CHAPTER 6: THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN, PART 6
'Love is a drug'.
This saying has been repeated time and time again to describe this seemingly indescribable emotion, to very little help. The concept of love has been explained through only the most vaguest terms, usually coming back to the explanation of 'you'll know what love is when you feel it'.
However, the comparison to it being a drug is perhaps the most apt, and not in a favorable way.
What can be qualified as a drug? One might automatically picture a substance that temporarily produces pleasurable feelings, and requires frequent use to regain that joy, but that definition can be extended to anything that causes pleasurable feelings beyond just artificial or even natural substances.
If you get a high out of any act in life, is that not comprable to a drug? Why, then, would you not extrapolate this logic to the concept of love itself? The genesis of the idea of love itself comes from reproduction, from sex, where the act itself releases the same exact chemicals in the brain that artificial substances can, and produce the same exact effect.
And if you recognize using an artificial substance to produce this high as wrong, then why would you not see the highs of love as wrong?
These are just some of the few thoughts that now circle the muddled mind of Helga Pataki.
[Soundtrack Cue: A Perfect Circle - The Package]
She wakes up from her bed on a late morning, carelessly opening her empty eyes to no interest throughout the day. A deep and crippling depression makes the urge to go back to sleep and waste away the very first thought in her mind, and there is such a hollowness in her that she no longer has any tears to cry or screams to yell.
For the past few months, she has been living with her elder sister, Olga, the firstborn of the Pataki children and the favored child. She has grown hostile and jealous towards Olga for her parents giving her all the attention while she herself received none, but this cruel nature did not translate to Olga.
Instead, she has been taken in by her eldest sister following the destruction of Hillwood, supplied with a home and the care she was neglected.
However, that care has come too late.
Only does she stare at the ceiling and breathe out her mouth, attempting to cry, but her efforts had resulted in only dry eyes. The emptiness is a hurt that defys expression; she can feel it eat her and make her churn in pain, but it simultaneously makes her unable to express this agony at all.
This is what heartbreak has done to her.
Heartbreak that has come with the end of her relationship with Arnold Shortman.
Eventually, thirst brings her up to rise out of bed to ease her parched throat. Climbing out of bed, she makes her zombie-like walk to the cabinet, her eyes half-open and her feet shuffling forward, taking out a glass and putting it to the refrigerator, allowing it to pour filtered water in for her to drink.
Sitting at the table, Helga half-heartedly scanned the contents, seeing a pile of papers with a written note atop the pile.
Taking the note and reading it, she found that it was left by her elder sister Olga, reading: 'HEY HELGA! I'LL BE BACK IN A FEW DAYS, WORKING IN D.C. ON A BIG VOTE. LEFT SOME MONEY ON THE DRESSER FOR YOU TO GET DINNER. GOT YOU SOME JOB AND COLLEGE APPLICATIONS. PLEASE TRY TO DO AT LEAST ONE OF THEM. LOVE YOU, BABY SISTER!'
Tossing the note aside without a care, Helga continued to sip at her water, sulking at the table, and not doing any of the applicaions laid out for her. Instead, she sat and breathed, burying her head between her folded arms, and closing her eyes, attempting to catch a nap to steal a few more minutes of peaceful sleep at the start of the day.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a cigarette lighter, putting one cigarette in her mouth and lighting it. Sucking in the smoke, she allowed it to cool down in her mouth before inhaling it in, breathing it back out and allowing her lungs to asborb the nicotine in the smoke.
Continuing to puff on the self-imposed coffin nail, she picked up one of the college applications, glancing at it with scorn. The one she arbitrarily selected was one for Harvard University, arguably one of the best and most prestigious colleges in the country, and undoubtedly one of the hardest to get into.
Highlighted in the application was its arts department, singled out by Olga as something for Helga to take interest in. She knows that her elder sister, the sole representative of Vermont, could easily get her into this college, an advantage that very select few in this country can get...
...but it holds no interest to her.
Education is one of many ways that humans expand and grow as they age, but Helga has lost all urge to better herself and stopped caring about anything.
The love she has felt has been nothing short of presence in the divine itself, and had meaning and purpose endowed upon her. When the presence of the divine is gone, and all the gravity he had given her world then, there is nothing to guide her, nothing to pull her down and give her a direction.
Without him, she cannot feel any self-worth, and has no reason to continue her life.
Without him, she is nothing.
Igniting the cigarette lighter one more time, running her thumb over the flame in an attempt to feel the burn, she set it underneath the application, burning it.
Rising from the table, taking the rest of the rest of the applications with her, she carried them to the bathroom and put the still-burning paper in the sink, laying the rest on top of it. The result was the entirety of the applications setting on fire, wilting away into embers without a care of concern from the person they were meant to open doors for.
Walking to the dresser to take the money left for her to buy food, she took it and left to use it to purchase something else.
Her walk down the streets of the city of Bennington, the city where Olga Pataki lived outside of her work in the District of Columbia, takes her past many downtown stores, shops, cafes, and restaraunts, but none of them are of any interest to her, and she pays them all no mind.
The gray sky above her also caught none of her interest; her own mind, cloudy as the day itself, seemed not to even notice the state of the sky, as if her very ability to sense colors had left her in her miserable state. Yet still, she walks down the streets, uncaring and uninterested in the world.
Her walk eventually takes her to a discreet alley, where a man, inconspiciously wearing a hoodie over his head, watched her approach expectingly. Approaching the hooded man, Helga handed him the entirety of the cash left to her, using it not to purchase any food...
...but, instead, heroin, which the hooded man handed back to her.
Upon obtaining what she required, Helga hastily made her way back to the house, stopping in her tracks to urinate. While sitting on the toilet, she readied a sampling of heroin in a kitchen spoon, melting the mixture into a liquid by holding her cigarette lighter underneath the spoon.
Once the mixture was liquefied, she extracted the drug into a syringe, readying it for use on herself.
After cleansing herself from her using the toilet and flushing it, she stood in front of the mirror, standing bottomless without any care for fully dressing herself, nor the unmaintained large patch of pubic hair that had grown between her legs, or even the hair in her armpits that rubbed inside her shirt.
All she cares for is to touch the divinity once again, and the heroin is the way to get it again.
Pulling her belt from her discarded pants, she tied it around her arm, cutting off circulation to it and causing her veins to bulge. Taking a cotton swab and putting rubbing alcohol on it, she wiped her selected vein for injection, placing the medical equipment away and retrieving her syringe.
Then, she experiences penetration.
The unnatural breaching of her skin is only the beginning, making her gasp at the entry of a foreign entity in her body. The phallic implications of the needle entering her internal anatomy is but one subtle reminder of the absence of him from her life, and a perverse imitation to try to recapture it.
Then, she experiences injection.
Many times before had she allowed another fluid to her body, in the hopes that it would leave a child inside her. The many efforts were for naught, and her womb was unfortunately infertle, unable to carry any life within it and pass on her genes and his. She had lied about it before, attempting to give him false hope, but it had backfired on her terribly.
