Chapter Text
I never asked for this.
I always did my best.
Without your love, I am a broken mess.
Now I'm never enough.
and it's almost too much
For me to work, I need a human touch.
A Human's Touch (feat. McKenna Rae)
—Ninja explosive ball!—No sooner had the ball he threw struck that enemy automaton. True to its name, it exploded on contact.
Making the unsuspecting robot falter. A rare abomination—a combination of bear and octopus—with a massive, hulking, furry body, yet also bearing eight prehensile tentacles that ended in claws. Randy couldn’t help but think, «Good Lord, either Viceroy was running out of ideas or McFist was rushing him more than usual.» It didn’t even have any special abilities to make it intimidating, apart from its hideous appearance, of course. However, he was already used to it.
—Is that all you’ve got, McFist? What a disappointment! — he scoffed sarcastically.
Seizing the moment of confusion afforded by the daze, he executed a low sweeping kick while shouting "Ninja Kick!" Strategically targeting an unstable balance point, he forced the robot to back off with a grunt that made it stagger.
The robot slowly regained its composure with a menacing slowness, its tentacles rising like cobras ready to strike, heading toward the Ninja. Randy, for his part, with a composure unbecoming of the situation, drew his sword, pointed it at his opponent, and prepared for the blow. He heard something akin to a scream from the robot as it charged toward him; without fear, he simply waited, raising his sword when it came into view.
.
..
...
There was a crackling sound, and the robot froze just inches away, its sword still suspended in mid-air without having made contact. Without warning, the gigantic mechanical body collapsed, nearly crushing Norrisville’s national hero had he not moved out of the way.
—Wow! What the juice? -He approached what was left of his enemy—now smoking remains—cautiously, perplexed by what had happened. He gently touched it with his sword to see if it would react, but to no avail—except that the creation Viceroy had surely spent days on suddenly turned into nothing but useless pieces that flew every which way. Wow! That was something... Easy—under the mask, his brow was furrowed in a genuine expression of confusion. Something didn’t add up.
Anyway, he didn’t have time to look into it or worry about it too much when, now that the danger had passed, a crowd of teenagers swarmed him with their usual fanaticism.
Wow... Ninja! You didn’t even touch it—how did you do that?!—shouted a fascinated boy.
Ninja ninja! Over here! A few questions—it could have been either Heidy or Debbie Kang; he didn’t bother to check whose voice it was.
"Ninja, I love you!" -Someone squealed from the back of the crowd. It was sudden but not unusual; I heard it all the time.
—Well, I can tell you that… Smoke bomb!—A dense curtain of smoke, with that characteristic, pungent odor of things many preferred not to detail, enveloped him. In mere seconds, the hero’s figure vanished, leaving the crowd stunned, disappointed, and, as always, disgusted by the stench.
—Cunningham! Here you are—he spun around sharply toward that familiar voice as soon as he took off his mask, stowing it in a fluid motion in his backpack before turning his attention to the redhead in front of him. Howard, his best friend—are you okay? Oh, you know what? Stupid question, come on! They canceled classes again because of the mess that thing made—he let out a choked laugh, pointing with his thumb at a completely collapsed wall of the high school gym, leaving a beautiful hole as proof of the recent fight.
—Blah.. Homework again—he huffed in annoyance, but the truth was that a few “free” days until they fixed that wall meant more time for…
"Let's play Grave Puncher at your place?" Howard blurted out.
"That's a no-brainer!" he exclaimed cheerfully, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder and running off with Howard toward home. They had to make the most of their time, after all, right?
_
—What was that, Viceroy?! He didn’t even touch the ninja!—Hannibal McFist exclaimed, slamming his fist on the console and sending plastic fragments flying. His face, flushed with anger, was a mixture of disappointment and rage. The screen showed a replay of the fight, a thirty-second loop that ended with the humiliating implosion of the robot Viceroy had built, demonstrating how VICEROY’s plan had failed spectacularly.
Viceroy, unfazed by these outbursts as he was accustomed to them, tilted his head as he analyzed the robot’s telemetry logs.
"That's odd; I was sure it would last longer," he said, ignoring his boss's tantrum and focusing on the data. Self-destruction shouldn’t have been possible; did he make a miscalculation? This shouldn’t have happened. He clicked his tongue, frowning thoughtfully.
—Of course it shouldn’t have happened! You told me it would destroy the Ninja, and it didn’t even tickle him! —McFist growled, averting his gaze from the scientist and striding away— You’d better have another plan that works this time, Viceroy! I don’t want any mistakes or… self-destructions!
Viceroy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then quickly rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the looping video of the fight between his recent, failed creation and the ninja. There was apparently nothing unusual: his robot was throwing punches left and right while the Ninja dodged a few—fortunately, only a few—until the annoying pest caught the robot off guard, toying with it and ultimately defeating it without even having to touch it, even tho he was sure he’d improved its intelligence, dexterity, and agility. If the Ninja had been responsible for such a disastrous outcome, the battle would have lasted more than 30 minutes.
He was sure he hadn’t made any mistakes this time, or at least not too many, even with the little time Hannibal had given him to finish off the robot.
Well, next time would definitely be the charm.
