A/N: For Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja, this takes place in the second season, sometime around Shoot First, Ask Questions Laser. For Danny Phantom, it'll either just pretend Phantom Planet doesn't exist or occur before it, sometime late in the final season.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!

The Fenton family didn't often go on family vacations or family bonding trips. And even considering how much his mom was on his back about his dismal grades, Danny wasn't overly suspicious that she was willing to pull him and Jazz out of class for the rest of the week. He was a little suspicious that the only explanation they got was that they were investigating the possibility of making a deal with some big company about manufacturing some Fenton products on a large scale and that involving them in this decision would be good for them.

Sure, his dad always stuffed the back of the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle with ghost hunting equipment, at least when Jazz wasn't there telling him not to, and it would make sense to bring along a large array of their products if they were going to even think about mass production, but this still didn't sit right with him.

Jazz handed Danny a duffel bag, startling him out of his stupor. "Did you get any sleep last night?" she asked.

Danny blinked at her, looked at the bag—the zipper wasn't closed all the way, and he could see one of his shirts right at the top—and then back at her. "A little?"

"Good, because you obviously weren't awake at the dinner table when Mom and Dad sprang this trip on us."

Jazz had packed for him. Danny moved to put the bag in the back. "Not exactly," he admitted. "Is it going to be a long trip? All Mom told me this morning was to either eat faster or finish my cereal on the way. And that I should be more organized, because this has the potential to be a big opportunity for all of us. And you heard Dad."

"You'd think this was a done deal the way he talks about it," Jazz agreed, her own bag hitting the Assault Vehicle with the telltale thump of heavy textbooks. "It'll take us through the weekend, I think, but I don't know if we'll miss much if any of next week. It depends on how quickly they come to an agreement, if they come to one at all. Mom and Dad might get cold feet about handing over their designs to anyone if there's even the slightest possibility of the Guys in White ripping them off again."

Maybe that's why this didn't sit right with him. Despite how quickly his parents had sold out to the Guys in White when they'd been offered an insane amount of money, they were connected to their work. It felt…odd that they'd even be thinking about giving any part of it up. Or that there was a company out there that would even consider marketing ghost hunting weapons when it clearly wasn't based in Amity Park.

It was a good thing Jazz didn't think the trip would take too long, though. He hadn't even had a chance to warn Sam and Tucker. They had house keys anyway, and Tuck could get into the Weapons Vault easily enough if he needed to, so it wasn't like they'd run short of supplies if one of the ghosts decided to attack. Valerie would be out patrolling, too. It should be fine, and it wouldn't take him long to catch them up once he texted them.

Besides, Amity Park never seemed to suffer a major ghost attack whenever he wasn't around. Whether that was due to Vlad's influence or not, Danny wasn't sure, but he could be thankful for small mercies. He hated the idea of leaving his town unprotected.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he actually finished high school, but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

"So do you know how long it'll take us to get there, wherever there is?"

Jazz snorted. "You really did ignore everything, didn't you? I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep in your spaghetti. We're going to Norrisville. And our ETA depends on how long Dad's behind the wheel."

Danny figured there wasn't much point in asking exactly where Norrisville was when he'd obviously find out soon enough, because Jazz might not answer him anyway. "So, a day?" he ventured.

"Half, if Dad's driving."

"Fun." Good thing he'd charged his phone last night. Though, since Sam and Tucker were actually going to be in class, he wouldn't be getting into any lengthy conversations with either of them for a while. But on the upside, he could catch up on his sleep. Maybe it was all the acrobatics he ended up doing while flying, but his dad's driving didn't bother him nearly as much as it used to.

Well, that was probably because he knew he could phase them through anything they might hit and there was a good chance Jack wouldn't even notice, but still. He could get some shuteye. Jazz would wake him up if they were in more danger than usual, and his ghost sense would wake him up if someone decided to follow them like on their last family vacation.

"Hey, Danny-boy, Jazzy-pants," Jack bellowed from the house. "Have you seen the Fenton Peeler?"

It was in a box under Jazz's bed, somewhere his parents wouldn't think to look for it but easy enough to find if Jazz ever needed it. "No," Danny answered.

"Me neither, Dad. Sorry."

Jack frowned. "Funny. I thought it was in with the Ghost Gauntlets. I guess we'll just have to take the spare!"

Danny turned to Jazz as their father bounded away. "The spare?" he repeated.

Jazz shrugged. "He probably built it when he couldn't find the other one. I'll hide it when we get back home. But it'll be all right; that one won't be field tested, and it's not like we're going to a haunted town. You don't have any reason to worry."

"You don't have any reason to worry," Danny parroted. "Yeah, right. Why don't I believe you?"

"Not every city in America is as weird as Amity Park," Jazz reminded him. "It'll be fine."

"Famous last words," Danny muttered, but he let the subject drop. Jazz was usually right, after all. How bad it could really be? If worst came to worst and Vlad couldn't stop something major from going down in Amity Park, Danny could fly home. It wouldn't be easy—he'd have to grab a map or he'd get really lost—but it was definitely doable. Jazz could cover for him.