Then, the needle is out of her, and she released the belt.
With a hole left in her arm, beginning to bleed from lack of proper medical care, Helga stumbled to her room once again, feeling the effects of the heroin start to take hold.
Reaching the bed, she fell back in a state of near-complete peace, synthetically brought about by the opioid in her veins. Her breathing and heartbeat seemed to slow to a grinding halt, almost in a hibernation-like state, making her lose all ability to stand up and perform basic functions.
But more importantly, all her pain was gone, and she began to smile and laugh.
This feeling of joy was felt before in her life when he was still present, and their many acts of making love and intimacy had given her this break and forgiveness from her tormentous past. Without sex or even masturbation, she can acquire the relief that she needs, and enjoy it.
And, for just a moment in time, she can feel him again.
Looking up once again, she can see her beloved standing over her, lovingly looking in her eyes and touching her face. Her skin, numbed by the heroin, cannot feel even etherial touches, but Helga pretends to nonetheless, thinking that her body is in so much escstacy that she can feel him touch her all over.
Her imagination seems to take over her sense of reality; she can see several hands all run across her body, all belonging to him. Despite standing right over her, he has his hands on every square inch of her body, worshipping her as a temple and giving tribute to his goddess.
He also kissed his goddess, stealing a taste of her nectar, or so Helga imagined, believing their lips coming into contact with one another.
But the illusion eventually comes to an end, as does the feeling of pleasure that she had. The effects of the drug had worn off, leaving her without her euphoria, and taken out of the presence of the divine once again. She is left alone, and without anyone to help her through her pain.
And the pain comes back in droves, leaving her without the relief away from it that the heroin provided. Once again do her eyes glaze over in apathy, and the hollowness and shattered heart that rest in her soul are all she can feel, paralyzing all else in her mind and making her unable to focus on anything else.
Grabbing a pillow on her bed, she wrapped around it in a fetal position, slowly slipping back to sleep to repeat this vicious cycle another day.
[Soundtrack Cue End]
Atheism is often (no pun intended) demonized in the United States.
When a species has long since built a dependency on myths and stories in order to build its societies around, cemented as a norm so thoroughly embedded in its concept of community, any deviation away from this standard is registered as unnatural and different, breeding hate and dissent.
Those who dare to step outside this comfort blanket without a need for it, embracing rationality and reason instead of lies, are villified and seen as an enemy. Even those who worship another god become preferable to those who worship no gods at all, forming an unholy alliance between those who claim to be holy against this perceived enemy from within.
The ones who have freed themselves from this cycle of irrationality try their best to help others find their way to reason and logic once again, prompting them to shed that which they no longer need. Courting the very people who would see them dead, seeing them as some sort of ultimate evil, they make their cases selflessly and passionately, with no other reason to do so but altruism.
Of course, when this universe had emerged from the Big Bang billions of years ago, all of the energy putting matter in motion to its predestinationed path, it has already been determined who is a believer and who is a rationalist, making their battle of ideas no more than a kangaroo court, with no parties vindicated.
Even I am no god by their definitions; I am merely the Clockwork of the universe.
But were there something above me, I imagine they would laugh on this fruitless exercise.
Nonetheless, you, the Observant, may find something to be learned. Such as you observe now with the recording of Jasmine Fenton, known to her peers as 'Jazz', entering a debate at a prestigeous college against an opponent by the name of Theodore Wyatt, a pastor who has spread his Christian beliefs across many mediums, coming at odds with Jazz's atheism.
Their debate has come a long ways through various topics, but it is here when it comes to Jazz's favor, making her the people's winner.
"The bible is the holy and perfect word of god. It has been passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. They were there when it was first written, and they saw god do his work firsthand, and made sure that future generations would know about it. Now, you, ma'am, may have your fancy degrees and your female empowerment and whatnot, but you don't have god on your side." Wyatt said.
The sexist remarks from the pastor gained groans and jeers from the audience, prompting the moderator to quell both sides.
"Alright, alright, calm down. This is a debate on the bible and the Christian faith, there's no room for personal attacks and unprofessionalism." The moderator said.
"No, no, that's alright. I want to respond to the claim he made there. So, Pastor Wyatt, your claim is that the bible was written by people who were actually there to witness it, correct?" Jazz asked.
"Yes, that's correct." Wyatt replied.
"And that includes the entire book of Genesis? Specifically, the creation of the world in 7 days?"
"Of course."
"Alright. On what day was man created?"
"The sixth day."
"So mankind did not exist prior to that point yet?"
"Nope."
"And the bible claims that everything else was created in the 5 days before then?"
"Yes."
"So, how could any records of those events have been recorded by humans if they didn't exist yet?"
Having been approached with an argument made under his own premises and logic, the pastor stood in stunned silence, contemplating how to provide a plausible answer to the question posed before him. His trouble with the question made him start to show a discontent face, as if he never expected to be put in this logical trap before.
All that came out from his mouth were mere stammers and 'um's, which gained light chuckles from the audience as he sat becoming embarassed.
"And that's how it's done, ladies and gentlemen. That's already gotten viral on NewTube, and I've got plenty of comments telling me that this was what shook them out of their faith. Nothing like doing the good work of educating the world." Jazz bragged.
The playback of the event came to a stop as Jazz paused the video, having played it back on her smartphone to show her parents at the dining table, sharing her accomplishment over dinner about her last debate. Her parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, watch with a torn mixture of emotions that conflict pride in their daughter's accomplishments with disappointment in her attitude towards others.
"Well, Jazz, you did quite a good job, dear, but... Don't you think you would be much happier if you pursued a career in something that doesn't punch down on people? Other people do have their beliefs in the supernatural, you know, and that's no reason to embarass and berate them." Maddie said.
Jazz let out an angered grunt, feeling annoyed with a repeat of a conversation that has happened between her and her parents too many times to count.
"Oh, god, mom, this conversation again? I'm just finished up my bachelor's degree in philosophy, and I'm working up to my PHD in neuroscience. That kind of hard work isn't just something you just change like a hobby, you know. It's a lot of studying and seriousness." Jazz protested.
"I'm not talking about that, sweetie. I'm talking about this whole NewTube thing you do. These hour-long podcasts you do with people, talking about things that even your father and I don't understand." Maddie said.
"That's because I practice actual science, unlike the crap you and dad used to do."
"Jazz, honey, I would appreciate it if you didn't talk about our work like that. Jack and I worked very hard in supernatural studies back in college, alongside Vlad, of course, and we were on the very cusp of finally breaching into another dimension."
"That was so stupid! You blasted Vlad in the face with some gunk, and he got acne. You call that a discovery?"
"It was a blast of ectoplasm, Jazz. The fabric of consciousness itself. I'm telling you, it was real, and there's nothing you can say that's going to change my mind about it, or your father's, or Vlad's."
"Really? Because I asked Vlad about it, and he admitted it was just soda that got sprayed in his face that made him break out."
"Well... then maybe Vlad's a little shy about the topic. It did totally cost him his social life, you know."