___________________________
—You know, it feels weird that this week has been ridiculously easy; even the nomicon hasn’t been as insistent as usual. I even got an A in Howard’s algebra class! I had time to play and study. "He said, sounding puzzled, his tone mixed with relief and more.
Howard raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “And that’s supposed to be bad?” Now you have more time, what does that mean? That we can hang out together more often! And just like you said... You got an A in algebra after a string of Bs and Cs! That means my grades will go up too; finally the universe is smiling on us!—he exclaimed ecstatically, raising his hands in the air with enthusiasm, glancing sideways at his friend only to find that the taller one had frozen in place.—Come on, Cunningham, don’t tell me you’re not happy. What’s wrong?
I looked away; I was happy about this change, clearly I was! He was sure there was nothing to fear if the Nomicon hadn’t made enough effort to contact him in recent days, and if it did, it was only to try to learn a few techniques he didn’t quite understand until a fight—usually brief—broke out; there was no reason to worry. There was nothing to suggest that, for some reason, the robots McFist sent were more useless than usual; his battles never even lasted fifteen minutes, either because he managed to tear them to pieces or because, for some reason, the robot self-destructed. Not to mention the sorcerer; he was still worried about what he might do—he wasn’t an easy enemy like McFist, of course. He was still dishing out the same number of beatdowns as always, some harder than others, but in the end he kept thwarting that filthy sorcerer’s plans over and over—the same old routine. The only other noteworthy thing was the reduced damage (like no longer wrecking Director Slimovitz’s vehicle in every battle).
—It’s just… a hunch. —A crooked, unconvincing smile spread across his lips.
—Randy… Randy… Randy-Howard shook his head, leaned in to place a hand on his shoulder, causing him to hunch over slightly to meet his eye level, and said, “Dude, you’ve got to stop overthinking if you want peace, seriously!” If something terrible, something that would doom us were about to happen, I’m absolutely sure the Ninjanomicon would have already told you with its strange riddles. However, just look at it!—Howard snatched the backpack and unzipped it. Inside, between a notebook and a calculator, lay the black-and-red book, clumsily disguised with a chemistry cover. The Nomicon, silent and inert, looked like a simple school textbook.
—See? Nothing! -He handed back the backpack- You need to relax, man.
Randy sighed, resigned. His friend had a point, but the feeling wouldn’t leave him.
—I know, it’s just that… He couldn’t find the words; he just fell silent.
—Ahg.. Whatever, Cunningham. Look, I know something that’ll help you perfectly—Howard turned his back, resuming his walk to the quintessential teenage hangout: Greg's Game Hole.
"Weren't we supposed to study for the Spanish exam at your house?" Randy asked doubtfully.
That can wait. "I'm going to sacrifice our study time to help you," Howard replied, opening the shop doors with a mischievous smile.
—From the very beginning, we weren’t going to study, right?
—Exactly! Except that now there really is a good excuse to postpone it.
Randy couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before following him inside. He could study during first period, taking advantage of the fact that Spanish was second; anyway, they didn’t do much in art class beside some vague crafts.
I greeted Greg, the owner, as I passed by. They wasted no time heading for the games as soon as they saw them (that’s what they’d come for, after all), tho to their initial surprise, Howard took a different route, heading to the second floor of the arcade.
"I'm going to get a burger and fries; do you want some too?" Howard asked.
“Obviously, but also buy a soda, or you’ll choke later for not chewing,” he scoffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of bills, which he handed to Howard. “Let me know when they bring your food; I’m not paying again for you to eat mine,” he warned, rolling his eyes as his friend said something about loyalty and how he’d never do that to him. I knew him well enough to know he’d do it; it looked like I’d have to stay on my toes.
He turned his attention back to one of the games; he was sure he’d already played it, and as always, he’d gotten the highest score, but it wasn’t like he had many options—Greg still hadn’t gotten any new games, and anyway, this was supposed to be a distraction. He could try to keep beating his own percentage.
Yes, that sounded good.
He set his backpack down beside the machine, then more calmly settled in to grab the controls, watching the game begin and smiling confidently. This was the life.
No more than thirty minutes passed during which his concentration was absolute. The game felt like butter; the levels, having already been cleared before, were even easier than last time. Just as he was about to reload to repeat the feat, he realized. A barely perceptible movement: his backpack was vibrating and emitting a faint red glow.
The Nomicon called it.
Something was going on, that was for sure.
That’s a bit ironic, considering that just a few moments ago Howard was trying to convince him not to.
—Aww, so fast, Nomi? I was just about to get to the final boss—he cleared his throat, barely annoyed, grabbed his bag, and headed to the restroom, locking himself in one of the stalls before pulling out the book and opening it, falling unconscious the moment he looked at it. At least, that’s what happened in reality.
I screamed as I plummeted into nothingness, crashing hard and painfully onto the ground; I hated it when he didn’t even bother to put something down to cushion the impact.
He got up with difficulty and groans,
He brushed off his clothes a bit before looking up.
—Nomicon? Is something wrong? Things have been quiet lately, so I hope it’s not some devastating news like the end of the world. I’m waiting for a response, and it wasn’t long before he saw some scribbles appear and move.
"The path is the gravity that doesn’t touch you, the weight of what’s no longer there."
