeless, and smelled like a sweaty sock. She dug into it anyway and chewed.
"Do I even want to know what I'm eating?" she asked between bites.
"Probably not," Tucker responded with a snort. "Some sort of highly processed protein. I'm not even sure if it's meat or not."
Sam shrugged. The food was like sand in her mouth. "Even if it was, I don't really feel like starving to death." She sighed. "But I'd kill for a salad."
"My, how the mighty have fallen," he joked. "Well lucky for you, I hear the Agricultural Department is close to getting the hydroponic room functional again. Soy and green beans are first on the list." He shuddered a bit.
Sam poked him with her fork and he laughed.
"So," he began casually, "how was it up there?"
"Quiet," she responded with a frown. "I'll never get used to that. Nothing on your end? Nothing at all?"
Tucker shook his head. "Nothing. We checked every scanner, every working camera, and still saw nothing. The wastelands outside Amity are still hot though."
Sam chewed on her bottom lip in thought. "Anything major in the wastelands?"
He shrugged. "Not really. Lotta wisps. No major apparitions. Nothing above a four in class."
"It just doesn't make sense." Sam frowned at the table. She pushed her food around with her fork in thought. Wisps were small, insignificant ghosts that hardly even registered on their main scanners, and even they were gone from the city. The strangeness of it all was only compounded by the relative calmness in the surrounding wastelands. It was weird. And Sam had learned long ago that any weird things in their world were usually escorted by danger.
"They're probably just afraid of you," Tucker said with an elbow nudged jovially into her side. "I mean you've probably destroyed thousands of them over the years."
Sam couldn't stop the smile that formed in the wake of her friend's praise. She arched her brow at him and folded her arms across her chest. "Thousands? I'm a good shot Tuck, but I'm not that good."
Tucker shrugged with laugh. "Fine, that was maybe a bit exaggerated, but I do know that the figures are in the mega shit ton range, at least."
"Now mega shit ton is a figure I can get behind," Sam agreed.
They resumed their meal in a thoughtful silence. Above them, a fluorescent light started to flicker in the most annoying way possible. Her left eye twitched.
xXx
With their sad excuse of a breakfast complete, Sam and Tucker made their way to one of the few functioning laboratories in the compound.
Until age fourteen, all residents were required to take mandatory baseline courses to fulfill education requirements. After their graduation of the core program, they could then choose to further their education or go straight to work as laborers. Apprenticeships were offered to those with exceptional talents and skill prerequisites in a variety of fields, usually pertaining directly to the advancement of the Resistance.
Sam and Tucker were among the few from their year group chosen for apprenticeships. Tucker was in the Scientific Research and Development division, and Sam was a sweeper, which was basically the guard dog unit for the researchers. They had been in their respective apprenticeships for ten years now, and both were on active duty during the fall of Amity, back when they still lived above ground.
She stole a glance at her best friend as they walked. Tucker Foley was many things. He wore a goofy red beret that clashed with his warm brown skin, liked bad jokes, and had a passion for anything technological. He was rarely serious, but when he was people listened to him. At one point, before he and Sam had been whisked away into their respective apprenticeships, the Resistance's government had considered him for leadership, but the idea was quickly dismissed. Tucker wore his emotions on one sleeve, and his passions on the other. It had always been rather obvious what he wanted to do with his life, which was far, far away from the governmental podium.
They arrived at a lab labeled "FENTONWORKS" and entered without a knock. The lab belonged to Tucker's mentors, wife and husband scientist duo, geniuses Jack and Maddie Fenton. They were the resident experts in both ghost physiology and weapons development.
Sam couldn't help the grin that formed on her face when they raised their heads in unison from their work, startled expressions quickly morphing into the warm, welcoming smiles she was used to seeing on them.
"Welcome! Come on in, dear," Maddie Fenton exclaimed, enveloping Sam in a bone crushing hug. "It's been nearly a week since we last saw you. My, you look so frail, have you been eating enough?"