"Occam's Razor: Considering that dad had a bad habit of shoving cans of soda in your inventions, and Vlad said it was a can of soda that Vlad said made him break out, I'm more inclined to think the obvious answer."
Maddie backed down from the argument, silently retreating into her food, but Jack shot up in speech and came to her rescue.
"Aw, don't worry yourself, sweetheart. You know kids, they always go all rebellious against their parents, try to set up some kind of identity for themselves. It's just what happens with all kids." Jack laughed.
"It's not a phase, dad. It's what I've been studying for years. That's the furthest thing from a phase as you can possibly get." Jazz groaned.
"Oh, I didn't say that, dear. You're probably growing up to be even smarter than the both of us. The stuff you talk about with those other scientist and philosopher types on your blog, I can't even understand half of it, and I studied it in college."
"It's a podcast, dad, not a blog."
"To-may-to-, to-mah-to. You're a genius, nobody's denying that."
Jazz took some pride in her father's compliments, of which Jack's words gained an ashamed glance from Maddie.
"And between you, the science whiz girl, and the comic book extraordinare in Danny, I'd say our kids are growing up just fine. Don't you agree, Danny-boy?" Jack asked.
The last question was addressed to the 19-year old Danny Fenton, who sat next to his father in a quiet, hermit-like manner, keeping quiet and to himself with his face held down. Forced to respond to his father's question, he did so in a meek, disconnected manner, mumbling out his reply in a drug-induced, pacificed haze.
"Uh, yeah, yeah, dad, sure." Danny mumbled.
"Ha! Right you are! I guess you having your near-death experience in our Ghost Portal and going into years of therapy and medication was a blessing for all of us, wasn't it?" Jack cheered.
Making a very crass comment regarding his son's mental state and unaware of it, both Jazz and Maddie raised their voices to show their discontent for his words.
"DAD!" Jazz shouted.
"JACK!" Maddie shouted.
"Ooh, uh, sorry, son. That sounded better in my head. But we still love you, and we're here to help you get all the help you need. We know I can afford it, being CEO of my own food company." Jack scrambled.
The tone of the table turned calm again with Jack's apology, with the family returning to their food in peace.
"That's right, honey. We'll do whatever it takes to get you all better again, see our sweet little boy happy again." Maddie added.
"I don't like the therapy or the doctors." Danny mumbled.
"Danny, this for you to get better again. You've been getting a lot more detached, and we're trying to help you get better. This isn't healthy." Jazz said.
"Of course, if you don't like the doctor you have, we can always get you another. Say, who was that guy who helped the genius guy get the girl in that one movie? The one with the beard? He was really good." Jack thought aloud.
"Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting?" Maddie asked.
"Yeah, that's the fellow! Real relatable chap, I saw a bit of myself in him. Maybe we should give him a call."
"One, that's a movie. Two, he's dead."
"...Oh. Right. I knew that. Still the same, nothing's too good for our Danny-boy."
The family managed to finish their meal in peaceful silence, having no more hostile conversations or arguments that were spat from across the table at one another. When finished with their meal, all parties retreated to their own activities and chores, with the Fenton parents carrying on with work-related tasks.
As far as Jazz was concerned, her only task was to ensure that her younger brother would be well again, acting as his keeper as she escorted him up the stairs to the bathroom before he went back to his room, personally seeing that he opened the medicine cabinet and took his medication.
Watching him take the pharmesutical bottle out of the cabinet, Jazz confirmed that a single pill was in his hand, ready to be consumed.
"I don't like the drugs." Danny moaned.
"They're helping you, Danny. Your hallucinations have only gotten worse, and you need these to get better again." Jazz said.
"You're not my doctor. You're not even a doctor yet, you know."
"Not yet. But I took on my studies because I wanted to see you get better. Mom and dad with their stupid ghost hunting bullshit, it's obviously had an effect on you."
"They help my comics. The plots come to me better."
"I don't care. If making slightly less good comic books is the price to pay for your own health, than that's what we're gonna do. Now, stop stalling and take your pill."
Taking a glass from the counter and putting under the sink, filling it with water, Danny put the pill in his mouth, putting the glass to his mouth after to consume the pill. Confirming that he was properly medicated, Jazz nodded in content, allowing Danny to resume free reign once again.
"I always feel zonked out from those pills. I want new ones." Danny groaned.
"We'll talk to your doctor about that next visit. In the meantime, you need to work with what you have." Jazz said.
Leaving Danny to his own devices, Jazz looked back on him with a look of guilt, unhappily seeing him walk away with his head still hung low. She knows that the treatments he is going through are all harsh on his mind, and makes him appear weak and helpless, as if the treatments do more harm than good.
Having no other understanding to base her understanding of Danny's affliction on, she allows her trust only in modern medicine, and convinces herself all is for the best.
Partially sedated from his medication, Danny walked back to his room, nearly coming into a stumble when he reached the door. Stepping through and entering his own sanctum, he began losing his sense of balance, feeling his eyelids start to grow heavy as his brain no longer felt the strength to carry on its control of the body.
Partially falling on the bed, Danny gripped the blanket, dragging it with him as he slowly tumbled to the floor. Holding the blanket tight against him and hoping to take some solance in its softness and warmth, there is not even a reprieve from the affliction now taking place over him.
The medication he has taken is only the partial source of this problem; it has been designed to make his hallucinations stop, but at the cost of his mental strength and ability to focus. Having gone through several medications already, this is but another in the long line of antipsychotics he has tried...
"It's not working... It's not working..." Danny mumbled.
...but the problem is not the drugs.
The problem is that the drugs do not work, because what is happening to Danny no modern medicine can solve.
In another time, in another world, there was another Danny Fenton.
This young Danny Fenton, when he was just 14, his parents built a very strange machine, designed to view a world unseen.
Carrying an interest in ghosts and the afterlife, the strange and the unknown, it was made with the sole purpose of breaching into the realm of the undead, a place known as the Ghost Zone, and venture into this undiscovered country. When it didn't quite work, his folks just quit...
...but then Danny took a look inside of it.
Danny Fenton can remember these events very well; his life has been exactly similar to this alternate Danny Fenton in every exact way, with both of their lives carrying out in perpendicular fashion to one another in the grand scheme of the multiverse and endless 'what ifs' in time.
But, when this Danny Fenton entered the Ghost Portal, there was a great big flash, and everything just changed, his molecules got all rearranged. When he first woke up he realized he had snow white hair and glowing green eyes, he could walk through walls disappear and fly, much more unique than the other guys.
It was then that he knew what he had to do: Stop the other ghosts that were coming through. He was here to fight for me and you...
...but Danny Fenton only looks on this other life on the outside looking in, just as he always has, documenting what he sees in his long-running comic book Danny Phantom. He is but a passenger, not unlike an Observant such as yourself, left to contemplate what this other life means to him.
Fittingly enough, this glimpse into another life gives him introspective on why he sees what he sees, just as it will serve for you, Observant.