—Oh, okay, okay, and… What does that mean? — I tilted my head in confusion, mentally reviewing the words: “The path is the gravity that doesn’t touch you, the weight of what’s no longer there.”
I didn’t see the point; how was I supposed to walk without gravity? He didn’t even give me an example—seriously, what is it? How are you supposed to walk in a place with no gravity? How do you weigh something that’s no longer there!? he exclaimed in frustration, but fortunately the Nomicon didn’t say another word before suddenly causing everything around him to shift, cracking the floor beneath his feet and, with a scream, making the earth swallow him up, spitting him out as quickly as it had pulled him in.
—Blah!—Randy sat up as soon as he regained consciousness, quickly wiping the drool from his mouth.—Are you really just going to leave me like this? Come on, nomi... At least you could have given me a little show like you always do, I reproached, shaking the book, but I got no response and had to put it away with a sigh.
"Great, he gets back to me after like two days and it's just to give me some vague 'advice' that doesn't even make sense."
He slipped out of the stall stealthily, making sure the bathroom was empty. He had to find Howard. And, more importantly, to make sure he hadn’t eaten his burger.
"What do you mean you can't change it? That’s wrong!
And that was Howard’s unmistakable voice… Shouting.
Randy rushed up the stairs, finding his friend embroiled in an argument with someone who appeared to be an employe. The boy, who appeared to be a waiter (had Greg started hiring people?), was wearing a simple uniform. He had tousled jet-black hair and sky-blue eyes that, tho beautiful he had to admit, now looked at Howard with exasperation. A slight, forced smile curved her lips.
"I could have changed it if you'd told me from the start that I gave you the wrong order; I can't make an exchange if you've already eaten everything," the dark-haired boy affirmed, his light-blue eyes barely fixed on the other, speaking with a biting calm.
I had never seen this guy before, which was odd since he didn’t seem much older than them; usually he would have been at Norrisville High like most of the people who lived in town. Maybe he’d moved?
"Well, I had to check; otherwise, how could I?" Howard retorted indignantly.
—Maybe you could have removed the bread and checked the ingredients like any normal person if it was too hard to tell at first glance, right? Oh! You could also have asked if you were unsure; there are plenty of options.
—Howard! What’s going on? He went over to his friend, staying by his side, half-puzzled by what was happening.
—He won’t exchange my order when it’s clear he brought it to me wrong, or even refund my money! Can you believe it, Cunningham? - Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at his friend, then quickly turned his gaze back to the waiter, glaring at him.
—I can’t because you already ate it. What am I going to trade you? Crumbs for crumbs? In that case, I didn’t know you were a pigeon—and a picky one at that. He picked up the two empty plates on the table, along with an empty bottle of McFist soda (presumably, like almost all of them), and placed them on the tray he’d brought just for the trash.
"WHA-
"Wait, you ate mine too!" Randy looked in horror at the clean plates, turning to his friend. —You were supposed to let me know!
—I couldn’t find you! Beside, yours came before mine —he tried to justify himself.
—Looks like you’ve got a lot to talk about. Good luck with that—without another word, the other guy walked away after wiping the table and picking up the trash, taking the tray with him.
Randy was a little interested.
—Ah.. Sorry about my friend, by the way!
- I shouted; I preferred to avoid problems with Greg or with this stranger altogether. He didn’t seem to be in a very good mood; I didn’t know if that was how he’d been before or if it was a direct result of Howard.
—Cunningham! You’re not helping me.
"I'm helping you so they don't spit in your food next time we come," Randy retorted. "You didn't even leave me any soda!"
—It was that or I’d choke, priorities, Cunningham, priorities—he crossed his arms, muttering under his breath.
—Ugh... He checked his pockets for more money, but he had less than five dollars left and was sure his father wouldn’t give him any more until he got paid (he could also ask his mother, but she might refuse since, in her own words, he had to “learn not to waste money”). —Great, I don’t even have enough for another game.
—Really? I wanted to play —Howard commented, disappointed to hear that.
—Next time, then. —He shrugged. —Ah! By the way, Howard... Nomi is back, he mentioned, changing the subject and smiling again.
—The Nomicon? Ugh! I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned its absence out loud. What did he say? He didn’t seem really excited about the book’s appearance; mostly, he seemed reluctant.
—He said something about… "The path is the gravity that doesn’t touch you, the weight of what’s no longer there," huh... What do you think it could be? — He looked to his friend for some kind of answer, with a hint of hope.
—Ah…—Howard fell silent, processing the sentence, his mind working at full speed to come up with an answer.
A deafening roar interrupted just as the boy was about to speak, followed by hysterical screams from the street.
—Ah... Again? - Randy peered thru the nearby window. A new robot, a humanoid chimera with robotic parts, an animal-like appearance, and pieces that vaguely mimicked the human form, was wreaking even worse havoc than before, hurling a car into a lamppost. "I'll catch up with you later, Howard," he said, and with that, he ran off.
Howard waved goodbye with a lazy gesture. The scare had, fortunately, saved him from having to interpret the Nomicon’s riddle.
The new mechanical monster was pure chaos. One arm ended in what looked like an industrial drill, the other in a toothed claw. destroying nearby buildings and poles, and throwing cars at anything in its path; by sheer luck, several people avoided what could easily have left them with lifelong injuries.
