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When Jazz came out of her bedroom for a glass of water, the pungent smell of ectoplasm slammed into her lungs, almost making her stumble backwards. Her eyes watered.
Granted, the house always smelled a little like ectoplasm, but never this strong. Even the Ghost Zone, in its neutral state, didn’t have this blatant sour scent leaking into the air.
Jazz had only smelled something like this once, when she helped patch Danny up after a particularly bad fight.
This was the scent of charged ectoplasm, the exposed lifeblood of sapient ghosts.
Something was wrong.
Abandoning her drink and study materials, Jazz barged into her parents’ lab.
The moment she opened the door, the sharp sour scent attacked her eyes and throat. Someone was bleeding out in the basement.
She thundered down the steps.
The moment she made it into the lab, Jazz’s breath hitched.
Her mum smiled, her face shield making her seem demonic in the soft green glow. “Hi, Jazz! Do you want to watch the experiment?”
In her hand was a neon green scalpel. On the table, his limbs bound to the four corners of the sterile surface, was a boy with snow white hair.
Danny.
“Mum.” Jazz swallowed, almost dizzy at the sharp citric scent and the sight of glowing blood trickling down the edge of the scalpel in her mother’s hands. “What are you doing?”
It was a redundant question. The sight of Danny’s prone form, lying spread-eagled on the lab table—his hazmat suit torn and incisions cut into his torso with clear surgical precision, painted a very, very clear picture.
She was in shock, Jazz thought. It wasn’t like her to freeze up like this. But this…it felt like a dream. Danny couldn’t be here, in his ghost form, bound and splayed out like a lifeless specimen at their mother’s mercy.
But.
But—even as Jazz tried futilely to stop the gravity of the situation from crashing into her, she couldn’t deny what was right in front of her. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was real.
The smell of charged ectoplasm, Danny’s ectoplasm, permeated the cold, sterile air.
(And then I’ll tear it apart, molecule by molecule.)
Jazz shivered.
“Oh!” Her mother exclaimed. “Jack and I finally caught the ghost boy. It was a difficult fight, I’ll tell you; your father’s up in the OP Center taking care of his wounds. But we’ve been trying to capture it for so long; I just couldn’t wait! Jack told me to get started first.” She paused. “Are you here to watch the dissection, sweetie? You can see first hand what ghosts like Phantom are like on the inside!”
“But—he—“ He’s your son. Jazz swallowed her words. Mum—her mother wouldn’t believe her. She’d think Danny had somehow tricked Jazz.
Danny looked terrible. Jazz desperately wanted to tear her gaze away from her brother—from his wide eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, barely registering anything in front of him but the pain—but she had to know.
Shackles had been wrapped around his wrists and ankles, spiderwebs of orange veins spiraling from the restraints into Danny’s body. On his face—dear Ancients—Mum had muzzled Danny—no, worse than that—Jazz could see Danny’s jaw forced open, part of the neon green contraption forced into his mouth. Even through his slightly luminescent skin, Jazz could see something pulsing bright orange and unnatural inside Danny’s throat.
“He—you haven’t even anesthetized him!” She said. Her mother wouldn’t budge if she refuted her attempts at dissection. It was better to appeal to the scientist in her, to buy time and hope for an opportunity to rescue Danny.
Her mother hummed distractedly, already turning her attention back to Danny. “Why should I?”
What? “People anesthetize frogs and rats when dissecting them!” Jazz said, her words tasting like poison at the comparison. “It’s easier to operate on someone unconscious than awake.”
“That’s what the restraints are for, sweetie.” Her mother said condescendingly. “The muzzle is to stop it from using its Ghostly Wail and wrecking the lab. The wrist restraints stop it from phasing away. They’re new inventions.”
“But if Dan—if Phantom struggles, he’ll mess up your incisions!” Jazz cried.
“It won’t.” Her mother said confidently. “Do you see these orange veins?” She traced a finger over the shackle on Danny’s wrist, trailing her hand towards the poisonous orange pulsing under Danny’s skin. Her eyes drifted to the orange glow resonating within Danny’s throat. “It’s a synthetic compound that emulates the effects of blood blossoms. Much easier to synthesize and use. And the best part is—this chemical doesn’t only stop Phantom from using its powers. It paralyzes all ecto-entities completely. Not even a Level 10 should be able to move after being injected with this!”
“But—but—that’s unethical—and torture!” The moment the argument left her mouth, Jazz knew it would be ineffective.
Her mother had never been one to believe in things like ethics, especially when they stopped her from pursuing her goals.
Today, that goal was dissecting her son.
“Don’t be silly, sweetie.” Her mother smiled, cold and cruel—and how had Jazz ever expected this logical approach to work? “It isn’t torture if it can’t feel pain.”
Jazz felt sick.
For the first time in years, she was at a loss for words.