The setting is in the mayor's office of Amity Park, where the incumbent Tucker Foley is hardly at work on his duties as mayor of the city. Among him are Danny Fenton and Sam Manson, his best friends and partners in battle against the ever-present ghost threat, who also happen to be engaged to be married.
They are all heroes and adults carrying responsibilities, but they are still young adults, and so their conversations will sometimes lapse into the adolescent navel-gazing of popular culture or fandom, and it is here that mayor Tucker Foley does just that, sharing a topic that relates to the state of both Danny Fentons.
"You know something, guys? I was rewatching the Back to the Future trilogy the other day, and I think I finally realized what was really wrong with those movies." Tucker said.
"Nothing's wrong with the Back to the Future trilogy, Tucker. I will not tolerate blasphemy in the mayor's house." Danny protested.
"It's my house now, I can do whatever I want. At least, until I get to the White House. Election Day's just a few months away."
"At least you'll have the sci-fi geek vote down." Sam joked.
"I'm up in pretty much all the polls, but never mind that right now, just listen. You know how when Marty McFly gets back to 1985, his house is totally different and his family's more happier?"
"And more materialistic." Danny added.
"Hence why they're happier. But what always rubbed me the wrong way with that is that they're all totally different people now that he altered the future."
"No, they're not. They're still his family." Sam protested.
"Yeah, but they're not the same version of his family. Remember? Everyone in the beginning was a total loser, including George McFly, who was a weak pushover and sad, until Marty got him to punch Biff? That George McFly's nothing like the original. He's a totally different person, personality-wise and even apperance-wise, too."
"So?" Danny asked.
"So, Marty had a set of memories of his family in his own timeline, but, when he got back to the future, he's now in a place where his memories no longer happened. Can you imagine all the different things you went out and did with your family are now no longer happened, and the people who are your family now don't act like the people you know, or remember what you did together? Or how about them asking you something about their own past, and you don't remember it, because you weren't there?"
"The whole point of the movies was that human nature doesn't really change. They had the exact same 3 kids with the same names and all, regardless of what Marty did." Sam added.
"But that's just a movie. We're talking real time travel here."
"Pfft. 'Real' time travel, Tuck?" Danny scoffed.
"Oh, you don't remember the time when we accidentially went back in time and almost got burned at the stake by your great-great-something-grandfather in the Salem Witch Trials?"
"...Oh, right, I forgot."
"How could you forget something like that, man?"
"All the ghost stuff starts to blur together after awhile, Tuck. You know, now that you mention it, that was kind of weird that he looked just like my dad. I guess the Back to the Future movies casting Michael J. Fox as Marty's ancestors and descendants was more on the money than they thought."
"But my point is that I figured out how all works out in the end, how he adjusts into the new timeline."
"Oh, yeah? How?" Sam asked.
"Dual memories."
"Dual memories?" Danny asked.
"Think about it this way: In Back to the Future II, Doc Brown acknowledges that the reality of 1985 exists while they got stuck in 1985A, which was caused when Biff went back and gave himself the sports almanac. So, if a large enough change caused by Biff can create an alternate timeline, why can't Marty going back and keeping his parents from first meeting also cause its own separate reality? At the end of the first movie, we see Marty go back to the mall to see himself go back in time, but the events that led to that Marty's creation are the alternate timeline's, where his family's different. The first time Marty went back in time, he pushed his father out of the way of the car, and he knew that he was going to be hit by the car because his parents talked endlessly about how they met that way. So, how could that second Marty know to go to see his father and that car being the catalyst that made his parents meet, when they no longer met that way?"
Coming to understand Tucker's point, Danny and Sam sat silently in contemplation, attempting to articulate an answer before Tucker could.
"The only way that Marty could've had any knowledge of the first Marty's parents meeting there is if he had the same set of memories as the other Marty. So, with two different Martys existing at the same time, they share the same memories as each other, and both instinctively know how to close the time loop." Tucker explained.
"Then how come Marty didn't have these dual memories in any of the movies?" Danny asked.
"He didn't say if he didn't or not in the third movie, only the first. That means it could've easily kicked in then. And considering that it also showed how slowly his siblings phased out of existence, the effects of changing time just work slow in general, so it might've just taken awhile to kick in. It might've done the same with 1985A in Biff's dystopian future. If he carried the knowledge of his own timeline up to the point where he first went back, then the timeline changed around him, the only way that could be justified is that he carried memories of both events simultaneously, like keeping all of your items during a second playthrough of the same game."
"That slow change always seemed like bullshit to me. If you go back and change something, the change oughtta be instantaneous. I mean, there has to be some law of time or something about that, changing slowly makes no sense. What do you think, Danny?"
"I don't know, all this stuff trying to explain time travel, it all never made much sense to me. If I were some kind of time controlling ghost, and I'm not, I'd make sure that this time travel stuff was more under control. Besides, if there was another me out there, having all the same memories as I have now, don't you think I'd have his memories, too?" Danny asked.
"Maybe you don't have any yet because nobody's tried to go back in time and change stuff. Or maybe in the real world, it only works if you're the second one of yourself that you created by altering time. Of course, there's always the second explanation: You go back in time, you create an entirely new timeline, and that's it." Tucker added.
"I hope not, or else some poor sop is gonna spend too much time trying to make that fit into the trilogy." Sam joked.
Interrupting the cordial discussion held between friends, Tucker received a phone call from a red telephone on his desk, reserved strictly for emergencies. Taken out of his friendly and leisurely mood upon seeing it was ringing, Tucker picked up the phone, putting the set to his ear.
"Hello?" Tucker asked.
Only a mumbled voice could be heard on the other end from the perspective of Danny and Sam, who listened in with alertness.
"Thank you. I'll get right on it. Thank you." Tucker said.
Hanging up the phone, Tucker turned to his two friends, speaking no longer as a friend, but as a city official.
"We got a problem." Tucker said.
Standing up from his seat, Danny summoned a pair of rings out from his midriff, oppositionally moving up and down his body each, transforming his regular human appearance of Danny Fenton, a 19-year old young man, into the black-suited, white-haired, green-eyed, ghost-battling superhero known as...
...Danny Phantom.
"I'm on it... Mr. Mayor." Danny said.
The memory then progressed to Danny Phantom flying to downtown Amity Park, carrying Sam in his arms during their departure.
"You know, babe, speaking of past events, don't you think it's kind of harsh that the ghosts who helped us save the Earth all still want to fight us? I mean, after 5 years, they don't cut us any slack?" Sam asked.
"What can you say? They're ghosts. They don't know how to do anything but follow their basic modus operandi. So, without the threat of the Earth being gone and harming them as well, it's back to the status quo. It's a whole 'unch-bay' of 'ullshit-bay', isn't it?" Danny joked.
"I don't think that last one was Latin."
"Probably not. I took French back at Casper High."
"Your parents or sister aren't gonna help out?"
"They're off on some excursion in South America fighting the ghost of an Amazonian tribal god, plus research. That leaves me to hold down the fort. Or haven't you forgotten already, since we had the whole house to ourselves?"