"Smoke bomb!"
The hero’s figure appeared at the center of the action, the reddish smoke dissipating around him. He grabbed onto a lamppost, barely dodging a blow that pulverized the previous one.
—Honestly, I didn’t expect another fight so soon, you know? Well, that’s what I’m here for—I said to the robot with complete nonchalance, just moments before it dodged an attack and destroyed the pole I was standing on. Wow! You’re really in a bad mood, man. With an acrobatic leap, he moved away from the robot, avoiding another attack that would surely have reduced him to nothing.
He drew his sword and counterattacked, striking the robot’s arm, but the impact produced neither a spark nor a scratch. It seemed impenetrable.
"Ah...Shit."
His nervous smile, hidden by the mask, vanished an instant before the robot intercepted him with one of its claws. He was thrown forward, crashing violently into a store facade.
—Ouch... Remember not to get too cocky, Ninja —he said to himself, getting up with difficulty. The suit had absorbed most of the impact, but the pain remained.
The robot prepared itself.
"Ninja Fireball!" he shouted. Three yellow and black balls shot from his suit, but instead of fire, a furious swarm of bees emerged, heading straight for the robot’s visor and covering it. "It wasn't what I wanted, but it'll do."
The robot, momentarily blinded, staggered. Randy lunged forward, readying his sword to strike a blow.
At that very instant, a sickly, bright green light blinded him.
—Ah! What...? - Randy rubbed his eyes. His vision gradually returned to normal. He gasped in surprise. The robot’s chest had been pierced. A perfect, clean hole that revealed the exposed interior of wires and components. A moment later, the machine collapsed.
He hadn’t done that. He didn’t have a power that could disintegrate things.
"Doing this every day must be annoying, right?"
Randy turned around sharply, coming face to face with a completely unexpected figure. He was a young man, a boy. He was wearing a tight-fitting protective jumpsuit in black and white, with a large stylized “D” embroidered on the chest. His skin was lightly tanned, and, most strikingly, he bore a lightning-bolt-shaped scar that split his face. His eyes were a phosphorescent, almost radioactive green, and his snow-white hair seemed to ripple even without a breeze.
But that wasn’t the most striking thing, the strangest thing.
He was floating; he was sure his boots were a few centimeters above the ground. Maybe they had some kind of thrusters to pull off such a feat?
He barely had time to take in the sight when the boy approached, a gloved hand extended toward him. A sudden chill brought him back to reality.
—Are you okay? I didn’t want to introduce myself like this… But ultimately, they were giving you a good beating—the boy smiled slightly, his teeth unusually sharp.
What was this?
Randy took a step back, almost instinctively. He raised his sword and pointed it—Wow! Space... "Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes, completely on the defensive.
—Oh, right… Introductions. Sorry —the boy laughed, a hollow, resonant laugh. He floated until his boots touched the ground; at this level, he no longer seemed as tall as he... He was actually a few centimeters shorter, to be honest—Phantom. You must be the ninja, right? Well, I’m sure you are. I've seen you many times.
—Phantom… Like ghost? —It was a strange name; who would call themselves Phantom? I doubted he was the real one; it had to be an alias—um… You, uh-huh... Thanks for the help, he hesitated, lowering and sheathing his sword. I didn’t think I’d needed any support, but I couldn’t be ungrateful either.
—Exactly. —An awkward silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity— Look, I know this might sound weird, but… I’m not an enemy, okay? I just...
A sudden flash made him fall silent—the flash from someone’s phone camera, who apparently didn’t care to be discreet—followed by more people and voices, curious about what was happening, curious about the new hero alongside the ninja.
—Damn it… That’s exactly why I didn’t want to get involved; they never leave you alone—he said, looking at the crowd, larger than usual, that had gathered around him, some with their phones taking photos and recording, others simply addressing the ninja beside him—I guess we’ll talk next time. He rose effortlessly into the air, smiled at the ninja, and said, “Take care.” As soon as he finished speaking, he vanished. No smoke like the hero of Norrisville; he simply vanished, as if he’d never been there, leaving not only Randy but many of those present gaping in astonishment.
Randy could hear people crowding around him, recording and taking photos, which normally didn’t bother him; he actually enjoyed the attention.
Only now it was different; he felt suffocated by so many questions that, to him, were more like an annoying beep—questions he had no answer to, such as who this Phantom was, whom he was sure wasn’t human.
The cameras’ flash blinded him, dazed him, and only gave him a headache.
I wasn’t going to put up with this.
"Smoke bomb!"
_
—A new ally for the ninja, great! “Just what we needed!” McFist said with clear sarcasm, watching the new videos and photos being uploaded online—the humiliating way Viceroy’s stupid, useless robot was struck by a green beam, caused by none other than an unknown, “meddling punk kid,” as he could only describe him.
Viceroy, oblivious to his boss’s rant, was absorbed in his analysis.
"How strange, I've never seen this before," Viceroy observed attentively the liquid coating the edges of the large hole that boy had left in his creation. A viscous residue, an overly garish green, mixed with the robot’s oil, emitting a peculiar acrid odor like burnt metal and sulfur. The substance continued to corrode the metal and exposed wires, breaking down the structure at the molecular level.