So why couldn't he shake the bad feeling he had?

"And…Ninja Slice!" Randy grinned to himself as his sword sliced off the head of the giant robot. McFist—well, Viceroy, because he knew Viceroy built all of McFist's robots and everything else that was sent to destroy the Ninja—had made a handful of robots he couldn't destroy by slicing off their heads. Sometimes it was because their heads were simply too big to get them in one slice, in which case he took them out—or off—another way. Sometimes it was because Viceroy was experimenting with some kind of learning circuitry and the thing figured out how to anticipate his moves before he got to the head-slicing bit. Sometimes it was because Viceroy moved whatever vital part Randy needed to destroy or otherwise disconnect from the rest of the robot.

But they were still experimenting and they hadn't found something that worked consistently. Because he was an awesome Ninja.

Okay, so he had help in a few other ways when he needed it. But mostly it was because he was an awesome Ninja.

Randy turned and bowed to the crowd of students that had gathered outside the school come the robot attack. He hadn't gotten out of the school himself in time to save Principal Slimovitz's car, but the man either had a lot of money (doubtful, unless he was siphoning it off from various school funds) or multiple, identical cars (also doubtful) or a remarkably good mechanic and really good insurance (slightly more likely), so Randy didn't feel too bad. A little collateral damage was unavoidable. It wasn't like he hadn't stopped the monster. Or robot, in this case.

"Thank you, thank you." He gave a little wave from his precarious place on the side of the robot's head. He couldn't revel in the attention the Ninja got most of the time, so he made the most of it when he could. It kind of—but not really—made up for the fact that everyone thought he was next to the bottom of the social food chain at school. "Smoke bomb!"

Randy rejoined the crowd trickling back into the school and caught up to Howard. "Awesome moves, am I right?"

"Eh." Howard shrugged. "You looked a little rusty to me."

Randy stared at him. "How can I be rusty?" he asked incredulously. "This is, like, the tenth time this week I've had to Ninja out! And it's only Wednesday." And only once had it been because the Sorcerer had managed to stank someone. Well, the entire basketball team, after a particularly dismal practice that had had them questioning their chances of making it anywhere this year. But still.

"Yeah, but when that thing got you by the scarf, you totally didn't mean to wrap its legs together. That was definitely a fluke."

"It was not!"

Howard shook his head. "I'm not buying it, Cunningham."

Randy sighed, making a big show of giving in. "Fine. But you gotta agree that that was good thinking on my part, right? Making it work to my advantage and all?"

"Yeah, sure." Howard paused outside the classroom door. "But you coulda at least gotten the history classroom demolished this time. Unless you finished our report?"

Randy blinked. "Report?"

"What, you think I was going to do it all? I have important stuff to do, bro. You know that."

Randy narrowed his eyes. "Playing Grave Puncher 10 without me and trying out the newest snacks at Greg's Food Hole doesn't count."

"C'mon, it's Grave Puncher 10."

"Yeah, but without me."

"Grave Puncher 10," Howard repeated solemnly. "And you'll have about five minutes once we get in there to finish the report."

Randy groaned but followed Howard into the classroom. There was no point in arguing. Randy might not finish—or remember—their homework half the time, but Howard liked doing it less than he did, and Randy figured he usually did a better job. Slightly.

Well, he was still passing everything, anyway—Ds were passing—which probably wouldn't be the case if every assignment he handed in was awful.

Of course, it wouldn't be the case if Mr. Bannister didn't give out Bs for what he called good metaphors and what Randy called quick thinking and getting lucky, either. He'd gotten through by the skin of his teeth more than once.

They had been sitting at their desks for a grand total of maybe two minutes before screaming and what was definitely the sound of metal rending began.

"Another one?" Randy asked in disbelief as he watched what looked like a giant robot crab take out the nearest streetlight with one snap of its pinchers.

"Look at it this way," Howard suggested. "We probably won't have to hand in our history report."

The crab began scuttling its way toward the school. For such a big robot, the thing was surprisingly quiet when it wasn't destroying stuff. That probably wasn't good.

"They can't have that many more left," Randy said, more to himself than to Howard. "What's he trying to do, clear out a room or something? Why doesn't he just build an abandoned factory on the edge of town again? Why send these things back to back?"

"Maybe he's trying to wear you out," Howard suggested. "C'mon, Cunningham. Snap to it. Make sure I don't have to finish that history report today."

Randy rolled his eyes but got to his feet and grabbed his bag. "I just, uh, need to go the bathroom," he stammered to the teacher. "I'll meet you guys outside!" The school was not considered the safest place during robot and/or monster attacks, and they'd taken to having monster drills and 'safe meeting places' like they would for a fire. And most people did stay out of the way, but there was almost always a crowd that gathered when he got around to fighting, and people kinda took it for granted that he'd save them. So, claiming he'd meet everyone outside was perfectly valid.

It probably wasn't normal anywhere besides Norrisville, because really, how many schools regularly got attacked by obviously-not-natural stuff?

Not likely a lot.

Other schools didn't have a sorcerer trapped in a pit beneath them or something else that necessitated a town hero.