"Mmm, that's right. But, still, it's one of your old baddies. You could always use some help."
"What's the big deal? We're only dealing with-"
"...YOUNGBLOOD!" A voice shouted.
Stopping in his flight to observe the loud voice, Danny stopped at the rooftop of a building, setting Sam down so they both could peer off the edge and observe the ground.
The ground level of Amity Park showed a massive congregation of children and teenagers gathered before a stage, all holding up signs and wearing T-shirts that sprouted political slogans, such as 'MAKE AMERICA YOUNG AGAIN', 'NO WE WON'T', 'THE DJINN WILL WIN', 'I LIKE THE TYKE', and 'READ MY LIPS: NO MORE HOMEWORK', to name a few.
Enthusiasm was high with the crowd, but never was it so high until Youngblood himself took to the stage, gaining thunderous applause as he waved back. Staying to his nature as a child indulging in imagination, his attire was based on that of John F. Kennedy's, smiling to the crowd as he approached the podium.
"My fellow Americans, this is one of the most important elections of all time that we now face. Together, we have a choice. Do we want to stay with the old, tired ways of the past, or usher in the new and young?" Youngblood asked.
The audience, upon closer inspection, appeared to be under a trance set by Youngblood, who all responded to their hypnotizer's question by shouting...
"YOUNG!" The crowd cheered.
"That's right. Enough of these old, wrinkled, decrepit adults who just want to ruin our fun. I believe in an America by the children, for the children. That means an America with no school, no grown-ups, and most certainly no chores. That's why I plan to abolish the Department of Education, the Department of Labor, and replace Congress with a gigantic waterslide!" Youngblood shouted.
The audience cheered in response to Youngblood's political promises, beginning to chant the name of the ghost who planned to be president.
"That's right, kids. So be sure to vote for me this next election season, and be sure to supress any votes that might come against me, like those pesky parents of yours or any political figures like Mayor Foley. Go to their houses, burn them down, and make sure they never escape! This is the start of the second American revolution!" Youngblood shouted.
The speech and enthusiasm of the crowd was broken up by a single shot of ectoplasm made to Youngblood's head, sending it back and to the left. With a blast hole in his head, Youngblood looked back and up to see the origin of the shot, finding Danny Phantom floating over him with a smoking finger.
"Sorry, Youngblood, but if you're not old enough to vote, you're not old enough to run." Danny joked.
"Danny Phantom! Well, sir, I'll have you know that this is a direct action of election interference, and I'll most certainly be having your government grants from Fenton Works taken away for this!" Youngblood complained.
"I liked you better when you were a pirate. I know every kid wants to be president, but this whole thing isn't for you. So, why don't you just hop inside the Fenton Thermos like a good boy this time? I put some fresh milk and cookies inside this time."
"Ooh, fresh milk and cookies?! Er- I mean, you might think you can overpower me, Danny Phantom, but you haven't accounted for the other dead presidents that are supporting me."
Reaching into the pockets of his suit, Youngblood pulled out several large wads of cash, displaying them in the air.
"Thanks to my political PACs, I've gotten a lot of support from Franklin, Grant, and Jackson. They should be more than enough to deal with you!" Youngblood shouted.
[Soundtrack Cue: Stabbing Westward - Save Yourself]
Bending the wads of cash in his hands, Youngblood sent the dollar bills in the air, where they flew on their own towards Danny Phantom. The images of the presidents and founding fathers printed on them had crawled out of the bills, leaving Danny surrounded by ghost fascimilies of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Alexander Hamilton, Andrew Jackson, Ulysses S. Grant, and Benjamin Franklin.
"You know, I wish I'd paid more attention in history class. I keep forgetting who half of you guys are. All I can remember is which faces belong on each bill." Danny joked.
One of the Andrew Jacksons flew forward, angrily addressing Danny in an unhinged fashion, and with his many swear words bleeped out by an unseen censor.
"You don't scare me, you [bleep] little boy! I'm gonna [bleep] you the [bleep] up and rip your [bleep]ing heart out of your [bleep] and hang you by your [bleep]ing entrails like the savage little [bleep]ing traitor you are!" The Andrew Jackson shouted.
Danny Phantom responded by blasting the ghost with a shot of hellfire from his hand, disintigrating the former president.
"Whoa, language, please! I don't care if you are a former president, we've got kids present!" Danny joked.
In response to their fallen comrade, the dead presidents all converged on Danny Phantom, directly attacking the one who let out the first strike.
In response, Danny Phantom flew back at the dead presidents and began beating them down, squashing them into pure ectoplasm with but a simple swing of his fists or kick of his foot or blast of ectoplasm, showing that his opponents were easy enough to take down with one hit apiece.
Where they proved a very minor threat in terms of metaphysical ability, the ghosts proved to be more deadly in quantity.
As the past memory played out in the head of Danny Fenton, reliving a past life through his pharmesutical-induced stupor, he no longer saw this experience as a hallucination, but instead began to experience the memory as if it were playing out in real time, and he was once again in his past life.
Acting as if he were flying about in the air in his ghost form, his very human body acted out the same attacks on the dead presidents, completely convinced that he was battling them. His swings, delayed and discoordinated by his medication, made the attacks less focused and groggy.
Not only do they attack mostly thin air, but they also strike at objects all about his room, with Danny unknowingly striking his belongings and unaware of the minor pain he inflicted on himself as a result. His mind is in the present world no longer, and whatever events happen in it are completely out of his awareness.
His consciousness is now in a time that now no longer is.
Still does Danny Phantom battle against the dead presidents, brawling and blasting away all the American apparations that fight against him.
Like the Andrew Jackson that fell before him, Danny was assaulted by others that shouted several obscenities at him, while also firing flintlock pistols while attempting to beat him with their hickory canes. Known for being the most aggressive and unhinged president in history, the many ghosts of Andrew Jackson attacked first and held nothing back...
...but they all fell before Danny Phantom.
The Abraham Lincoln ghosts, armed with but axes, were among the next to strike, forcing Danny to dodge their swings and strikes of the etherial blades that would have cut through his body. Keeping in tune with the true Abraham Lincoln, their axes were all sharpened well and would have been able to down Danny Phantom with ease...
...but Danny Phantom does not give them the opportunity.
The Benjamin Franklin ghosts, arming themselves with kites, harnessed lightning and redirected it at Danny Phantom, forcing him to dodge the bolts in midair as he struck back. The forces of nature are but putty in the hands of a ghost, putting them in a position of power that provides a literal example of the saying 'mind over matter'...
...but the mind of Danny Phantom has been sharpened to do battle with any opponent he faces.
And the mind of Danny Fenton is still stuck in this past memory that no longer is, unawares of the current time he is in.
He believes that he is still battling against the numerous dead presidents, and reliving the memory as though it were the present. The very concept of present seems to have become foreign at this point; how many times has he had these episodes of breaches into alternate realties, unsure of which is the real and which is not?