"It seems to be an acid of extreme potency, but its reaction isn't chemical—it's..." Uhm, unknown.
—What are you doing, Viceroy? Don't waste your time! You have to do something about that guy… What did they say his name was? Inviso-bill? Ugh! I don’t care, we have to do something… If the sorcerer finds out the ninja has company...—he bit his lip; he didn’t even want to think about the sorcerer’s reaction upon learning that the ninja supposedly already had an ally to double the difficulty of his mission.
"I'm working on it, Hannibal," he said, gesturing to a nearby Robo-Ape, which, obeying his orders, approached the liquid and touched it. Just as he expected, the Robo-Ape's fingers began to melt. "I need to run some tests if we want to stop whatever that kid is. I don't want to step into a minefield without being prepared." With utmost caution, he took a sample of the green liquid.
The scientist had to corroborate something else. Although he had never encountered that material before, he was certain he had seen signs of similar corrosion on the casings of several robots that had mysteriously failed in recent weeks. The recent ineffectiveness of his creations might not be his fault, but rather external interference.
"Well, hurry up! I want something that can defeat both the Ninja and his stupid sidekick!" McFist demanded furiously.
-
—What do you mean you have an ally!? Where did you get him? You didn’t even tell me anything, Cunningham, and we’re supposed to be friends!—Howard acted offended, pointing at the image on his McFistPad. The most decent and viral of all the ones posted online, where the ninja was clearly seen with his newly acquired ally, whom the public had dubbed “Inviso-Bill.”
—We are! I only met this guy today, Randy justified himself anxiously, scrutinizing the photo and how thousands of people in the comments were starting to comment and theorize. All that in just a few hours! I could already imagine what Heidi would publish tomorrow in her Gossip Report, and how Debbie Kang would surely stick her nose where it didn’t belong. And then the questions from an entire world of fans—plus, his name isn’t “Inviso-bill”; apparently it’s Phantom.
—Phantom? Like ghost?— Howard asked, tilting his head.
—Exactly. It’s a shoob name, don’t you think?
"Well, you're a ninja and everybody call you Ninja," he commented, pausing for a moment to consider what he'd said. "Don't you think it's..."
"A ghost?"
They said in unison, staring intently at each other for a few seconds before bursting into a loud laugh.
—HA! Sure, Howard... A ghost! "Ghosts don't exist!" he declared confidently, shaking his head as he wiped away a tear of laughter.
—I know! Stupid, isn’t it? Although that name is totally Shoob, he probably gave it to himself because of the vibes it gives off—Howard turned his gaze back to his McFistPad, playing one of the videos taken with a shaky cell phone after the battle, showing that “Phantom” floating with supernatural ease.
Well, either he has incredible powers or he has stupidly incredible technology at his disposal.
—Yep.. He flopped down on the couch in his room, alternating his gaze between his friend, his backpack—where the Nomicon still resided—his mask, and the window. Mask again, window again.
"Randy, what are you doing?" The sound of the window being opened alerted Howard, who saw from Randy’s desk chair that Randy already had one foot out the window and his mask in his hand. "Cunningham!"
"If my mom comes, don’t forget to distract her; I’ll be right back!" he said with a smile, putting on his mask and letting various red and black ribbons cover his body, quickly forming his costume. As soon as she was done, she quickly made a graceful leap outside.
"Cunningham!" Howard ran to the window frame, leaning out to look for his friend, only managing to see his friend’s figure receding into the darkness.
"Kids! Are you studying? I brought you some snacks so you can concentrate!"
—Shit... —He turned pale.
_
Well, maybe he didn’t think it thru too much when he left.
He wasn’t one for doing nite patrols; anyway, not much interesting ever happened at nite. Of course, he’d learned the area, but it was still nite, and he was looking for a guy whose name he barely knew
It was kind of silly to think I’d actually find it.
Randy landed on the roof of a low building, one of the few that didn’t bear the McFist logo. The nite air was cool and silent, but the temperature, he thought, was beginning to drop unusually.
He sat on the ledge, watching the barely bustling street. Patrolling at nite wasn’t his style; it was a waste of time. Looking for a guy whose name he barely knew was, frankly, a stupid mission. He was about to accept his failure and go home when he heard him.
I didn't know you go out at nite.
Randy was startled by a silent scream. He turned his head so fast that if he could, he would have spun it all the way around. There, floating right above him in his black-and-white suit, was Phantom.
—Ugh, sorry. I didn’t know you were so easily scared—Phantom hovered for a few seconds, his figure glowing faintly in the moonlight, before landing in front of him.—It seems you were looking for something… or someone.
—Huh? Excuse me?... —Randy blinked, pursing his lips. Not knowing whether to be relieved to have found him or terrified. In the darkness, Phantom’s green eyes stood out like a pair of radioactive lights, giving him a rather… unfriendly look.
The corners of his lips turned up, forming an unsettling smile. “So, what’s going on?”
—Ah.. He hesitated, remaining silent as he simply watched the boy floating nearby for a moment before finally sighing, suppressing the fear that was creeping in. “Who are you?”
—I already told you, It's Phantom.