With a laugh, Sam pulled away from the older woman and gave a reassuring pat to her arm. "Yes, Mrs. Fenton, I'm fine." She looked over Maddie's shoulder curiously. "What are you guys so interested in over there?"
Maddie's smile was so wide it almost split her face in two. She and Jack loved when anyone showed genuine interest in their work. "Why don't you come and see, dear!"
"Yeah, Sam!" Jack Fenton boomed, orange clad arms waving in the air, "you'll love this!"
Sam's heart swelled, warmed by their welcoming nature. Jack and Maddie were two of the most endearing people she had ever met. Both were eccentric, always bustling around in their well-worn hazmat suits. Their personalities were just as outrageous.
Jack, a large man clad in orange, was a gregarious ghost hunting fanatic who thereby expressed his enthusiasm in the form of ectoweaponry and development. Standing before her now and holding a colorful array of wires and other odd technological assortments, the older man regarded Sam with one of his biggest smiles.
Maddie resumed her position next to Jack, her head level at the large man's shoulder. She wore a jumpsuit like Jack's, though hers was a much less vibrant blue in comparison to her husband's gaudy orange. Her field of expertise and study was spectral physiology. Over the past decade, Maddie had revolutionized the paranormal science field through her studies.
Maddie raised her hand and beckoned Sam closer to their workstation. "Well come on, dear," she said. "Don't you want to see what we've been up to all week?"
Sam stepped forward, close enough to see the object of their focus. What greeted her was an oddly shaped pair of goggles, complete with flashing lights and lots of protruding wires. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the odd contraption. "What is it?" she asked.
Tucker sprang into the conversation then. "They're ghost goggles!"
"Ghost . . . goggles?"
"Fenton Ghost Goggles!" Jack corrected zealously. "Give her the mumbo jumbo talk, Maddie!"
Maddie didn't hesitate. "They're specifically designed to detect a ghost's ectosignature by calculating the frequencies given off of their core. It has some ways to go yet, but our hope is to eventually override a ghost's intangibility. These little receptors at each end," she purposefully fingered the little red blinking lights, "will, upon command, emit electrical signals directly into a spectral core and override a ghost's natural evasiveness, rendering them completely tangible. At least while within range of the receptors."
"That way we can finally rip all those damned spooksapart molecule by molecule!" Jack exclaimed, making a show of punching the air with his large fist. Despite the gray at his temples which was stark against the salt and pepper that mottled the rest of his dark hair, and the lines of sadness etched upon his too-pale face, Jack Fenton remained as optimistic as ever.
Sam couldn't hide her awe. "That's amazing!"
Jack's arm fell heavily over Tucker's narrow shoulders, almost knocking him over. "Couldn't have done it without this young man. They were his idea, after all."
Sam looked at Tucker in surprise. "Really?"
Tucker blushed sheepishly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Eh, it was an idea I threw by them, and we ran with it. We're hoping to eventually make them standard issue for Damon's militia and the sweepers." He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe we'll even find a way to add them into the helmets."
She knocked a fist against his arm. "Just make sure I get the first prototype, 'kay?"
He shook his head in mock offense. "Don't you even know me at all?"
Sam grinned at him in return before she turned to Maddie. "Hey, I was wondering if you guys got anything off those chips we pulled this morning?"
"Oh yes!" Maddie whirled and headed to one of the large computers along the wall. "The data's been processing since we got them, but I should be able to check it now."
Sam watched Maddie work. The woman had launched into a flurry of fingers rapping across her keys. Her brows were furrowed, lips pursed as she focused on the screen. Strands of her chin length, silver-streaked hair were huffed away from eyes that speedily read pages upon pages of data. Eventually Jack was behind her, hands on her shoulders where his thumbs traced little, affectionate circles.