His family knows most of these episodes, but know not about the cause of the main issue. Believers they are in the supernatural, venturers into the unknown, his parents have not considered the aspect of time travel nor its effects, and his sister, rigid in reason and rationality, could not even conceptualize this possibility at all.
All the help that remains for him is medication that does not help at all, because the science of objective reality cannot assist in matters in perceptive reality.
Fighting against the other presidents of Ulysses S. Grant, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, and finally George Washington, dispatching all of the replica ghosts, Danny Phantom now stood before Youngblood, undefeated by his underlings, and unamused by his attempts to stop him.
"Nice try, but history's something you're supposed to leave in the past." Danny joked.
"I don't look past, I look forward. And I'm gonna start with a new tax bill to increase the national debt!" Youngblood declared.
Signing an etherial piece of paper he materialized, officially marking a bill into law, the law then turning into a gigantic money printer, which Youngblood then activated. Opening his mouth to catch the expelled federal notes, Youngblood began eating the money, which caused his body to expand to giant proportions, towering over Danny Phantom as a more dangerous threat.
"Government spending leads to plenty of growth, and far more power to crush you, Danny Phantom!" Youngblood shouted.
Flying up to Youngblood's face, Danny Phantom began firing directly at it, causing the ghost to cover his face in pain. Reaching out another hand, Youngblood attempted to swat him away in a wild wave of his hand, trying to shoo off Danny Phantom and prevent him from attacking further.
Dodging away from one pass of the waving hand, its return had successfully landed on Danny Phantom, knocking him back in the air.
Experiencing a memory where he was knocked back by a giant ectoplasmic hand, Danny Fenton stumbled back and hit a wall. He could not feel the impact he made with the wall, but instead felt the force of the hand hit him, nearly knocking all the breath from his body and forcing him to hold back and recover.
Once forced to close his eyes in reeling pain, he opened them again on his perceived target, preparing for a full retaliation.
Jumping up in the air, Danny Fenton believed himself to be flying, once again floating above the head of the oversized Youngblood. Extending his hands out in a motion as if pushing something in the air, he felt once again the sense of firing hellfire out from his palms, extending out energy from his body against his foe.
Diving towards the ground, he believed himself to be flying towards his face, preparing a charged blast in his hand.
Laying a punch in the face of Youngblood, Danny Phantom also released a blast of ectoplasmic energy in the punch, greatly amplifying the power of his punch and forcing Youngblood back to grasp his nose in pain. Unable to focus due to his pain, Youngblood's attention was off of Danny Phantom, with his eyesight only lingering towards the ground.
It was, however, by looking at the ground in which he noticed the many supporters who had come to support him, looking back up at the monstrosity that they had previously been cheering for. As a result of Youngblood's disorientation, the hypnosis put on the crowd by the child ghost had faded with the appearance of green pops and rings coming from their heads, returning their minds to themselves.
And not only do they respond to Youngblood by screaming, but Youngblood himself conjured a response in turn from his own anger.
"Not gonna support me anymore, huh? Well, you should know what a strong government does to its disobedient citizens: Puts its boot down on their necks!" Youngblood shouted.
Raising his foot, Youngblood prepared to stomp on the crowd, causing them to flee and cower before the incoming foot and imminent deaths.
"Sorry, Youngblood, you still gotta respect people's rights to vote, even when they vote against you!" Danny Phantom shouted.
Flying in to save the day, Danny Phantom blasted ectoplasm bolts into the incoming foot, piercing through the shoe and into Youngblood's metaphysical body, once again bringing him intense burns. Raising his foot further up to grasp it, he began bouncing on his other, hopping up and down in frustrated pain.
"Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh...! Oh, that smarts...!" Youngblood yelped.
The saved crowd no longer screamed in pain, but instead looked up to the humiliated Youngblood in amusement, laughing at his apparent foot pain.
"Danny!" Sam called.
Turning to the call of Sam, Danny saw her throw a Fenton Thermos towards him, giving him the means to capture Youngblood and end the battle.
Catching the Fenton Thermos, Danny immediately turned it towards Youngblood and opened it, activating the tractor beam within to draw the ghost inside. With the beam being so comically small in comparison to the expanded body of Youngblood, the weapon might seem ineffective at capturing such a large target...
...but the beam had seemingly began to suck the extra metaphysical mass out of him, causing his body to rapidly shrink down to regular size. Seeing his own bodily mass start to slip away, and his base body start to follow, Youngblood panicked, vainly attempting to pull back what mass he lost, all to no effect.
Unable to escape, Youngblood once again turned to a vain effort of escape, trying to fly away, only to slowly be sucked further and further towards the Fenton Thermos.
"No! No! NO! I didn't even make it to the ballot!" Youngblood pleaded.
[Soundtrack Cue End]
Finally sucked back into the Fenton Thermos, Danny Phantom sealed the device with its lid, officially trapping the apparation in the pocket dimension within.
"Sorry, Youngblood. Maybe you'll have a little better luck next election cycle." Danny Phantom joked.
Applause and cheers came after the silence of victory, coming from the formerly hypnotized young people in the hold of Youngblood. Giving their collective thanks to Danny Phantom, the half-dead hero responded by smiling and waving to the crowd, bowing to them as if he were but a showman.
Another burst of applause and cheers came as Sam Manson ran up to Danny, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him.
"What took you so long with the Fenton Thermos?" Danny Phantom joked.
"You left me on the rooftop. I had to take the stairs all the way down. Not all of us can fly, you know." Sam said.
"Oh. Whoops. Sorry."
"You can make up for it by taking me to Nasty Burger. I just worked up a big appetite."
Scooping up his fiancee in his arms, Danny Phantom took off in the air, carrying Sam with him, and taking along the Fenton Thermos and the love of the crowd.
Flying up in the air, they were away from the crowd and all citizens on the ground to invade them, giving them a moment of privacy in the skies. Nuzzling herself up against Danny Phantom, Sam took full advantage of it, which Danny responded to by holding her tigher against him.
"God, I love you." Sam said.
"I love you, too." Danny Phantom said.
"This wedding sure as hell can't come fast enough. I can't wait for you to walk me down the aisle. Every day, you get to carry me off to whatever ghost you need to fight, I want to see you do it when we get home on our wedding night."
"I'll take you up on it."
"And you and I have the big happy ever after that heroes get?"
In the present time, Danny Fenton held his arms out as if holding something, only holding empty air in reality. He perceived himself talking to his own fiancee, making vows of happiness and joy that even very few couples in love can attain, and even less cherish, to the woman he had known as long as he can remember...
...but, in this reality, he has neither this life nor this exact woman; his Sam Manson pales in comparison.
"Yeah... Of course we do... All heroes get the big happy ending..." Danny mumbled.
A knock at the door had caught the attention of Danny Fenton, prompting him to turn to it. Broken out of his trance, the knock had given him the same feeling one has when having the last memories of a dream drift away upon reawakening, losing the ability to conceptualize what was once vivid and clear.
Groggily approaching the door, Danny opened it, finding Jazz standing on the other side.
"Danny?" Jazz asked.
"Hey, Jazz. What's up?" Danny mumbled.