—No! I mean, yes... But what are you? "Are you an ally or an enemy?!" Randy snapped, his voice firm. I couldn’t trust him just because he “helped” me! He could be an advanced robot, or a swapped-out version like Levander!
—Oh. A ghost and… Ally, I thot that was clear—he hummed, circling slowly around him.
—Ghost? "Like, ghost-ghost?" Randy couldn't help but ask. Disbelief washed over him. He received a nod. —Pff! You can’t be serious, ghosts don’t exist! — he said, laughing and clutching his stomach.
—No?
—Of course not!
—Well, if you’d just look… —The boy who had appeared out of nowhere was now dangerously close, and the air around Randy turned glacial, as he felt a surge of electricity shoot up his spine.
—Uh? —Randy felt a tremor run thru his chest; he was trembling. He reflexively lowered his gaze, just in time to see the other boy’s gloved hands pierce his suit and, apparently, his rib cage, sinking into his chest. —AH! “What the hell?!” Randy almost fell into the street as he tried to back away, staring in stunned disbelief as Phantom retreated and the cold became tolerable again. He touched his chest; he was fine, unharmed.
—I’m sorry for scaring you. It’s not the best way to prove something, but… If seeing me fly isn’t enough, I had to come up with something else, the white-haired man explained with a hint of embarrassment.
—Oh, by the… So, are you...? — he stammered, turning his gaze back to him. White hair that seemed to glow, sparkle, and ripple with every gust of wind, pointed ears, sharp teeth, unnaturally green eyes, his scar... Not to mention that he flew, apparently without any technological assistance since he wasn’t a robot—
Oh God, He is totally dead.
But it still remained.
—Ghost. I prefer to be described as a... "Ghost," —Phantom interrupted with a tense smile.
—Oh.. That Bruce—the fascination was palpable after the initial fear. He leaned forward, trying to touch him again, even tho he knew he would almost certainly pass right thru him. This time, however, Phantom was completely tangible. —Uh? —His eyes widened as he felt an electrifying chill beneath his clothes, spreading thru every fiber of his body; it was more intense than what he’d felt a moment ago.
But it didn’t feel as strange as it had just seconds ago; I could handle it.
—Ah, yes... I can become intangible at will. Most ghosts have that ability, Phantom explained calmly as he noticed the Ninja’s dismay, putting on the best calm he could muster; he felt as if he were touching fire.
The mention of more ghosts confused him, but he preferred not to ask; if they were supposed to be companions, they’d have more time to talk and, therefore, to ask questions.
He was more focused on the body he was touching. He ran his hands gently over his waist, then up to rest them on Phantom’s chest. Just as he suspected, there was no heartbeat. All I felt was an indescribable, abnormal cold and a strange sensation of static electricity. It wasn’t bad.
His hands suddenly pierced thru the body, and he stood there processing what had happened until he heard a nervous laugh.
—Okay, that’s enough. This was starting to feel weird—he could see a faint greenish tinge coloring his cheeks; he didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or disgust. But once he understood what she meant, he quickly removed his hands from there.
—Ah.. I'm sorry! I didn’t mean to…—he denied furtively, embarrassed, feeling his face burn. For a moment I’d forgotten it was a boy—a ghost boy’s body,that I was examining. What an idiot
—Heh.. It’s nothing, it was just… Curious—Phantom gave up, becoming tangible once again.
Randy looked at his hands for a moment, collecting himself. “What do you want from me?” he finally asked the ghost.
—Huh?
—You wanted to talk, right? I’m sure it wasn’t to ask me about my life—Randy smiled behind his mask, adjusting himself on the edge of the building.
Help.
The answer caught him off guard, and he looked at him, confused.
"Help?" he repeated, as if that could answer his doubts. Phantom just nodded.
"You're the ninja, right? Eight hundred years protecting this town from so many things—I think and hope you can help me." He paused, then began moving again thru the air, floating around him (Randy wasn't sure he'd get used to that anytime soon).
—Ah.. Yeah, sure, but to what? Go to the other side? - he joked softly, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
—Similar… —He stood still in front of him again, just looking at him. “I’ll help you fight those robots and…” Student monsters? If you help me get back home—he extended his hand.
—As long as it doesn’t involve the destruction of the world, I’m fine with it. Randy accepted Phantom’s hand. The contact was a paralyzing jolt of cold and pure static, just as when I pass thru him as when I touch him.
—Okay... No more physical contact, Ninja. The ghost quickly withdrew his hand, frowning at the intensity of the reaction.
—Ha.. Yes, I accept it. - The pact was sealed.
____________⧼⚰︎⧽_____________
As soon as he transformed back, he fell heavily onto the old, worn-out bed, feeling one of the mattress springs poke him, which he simply ignored as he groped for the nearly broken remote of a TV that looked older than his parents. He turned it on only to be greeted by static that made his ears hurt.
"Ugh..." "Again," he said, abruptly turning off the device and tossing the remote aside as he settled onto the mattress—a task that was certainly difficult given its quality. He looked around in silence; beside the awful bed and a TV that looked like it was from the 1600s, there was a small light bulb about to burn out, a refrigerator emptier than the one at home, a bedside table with broken Fenton Phones, instant-soup leftovers and granola-bar wrappers, a mini electric stove, a window overlooking an alley where many nites he’d heard things he preferred to block from his memory, and a calendar on the wall with the days crossed out.