Rocking on her heels, Sam surveyed the room in thought while she waited. Her eyes eventually landed on the small, framed photograph atop Maddie's giant supercomputer. She'd seen it before, but always tried hard not to stare at the tragedy displayed within the happy sunshine yellow frame. It was of three children: A young girl with copper hair like Maddie's who looked to be around eight when it was taken, and two black-haired, blue-eyed children no older than five. Sam knew the first girl as Jazz Fenton, one of her closest friends aside from Tucker, and Jack and Maddie's oldest and only surviving child of the three they once had.
"Anything, Mads?" Jack asked.
Sam quickly looked away from the picture, her cheeks burning with the shame she knew she shouldn't feel but couldn't help it. To bring attention to that picture was on the list of things to never do around Jack and Maddie Fenton. It had been nearly two decades since they lost those children to an accident in their lab, and the last thing Sam ever wanted to do was remind them.
"Ectoplasmic contamination remains at a steady influx. From what I can tell, it won't be much longer before there's more ectoplasm than air out there." Maddie enlarged the current tab of interest on her screen. It was a chart representing environmental stability. Fed constantly—or as long as the current drones remained active—with live data, the jagged line encompassing the screen was slow in its impressions, but the line was nonetheless in its leisurely arc upwards. "Keep those helmets on. It's hazardous out there. Too much exposure and you'll end up with a nasty case of ecto-contamination sickness."
"What about the ghosts?" asked Tucker.
"Quiet as ever," Maddie responded. "I get a few readings here and there, but nothing too substantial. Then again, the receptors aren't equipped to overcome such high levels of contaminants. I can barely tell the difference between dirt and spook." Maddie squinted and frowned then, leaned closer to her screen. "Huh."
"Something wrong, Mads?" Jack asked in concern.
"No . . .," she said slowly, "and yes?" She cocked her head at the screen. She then turned to look at Sam. "Did you notice anything . . . strange?"
Sam shrugged. "Other than it was quiet. There was nothing."
"I worked in communications while Sam was out this morning," Tucker said. "Can confirm scanners were clear."
"That's the weird thing. I'm looking at the data from the drones in the city now." Maddie's voice was distant. "They're almost too clear. There should've been a wisp at least."
"It's been like this for a few weeks now," Sam said, and her stomach started to flip at the worry that drew the creases along Maddie's brows. Perhaps she was right to be worried about it earlier. "Shouldn't that be a good thing?"
Maddie's eyes returned to her screen. "There arespikes of distant ectoenergies. Sometimes there's wisps," she pointed at a small section of text on her screen, "and sometimes there's other lesser ghosts. But never near the city center, or near the park. Fentodrone nine is the clearest, but . . ." she trailed off, her eyes squinting in focus as she scrolled through the data. She reached a specific spot in the text and pointed. "There."
Sam wasn't sure what she was looking at. "I don't . . .?"
"Holy shit," Tucker's voice was a whisper beside her.
"What is it?" Sam asked. Her anxiety climbed as the room tensed.
Maddie's chair screeched as she turned and looked at her fully. "Sam, what causes lesser ghosts to clear an area? To avoid it completely?"
It was the stern look in her eyes that caused realization to settle like a weight in Sam's stomach. Sam knew then what she was alluding to. "An alpha ghost."
"Which one?" Tucker asked with an audible gulp. "I see the patterns in the data. It's the same ghost causing the spikes, isn't it?"
Maddie nodded, her face solemn. "Yes, it is. A very powerful one."
"How can you tell?" Sam's voice was suddenly very small.
"Because I can't tell," Maddie said. "It must be disguising its ectosignature."
"They can do that?" Tucker was horrified.
"It's a working theory," Maddie said. "But if you look here,"—she was pointing again—"and here, the subtleties are similar enough to suggest a masked ectosignature. Our sensors are picking up traces of it, likely when it uses any power."
"Holy shit," Tucker exclaimed. "Sam was out there today." He met Sam's gaze, his own eyes wide with horror to match her own. "What do we do?"