"What's going on in there? I heard a lot of bangs and crashes."
"I'm just... plotting another comic. Everything's fine."
"Oh, alright. I love how creative you are, but I wish you didn't act it all out like that. You're liable to hurt yourself."
"I'm fine. Really."
"If you say so. Listen, that new medication, it's not doing anything much for you, is it?"
"Not really."
"I didn't think so. You hadn't shown a lot of change from the last ones, and you seem a lot more tipsy."
"I don't need you to mother me, Jazz. I'll let you know if the pills don't work."
"I don't try mother you, Danny. Just trying to do what mom and dad should be doing, and not me. I gotta look out for my little brother."
"Heh... If you say so."
"I do say so. Now, try to relax and not break anything, okay? I need to do some more studying, make sure I can finish my degree, learn how to help you and kids like you."
"You always cared too much."
"Because you're my brother, Danny. It's worth it for you."
Jazz playfully pressed against Danny's nose with her finger, prompting a laugh from them both.
"Love you, little bro." Jazz said.
As Jazz stepped away, Danny closed the door, closing himself in his sanctuary once again.
Free from any disturbances, and feeling the past memory begin to die down, Danny walked over to his bed and fell onto it, aimlessly looking at the ceiling. Alone in his thoughts, he contemplates over the images that play over and over in his head, attempting to make sense of what they were and where they came from.
Are they some sort of divine inspiration for his work?
Are they a fantasy that he conjured up out of sheer adolescent boredom?
Are they an amalgamation of all the experiences he has had over his life, from his personal to what media he has consumed?
He does not know the answer, but he knows that these all have a clear cause:
The Ghost Portal he stepped into years ago.
What is it about this piece of nonfunctioning equipment that had caused these thoughts?
There have been many legends of knights that protect and watch over their lands, in service of their king and country.
Also have there been tales of monsters that lurk out at night, hunting for prey to steal off in the dark.
Then, there have been men with too much time and money on their hands, along with a few personal desires or grievances, free to act on them without obstruction.
The man named Buckley Lloyd is something of a mix of the three.
A wealthy man in the city Hillwood, its richest resident with a wife and daughter, he seemed to have everything and more in life, living a life of hedonism that only a few privleged few get to experience in this country. Never had he suspected that anything could possibly become of his perfect life, and in blissfull ignorance he lived in this foolhardy conviction.
Then, a man named the Freak shook him out of this conviction.
Coming home after a purchase of a country club, Buckley Lloyd arrived home to find his daughter, Rhonda Lloyd, brutally raped and comatose, a discovery which drove him to sorrow and his wife into madness, left to die of despair in a mental asylum in her overwhelming grief.
And Buckley Lloyd was left alone, stuck in the empty life that he had made for himself.
Turning his need for vengeance to the streets of Hillwood that spawned the tragedy in his home, he became the caped crusader named Valiance, the lethal protector of Hillwood. Taking to the same streets that landed his daughter in the hospital, he gunned down criminals in the streets, leaving bodies in the wake of his rebirth.
During many clashes with the Green Eye, he would soon come to abandon his lethal methods, brought to an official end when Rhonda had returned alive and well again, taking her own name of Elite, and pursuing a similar path of vengance as her father against the Freak and all like him.
When she gave her life to save another, however, he was left alone again with an empty life of regrets...
...but that he vowed to change with the blood of the Green Eye, using it to resurrect his dead daughter. Living once again sans a soul, the reanimated body of Rhonda caused more troubles in Hillwood and its peoples, including the chain of events that led to its isolation from the world and destruction.
During its months of anarchy and chaos, Hillwood also brought forth the struggles that would eventually make Valiance to lose the last of his sanity, vowing that no human being was worthy of life and declaring to kill everyone on the island city, save for children, the only group he considered still innocent.
Once again, he clashed with the Green Eye, who subdued him and made him realize the error of his ways, but at the price of his will to go on.
Urged out of his self-imposed exile from consciousness by Helga Pataki to help once again, Buckley Lloyd rose up as Valiance once more to aid in the final battle to save Hillwood from itself, fighting alongside the many heroes that still struggled to hold the city together in a last hurrah.
It had failed in a nuclear fire, but not before Vlad Plasmius had saved both him and Gerald from perishing in the blast.
Now, he is once again without a family, or even the place he has known as home for much of his life...
...but he still has his money, and the will to continue.
Somewhere in a hidden cave just outside Detroit, Michigan, the violent crime capital city of the United States, Buckley Lloyd, dressed in his full costume save for his helmet, carefully watched a series of television screens playing all local news channels for the city, keeping up to date on all affairs happening in the town.
"...another murder in the downtown area..." One news station said.
"...reports of a 17-year old girl being gangraped..." Another news station said.
"...hostage situation currently going on at the city courthouse, where Judge Ansolabehere and several court clerks are being held at gunpoint..." A different news station said.
Hearing a currenty-developing news story catch his ear, Buckley elevated its volume and decreased the volume of the others, listening carefully.
"...the man responsible for the holdup is Walter Phillips, who recently lost a legal custody battle in this same courthouse over his daughter, which Judge Ansolabehere was responsible for the final decision on the case. For several hours, Mr. Phillips has been repeating his demands to what he calls 'a fair trial' and has not harmed any of the hostages, but law enforcment has been encamped outside in wait for fear of bringing harm to a delicate situation..." The news station continued.
Having heard enough of the news report, Buckley donned the helmet to his costume, heading to a specialized vehicle known as the War Horse II, a replacement to the fast armorized transportation he had during his days in Hillwood. Watching the protective windshield fall over him, Buckley put the vehicle in drive, blasting off out of the cave and towards his destination with great speed.
Though he has been given some assurance that no hostages have been harmed, he does not waste time to arrive and ensure that they stay safe.
The city courthouse where Walter Phillips currently holds at gunpoint is fully under his control, but he is not in control at all.
Distressed with the loss of his daughter to his divorced wife, fighting feelings of helplessness in his inability to secure her back, and humiliation in him being called an unfit parent and unable to provide and care for her, he is the last person in the world who should be wielding a gun...
...but there is one in his hand, and it is a machine gun at that, giving him the ability to end several lives in great succession.
Driven by the all-too human feeling to be with his own children that he loves, his reasonings for what he does is understandable, but his approach towards the matter is not only less than acceptable, but brings great danger to everyone under his hold, many of which had nothing to do with his case or decision.
The poor clerks, men and women who only wish to survive and provide for their own, cower in fear, some wetting themselves under pressure. Walter Phillips has no intention of hurting these people, having ire only for the judge who was responsible for him losing his daughter, but his temperament makes it likely he might kill someone by pure accident, which they are reasonably afraid of.
However, the urge to kill Judge Ansolabehere is something he feels strongly, and the only murder he has contemplated thus far, as he kept the gun on him while shouting his demands to the police below, doing so with a voice that reeked of pain and desparation to accomplish his goal.