One month, thirty days crossed off.
This was the most decent thing he could afford on a waiter’s salary of 5 an hour on the second floor of an arcade and 7 as a cashier (and occasionally a waiter, thanks to tips) at a restaurant of questionable hygiene. He’d love to complain, but that’s what he’d been doing for the past month, and honestly, his energy was running out. He had to stay positive! Greg and the former owner of the other place where he worked were kind enough to give a job to an underage, undocumented minor with no ID who apparently didn’t exist. Yes, it was the best he could find—that and the hotel with the worst reviews in Norrisville, which was also ridiculously cheap. It served him well enough to have everything he needed to survive.
"—Oh, Valerie...How much I understand you now," — he said, frowning bitterly as he reached into one of his pants pockets to pull out his phone, the last vestige of his reality. Checking it for the third time that day with a faith that refused to fade, going thru his messages just as he had for the past few weeks.
Nothing
Ever since he had fallen into this place. He had lost all contact with his home, his friends, his family—by God, he even wished he had one of his enemies (except Vlad) to turn to! Being lost in what seemed to be both a different era and a different universe was completely overwhelming.
If it were his future, it would be better, since, as far as he knew, he was ten years in the future; he could have figured out a way to return (and check whether his fate had really changed), but now it wasn’t just that.
He was nine years in the future, in a place where apparently ghosts didn’t exist, his family didn’t exist, and therefore he didn’t exist either—nor did his friends or acquaintances. Nothing! Amity Park simply vanished from the map. The closest thing he had to home now was this stupid town of Norrisville, which had been guarded by a ninja for 800 years.
He’s been away from home for a month, A MONTH! He couldn’t imagine what was happening in his reality; that alone made him wish time would be different. Because the last thing he wanted was to worry people, since after all, no one but Sam and Tucker knew he’d ventured into the Ghost Zone alone, and they couldn’t tell anyone that Danny Fenton—the boy who was afraid of ghosts—had gone thru his parents’ portal to investigate something that was supposedly wrong in an area SWARMING WITH GHOSTS.
He couldn’t forget about the other ghosts; he couldn’t imagine the chaos they were creating. He really wanted to be home.
He almost cried when he saw the recurring message:
Message not sent. The number you are trying to reach does not exist.
"Again..." I put my phone away again; it had been worth a try. He’d better try to sleep before hunger overwhelms him. I had to make the most of the next four hours of sleep; I needed energy if I wanted to get thru two shifts.
...
I was hoping the Ninja could help him; he was 800 years old, right? He must have known things...
Even if they weren’t time rifts, any knowledge about how to return would be useful to him.
And if that wasn’t the case, he didn’t mind grabbing another immortal being as a therapist, just as he did with Clockwork for a while
«I really needed emotional support right now if I didn’t want to go crazy.»
╞═════†═════╡
Amity Park – November 8, 2005
"It has now been one month since the disappearance of Daniel James Fenton, last seen near his home, the youngest son of the well-known family of scientists, the Fentons, who continue to work tirelessly to ensure their son is found. Any information regarding the teenager’s whereabouts will be greatly appreciated; please contact… "
She turned off the TV as soon as she heard what they were talking about, trembling and feeling the world spin for a few minutes until a hand rested on her shoulder, gradually calming her down, at which point she noticed Tucker
—Sam… —The boy sat down beside her, gently placing his free hand on hers as well, slowly wrapping his arms around her.
—It’s been a month, Tucker… We don’t know anything about him! He hasn’t gotten in touch at all—she felt her eyes sting, with tiny tears welling up and ruining her carefully applied makeup, but right now that was the least of her concerns.
Danny, her best friend, was still missing, as if he had simply vanished from reality. No one knew anything about him, neither here nor in the Ghost Zone, and that was the worst part.
She could have prevented this from happening.
—If only I had insisted a little more, if I had forced him to stay.—She hesitated, sobbing as she began to recall the day.
"Danny, I don't think this is right." She looked at his friend as he opened his parents’ portal. He grabbed a couple of thermoses and clipped them to the ends of his belt.
"Yeah, man, we should wait for your parents to fix the Specter Speeder so we can go with you," Tucker said, stepping up to his friend, who had already transformed into his alter ego, Phantom.
"It's not necessary, guys, really!" Besides... It’s something about ghosts; it seems like something suspicious is going on in the Ghost Zone, and I don’t think it’s very far away. I’m just going to double-check, okay? "I won't be more than ten minutes," the boy assured them with confidence, unaware that it would be the last time he'd see his friends for a long time. Clearly, neither the goth nor the tech nerd believed him one bit, prompting an exasperated sigh from the half-ghost boy. “Look, if you don’t trust me, you know we can communicate, right?” He pointed to the pair of Fenton Phones he was wearing and then to a couple more on one of the lab tables. “I’ll be talking to you the whole time, and you’ll be able to see my ecto-signature from here too.” There’s nothing to worry about
She didn’t believe him and shouldn’t have pretended she did; just eight minutes after he left, the problems began. The Fenton Phones’ signal cut out every second, leaving an awkward silence or a terrible beep that nearly made her ears bleed. Danny said he was seeing everything weird (and the Ghost Zone was bizarre enough as it was, so she couldn’t imagine what he’d seen to say that), but they couldn’t ask for explanations since, apparently, the closer he got to “something” (in Danny’s words), the less able they were to contact him. Then the Fenton Phones crackled with static; I was sure I’d heard a scream. When the interference ended, they tried to talk to Danny.