"We give the information to Damon," Sam said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And hope he listens."
xXx
Damon Gray was an old, grizzled man with frownlines that went nearly as deep as the scars on his dark-skinned face. Sam had heard that once, long ago, he had been a decent and kind man, but the General who sat before her now was anything but.
Sam's eyes trailed along his scars, namely the largest one that started from his forehead, trailed down his face in a jagged, puckered line, and ended behind an eyepatch which covered the remnants of an eye that had been lost in a battle long ago. His remaining eye narrowed upon their arrival as they were herded into his office by his guards, and his hands—one of flesh, and the other robotic—were clasped atop his desk.
"Damon," Jack's voice boomed in the small room, wasting no time, "we have something you need to see." He nodded to Maddie who stepped forward with a tablet in her arms.
Maddie's fingertips danced over the touchscreen of her tablet as she accessed the data from their lab. "We believe that—"
"Does this have something to do with the scanners?" Damon's voice was practically dripping with boredom as he cut her off.
Maddie's eyes widened. She hesitated, her eyes flicking from her tablet screen, then back to Damon. "Well, yes, but—"
He sighed, his eye rolling. "I already know. I read Barbarra's report. All clear."
"But," Maddie started.
"But what?" Damon snapped. "Did the drones find anything?"
"Not necessarily, but I believe—"
"You believe?" He snorted. "You should know more than anyone that we cannot operate off of beliefs, Maddie."
Maddie was losing her nerve. Sam could see it in the way the older woman's frail shoulders slumped. Her own anger building, Sam stepped forward to intervene.
But Jack beat her to it. He slammed a large fist atop Damon's desk, his blue eyes narrowed. "My wife would like to speak," he snapped, but then the coldness in his gaze thawed a little. "Please, Damon. Listen to her. We are all old friends here, after all."
Damon's brows rose at that. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It was at that moment that he looked just as exhausted as the rest of them. "Just be quick about it."
He listened as Madde explained what she had found—or rather, what she hadn't found. His expression remained half lidded and impassive throughout her speech. He looked when she prompted him to, his eye following her finger as she pointed at the data, explained her theory of masked ectosignatures, of a powerful ghost prowling somewhere within the city, and why they needed to call off tomorrow's mission, at least until they figured out what they were dealing with. She explained, her voice almost pleading, that all she needed was more time.
When she was done, he remained silent. His eye was transfixed on some invisible point on his desk as he digested the information.
Finally, without a word to her, he pushed a button on his desk and said into his personal intercom, "Branson, send for Masters. Now."
Jack and Maddie stiffened while Sam and Tucker shared a worried look between them.
Damon frowned at them. "I understand your worry, Maddie, I do," he said, "but I don't believe you have enough information to prove your theory." His eye landed on Sam. "We are close to getting the Ectoreactors operational, so we need tomorrow's mission. If tomorrow is successful, we're that much closer to raising Amity's shields, and maybe finding a way out of this hellhole. My cadets will do everything in their power to keep the sweepers safe."
Maddie was aghast. "But the information is clear as day!" She said, stepping forward, hugging her tablet tight to her chest.
The doors to Damon's office hissed pneumatically as Vlad Masters entered, escorted by Damon's military personnel.
Jack's hand was on Maddie's shoulder in an instant, steering her back to his side where he draped his arm around her. He glared icily at Vlad, his normally cheerful features drawn tight with distaste.
Hands behind his back, Vlad Masters strode into the room in what he probably hoped was some form of regality, but to Sam, it just made him look like he had a giant stick up his ass. Sam crossed her arms and glared a hole into his back as he came to a halt before Damon's desk.
"You summoned me, sir?" Vlad asked, his tone suggesting he had better things to do.
"The Fentons have a theory, I would like to see if you could corroborate it." He gestured to Maddie's tablet.
Vlad turned then, to look at the Fentons. He hardly spared Jack a glance, but his eyes appraised Maddie heavily, drinking her in, before eventually landing where her tablet was, still pressed into her chest.
Maddie's face was tight with fury as she glared at him.