"I want a retrial! I don't want this old piece of shit deciding whether or not I can be with my daughter, I want a fair judge! And no matter how it turns out, I want my daughter back, do you hear me?!" Walter shouted.
On the ground, S.W.A.T. teams and specialists attempted to make their way up to free the hostages and put down their victor, but way up to the courthouse was too wide open a space for them to receive proper cover. Even the slightest edge towards the stairway resulted in warning shots being fired near their feet, forcing them back before any harm could come to them.
"You knock that shit off! I want somebody to talk to! Give me the chief of police or whoever it is you get for these things! And don't just bullshit me to get your boys inside! I've seen the movies!" Walter shouted.
A high-ranking police officer came forward with a loudspeaker, attempting to talk down Walter peacefully.
"Now, calm down, Mr. Phillips. We all understand you're very upset." The negotiator said.
"'Upset'?! Is that what you call it, asshole?! I lost my daughter to that lying, cheating bitch, and you're gonna tell me that I'm just 'upset'? No, I'm pretty pissed off, pal! Don't screw with me, or I'll blow the judges brains out!" Walter screamed.
"No, no, nobody wants that. Listen, we can work something out. Just let the judge and the clerks go, and put down the gun. We can all work this out later."
"What, do you think I'm stupid?! You're just gonna arrest me and take me even further away from my-"
Before either hostage taker or hostage negotiator could continue, the loud roaring of the War Horse II drowned out all other noise from the area, gaining the attention of everyone present. All looking to face the massive vehicle as it parked, all had equally gasped and awed the sight of Buckley Lloyd as he departed, fully in guise with his identity hidden from the public.
Stepping up to the staircase, Buckley was stopped by the negotiator, who angrily tried to block him from continuing.
"Hey, hey, what do you think you're doing here?!" The negotiator shouted.
"Keep him talking. I'll take it from here." Buckley said.
Once again keeping his identity secret with his words filtered through a voice distorter, he departed with indifference to the negotiator, who did not react the same.
"Hey, what are you-? Hey, hey!" The negotiator shouted.
"What the hell is he doing?! What's that all about?!" Walter shouted.
Putting his megaphone back up to his mouth, the negotiator addressed Walter once again, following through Buckley's orders.
"Uh, no, no, never mind him, he's doing his own thing. Why don't you focus on you and me? Just tell me what you want." The negotiator said.
"I want my daughter back! By any means necessary!" Walter shouted.
"You want your little girl, not a problem."
"And I don't want that bitch Susan to go anywhere near the kid! Or that poolboy she's been banging behind my back!"
"You got it. The bitch is out."
Unseen by Walter or any of the police, Buckley detached a small gun from his belt, firing it up to the roof, revealing it to be a grappling hook. Attaching the gun back to his belt, it had began elevating him to the top of the courthouse, allowing him to continue with his plan.
Discreetly walking to the access to the roof, Buckley snuck into the building, preparing to handle Walter in his own way.
"Hey, no problem at all, Walt. You let the judge go, we'll even get the kid into an Ivy League school." The negotiator said.
Detecting his offer as too generous to be believed, even in his delirious state, Walter turned on the negotiator, taking a more hostile tone.
"You screwing with me?!" Walter shouted.
"No, no, no, Walt, really. Stack of bibles. C'mon, I thought we were getting somewhere." The negotiator tried.
Watler grabbed Judge Ansolabehere from his holding spot on the ground, holding him up to the window, and puttnig the machine gun to his head.
"You screwing with me?! You wanna see what happens when you screw with me?! I'll show you! I'll blow his goddamn brains all over the nighttime news!" Walter screamed.
Then, a pair of armored hands burst through the wall adjacent to Walter Phillips, startling him out of his hold of the judge, and pulling him back and away from Judge Ansolabehere, allowing him to run free from his hold, and the clerks to all follow suit towards freedom.
Wildly firing his gun in the air, Walter wasted ammunition in a sloppy display of fear, once again demonstrating his lack of planning and skill in this situation he had put himself in. At last getting up to face his enemy, he found it to be Buckley Lloyd, stepping forward in his armored persona without fear or pause.
Firing his machine gun once again in a scream, Walter watched as the bullets harmlessly bounced off of Buckley's armored suit, and his gun losing all function when he grabbed the barrel and bent it in half, ruining the barrel and preventing it from being fired any longer.
Dropping his gun in fear, Walter helplessly watched Buckley throw a backhanded slap to his face, carrying enough force to send him to the window.
Crashing through the window, Walter let out a terrified scream, letting out a cry of finality as he came to his apparent end. In his last thoughts, he has only love for his daughter and an intense regret over the mistakes he has made in his life, including this one at the courthouse, wishing he could take it all back for another chance.
This wish is not granted, but a second chance is indeed given to him.
Expecting himself to continue falling, Walter's screams stopped as he realized he was no longer falling, looking to the ground as it still promised a death that was no longer for him. Looking up to see what had prevented him from coming to his doom, he saw a lone armored hand grabbing him by the leg, suspending him in the air.
That same hand had pulled him back into the building, leaving him to weakly plop to the ground in defeat, laying at the mercy of Buckley Lloyd.
"Why... Why didn't you kill me?" Walter asked.
"I know you lost your daughter in court. I can sympathize with your case. I can also give you some help. I know a few connections, I can help you win your daughter back." Buckley explained.
Hearing his would-be killer offer him a chance at what he desired most, Walter's temporary insanity began dying down to vulnerability, allowing himself to trust Buckley.
"Y-You mean it?" Walter asked.
"Yes. If you know anything about me, then you know that I've always tried my best to help families and kids." Buckley said.
"But you're Valiance. You kill people. You killed a lot of people back in Hillwood. I mean, before it got blown up and everything."
Buckley sighed under his mask, feeling deep remorse over his mistakes as they were repeated back to him.
"I did. I've done my best to make up for what I've done before. But you're wrong about one thing. My name is not Valiance anymore." Buckley explained.
Lest we forget to mention, his knight's armor no longer bore its black coloring, but now sported white and silver, like that of a shining knight with righteousness on his side.
"My name... is Vindicator." Buckley declared.
The affair had finished off with Vindicator leading Walter down the stairs of the courthouse, surrendering to the police in peace. Having resolved the situation nonlethally, once again establishing his new nature and new approach to crimefighting, Vindicator entered the War Horse II, leaving behind a crowd to bear witness to his good deeds.
Arriving back at his cave, Vindicator removed his helmet to reveal Buckley Lloyd's face once again, but not without another issue to resolve.
Feeling his face feel uncharacteristically wet, he touched his face to see blood left on his fingertips, originating from a nosebleed, with a minor headache following. Marching to a nearby desk, he retrieved a bottle of medicine and a glass of water, downing the medication to resolve the issue.
It takes a few moments to work, but the medication does its job, temporarily staving off this greater issue so that he can continue his job without the pain. While feeling the medication clear away the headache, his thoughts are not on his lost family, lost home, or even his current mission.
Instead, there is one name that comes to mind.
"Hey Arnold... hope this is doing the right thing." Buckley groaned.