There were no responses for a long time; they thot something had happened, but they trusted Danny—he’d be fine, he’d be back in a few hours as always. They’d get annoyed with him, scold him, worry if he came back hurt, patch him up, and then everything would be normal again.
As they had many times before, they distracted others from his absence; whenever his parents or Jazz asked about him, they could say he was busy with them, and they could use recordings they’d made of him to pretend he was still around.
But then he didn’t come back after a few hours; he arrived the next day.
They lied to the Fentons, saying he’d decided to stay home to work on a project due tomorrow; at school, it wasn’t too hard to cover up his absence either—Danny didn’t have the best reputation anyway.
However, time soon passed, hours turned into days, and they couldn’t keep up the lie much longer once Jazz discovered them. Even tho she tried to help, the Fentons soon noticed their youngest son’s absence when the school notified them he was missing, and they found no one in his room when they went to talk to him.
Luckily, and for some reason, the Fentons didn’t blame them (they understood Jazz, but Maddie and Jack were certainly a surprise, given that they’d lied about their son’s whereabouts for days; once again, he was reminded of how little attention Danny received from his parents). First, they tried to find them in a small group made up of Danny’s family and themselves; then he noticed the Fentons’ desperation when there was no sign of their son; after that, the authorities got involved.
The situation was certainly a blur; too much had happened to recount everything. But currently Danny is listed as missing; it was news that had been kept private until the Fentons decided to spread word of what had happened to their son, hoping to find him.
I was sure everyone in Amity Park knew, and what’s more, every time they went to school I heard them talking about him with that ironic sadness, since before he’d been nothing more than a nobody, nonexistent to most people. And now I even heard teachers mentioning him; it was disgusting. They acted as if they had the right to talk about him, as if they knew him, to speak about him as if he weren’t coming back.
And it was just as bad when they asked about him, with that compassion as fake as their personalities, only looking for something to gossip about; of all the people who asked, she could only name one who seemed genuine: Valerie Gray.
She didn’t talk to her; she wasn’t in the right frame of mind, so Tucker did it as soon as she followed them after classes ended. He didn’t hear the conversation, he only watched, but he could see her expression change from distrust to bewilderment, soon shifting to concern, and then she left.
She doesn’t exactly like Valerie; she distrusts her when it comes to Danny—she tried to kill him. But her reaction was the most... Real? Unlike many others who gave him grief, tho she should have expected it, Valerie appreciated Danny, even if it was only as a human.
She has made a genuine effort, alongside her father, to support the Fentons, in Jazz’s words. She’s helped with their searches and is sure she’s also looking for him as the Red Huntress; it’s not a fact, but she senses it. She’s run into Valerie patrolling at nite many times, which is odd considering that ghost appearances have dropped drastically since Danny left.
She still doesn't understand why.
Of course she went to the Ghost Zone with Tucker and Jazz in the Specter Speeder as soon as they fixed it, to look for Danny and, while they were at it, ask around; all he could say was that it was just a waste of time.
The only “good” thing about all of this was that they didn’t suspect Danny Phantom had disappeared at the same time as Danny Fenton; most ghosts had vanished, so this coincidence was a bit of peace in the middle of the storm. He already had his mind occupied enough for now to deal with weird theories.
—There’s no “what if,” Sam; the past can’t be fixed. Look, you know Danny, we know him—he corrected, smiling slightly—he’s strong! He’s probably fine; maybe he just got lost and is trying to find his way back, he said, trying to comfort Tucker. He wasn’t the best at it, but the bespectacled boy was really making an effort. It wasn’t as if he was doing any better than his friend; after all, he’d lost his best friend too. He didn’t know if he was healthy, if he was even alive, but it was better to cling to hope, even if it was irrational, since they’d tried everything, searching both the Ghost Zone and elsewhere, with no rewarding results.
Silence prevailed, with both of them embraced; they weren’t often affectionate, at least not with each other. Sam used to say she’d rather be dead, and Tucker said it was weird, but now… It served as comfort for both of them, to calm down and convince themselves that Danny is okay.
—Wait… “You can’t change the past”—her eyes lit up, and she quickly jumped out of the boy’s arms with renewed excitement—Oh my… That’s it! That’s it! —she repeated joyfully, wiping away her tears, not caring if it ruined her makeup; she’d worry about fixing it later.
—Sam? What’s wrong? —I looked at the girl, bewildered by her sudden shift to joy when just moments ago she had been blaming herself for her friend’s disappearance—Are you okay? —He asked hesitantly.
—No.. Well, yes! Tucker, we thot we’d run out of options to find Danny, but you’ve given me an idea! There’s still something, someone we haven’t checked out. —She was almost crying, but this time with happiness, quickly pulling on his boots and getting ready to head out.
—What? Sam, look... If this is a sign that you’re losing your sanity, I swear—
Clockwork, we haven’t gone to him yet; he must know where he is.