Sam didn't know much about Vlad Masters. She knew he was a scientist, like Jack and Maddie, who worked in a top-secret lab run by Damon and his military goons, and that he was perpetually ill with some unknown, yet uncurable disease. The man was rail thin and frail, his skin too pale and sheen of sweat always glistening on his brow.
She also knew that at one point, he had been a close friend of the Fentons, until something happened long ago that soured their relationship. Sam wasn't sure what had happened, as Maddie and Jack never spoke of it, and quite frankly, Sam wasn't inclined to ask, either. If they didn't like him, then Sam trusted their judgement enough to stay clear of him herself. She always thought he was a greasy sonofabitch anyway—there was just something so off about him.
Damon was getting impatient. He nodded to Maddie's tablet. "Go on," he said, gesturing with his metal hand to Vlad. "Show him. It's an order."
With a scowl, Maddie obeyed.
Vlad's gaze swept back and forth as he read, his snow-white brows low over his sunken, hollow eyes. He handed the tablet back to her just as quickly. "Everything appears to be clear for tomorrow, how grand," he purred. "Although I'm a bit perplexed as to why my attention to this matter was required."
"The Fentons believe a powerful ghost is in the area, disguising its ectosignature," Damon said, "but I believe that to be unfounded in their concern for the girl." He gestured to Sam with a jerk of his chin then, an action that had Sam grinding her teeth as she resisted the urge to flip them both off.
A slow smile was on Vlad's lips, like he was a cat playing chess in a cage of canaries. "Ever the interesting theories you have, my dear," Vlad said to Maddie who glowered in return. "But alas, I am inclined to agree with Damon on this one. We must remain pragmatic, even when we mix our business with our pleasure." His gaze drifted between the Fentons, and then Sam and Tucker. "I will be in need of the entirety of the sweepers unit to aide in the repair work on the ectoreactor, as well as extraction of specimens from the wastelands."
Sam tried not to shudder at the implications of Vlad's words. The phrase "specimen extraction" had always been a sour pill for her to swallow. She hated ghosts—they all did—but there was something utterly wrong about having to listen to a creature's pleas for mercy mingled within its cries of pain and suffering. She never understood why they did that, though. Ghosts couldn't feel pain, as they did not possess nervous systems, musculature, or any of the anatomical requirements to do so. At least that's when she'd always been told.
Damon nodded, his metal fingers rapping against his desk. "Of course, Vlad. Although, Barbarra and Sam have a couple drones to service first, per the Fentons."
Vlad dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief, nodding. "I expected nothing less. Miss Gray will undoubtfully make up for their absence. She is league of her own, that one." A sly glance at Sam had her gritting her teeth to keep from lashing out.
Bastard, Sam thought, her glare deepening as he stared back in smug delight. Vlad knew her history with her former friend, Valerie Gray, as he'd no doubt orchestrated the implosion of their friendship. She didn't have proof, but she knew.
Damon smiled faintly at the mention of his daughter, which was a sharp contrast to the harsh lines of his face, and then it was gone as quickly as it formed, replaced by his customary scowl. He looked around the room then, to the Fentons, to Sam and Tucker. "You all may leave."
Maddie's face crumpled. "But—"
"Dismissed, Maddie," Damon growled. "Don't make me have you removed."
"C'mon, Mads," Jack whispered into his wife's ear. He tried to pull her along, but the small woman held firm.
"One day, Damon," Maddie seethed, pointing at him, "you will learn to listen to me. I have been right about everything. If you and everyone else had listened before the start of this goddamn war, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now."
Almost shaking in her rage, Maddie spun on her heel and left. Sam and Tucker shared shocked glances with Jack before all three of them trailed after her.
Vlad watched them leave with a satisfied smile.
A/N: Here we are with chapter 2! I meant to upload this last friday, but ended up having a pretty rough week. So here we are with chapter 2! Please take some time to leave me a review if you get the chance! I always respond and love interacting with the community here. You guys rock!
Stay spooky!
-Roar