But for the most part, Randy liked it. Not so much the getting-slammed-into-things part or the regularly-almost-dying part, but he got a certain thrill from it all, and everyone always cheered on the Ninja—even McFist, when he was in public and he had to. It gave Randy a certain sense of satisfaction.

Because he was an awesome Ninja, and McFist couldn't win—no matter what he was planning that meant he had Viceroy fixing up and sending out every single one of their prototypes.

"Why isn't this working, Viceroy?" Hannibal McFist demanded as he watched the Robo-Crab get destroyed by the Ninja when the reverse was supposed to be happening. "This is supposed to be working!"

Viceroy sighed. "Maybe it's not working because these are just prototypes, sir?"

"Well, what idiot let you send out all these prototypes?"

Viceroy raised an eyebrow and hit a button on his McFist Pad, triggering Otto to call up a holographic record of his previous meeting with his boss. "I need this room cleared out!" McFist declared. "Send everything out after the Ninja! I don't care if they're prototypes or not!"

The hologram blinked out, and McFist made a face. "You were supposed to fix everything up first," he snapped.

The Ninja, which was still on the screen showing the live feed in front of Norrisville High, disappeared in a burst of red smoke, and Viceroy hit the code on his controller that would alert the Robo-Apes to the mess and have them clean up what could be salvaged of the vanquished robot. As far as Norrisville's citizens were concerned, that was a service McFist Industries provided in an effort to keep Norrisville running smoothly. It was difficult to get around, after all, when pieces of a defeated robot littered the streets.

The townspeople never dreamed the clean up effort was because McFist Industries was trying to learn more about the Ninja from the damage and build the next Weapon of Ninja Destruction accordingly.

Viceroy flicked a piece of lint off his lab coat before shutting off the live feed. "I still don't see why you're even entertaining this notion of manufacturing these Fenton products."

"They're inventors, and nothing you've invented recently has even come close to destroying the Ninja!"

"So you think a weapon designed to hunt ghosts will?"

McFist snorted derisively. "Ghosts aren't real," he said shortly. "Maybe, if they were, I could actually be scared on Halloween again!"

Viceroy didn't want to get into this debate again, partly because he was still trying to forget how terrified he'd been last Halloween. "Then why did I just clean out a store room so you can see all their prototypes?"

"They promised me working weapons. And weapons are weapons. And sometimes you need fresh ideas, Viceroy."

Viceroy rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue when McFist got these ideas into his head. "Should I have tables set out, sir?"

"Of course!" McFist barked. "Didn't I tell you to do that already?"

"No, sir," Viceroy answered in the special, long-suffering tone of voice he reserved specifically for conversations with Hannibal McFist. "I'll get right on that." He moved to the door but paused before exiting. "Have you informed the Sorcerer of your plan, sir?"

McFist immediately lost his bluster. "Uh, er…." He chewed his lip for a second, then smashed his fist onto his desk, scattering the few papers he had on it. "I'm working on it!"

Viceroy smiled smugly. He knew exactly how much the Sorcerer unnerved McFist, but they'd taken the job, and the benefits of doing so were good despite their failure thus far and the promise of the reward was tantalizing. "Of course you are, sir."

To Danny's surprise, he didn't wake up until they got there. He straightened up in his seat and looked over to Jazz, who mimed pulling something out of her ear. Danny frowned but reached up and suddenly realized he'd been wearing Fenton Plugs. "I didn't put these in," he said. Normally, if he wore them for any length of time, his ears started to hurt—despite the fact that they were made out of foam that moulded to his ears.

"You're normally a pretty light sleeper," Jazz said, "but I think I got you when you were in your deepest stage of sleep. You didn't wake up, anyway, and with those in, you didn't hear when Mom and Dad started blasting tunes from their college days." No doubt seeing Danny still frowning down at the pair of Fenton Plugs in his hand, she added, "I had Mom make me some smaller ones. That was my spare set."

"Huh." Danny shoved them into his pocket. "Thanks, I guess."

"You needed to sleep. And at least now, you don't look like a zombie."

"Gee, thanks." Their parents were already outside, so Danny followed suit. When his feet hit the ground, he looked up and froze in place. "Whoa."

It was a giant pyramid.

Not a real pyramid, or at least not a real pyramid made of stone or anything like that. It was an office building. Shaped like a pyramid. All gleaming black glass, polished metal, and sleek framework.

"Welcome to McFist Industries," Jazz muttered, sidling up to him and handing him a box of ghost hunting gadgets.

"These are the people Mom and Dad are thinking of cutting a deal with?" Danny asked. He hadn't seen Vlad's head office, but— "They look like they could rival VladCo. You're telling me these people believe in ghosts?"

Jazz shrugged. "Who knows? They don't have to believe in what they're selling if they're trying to target what they think is a particularly gullible subset of the population. Not all businesspeople have scruples."

"Yeah, that's not a newsflash," Danny muttered, thinking of how Vlad had amassed his wealth. Something still didn't sit right about this whole thing. "Jazz," he asked slowly, "do you, um, really think this is why Mom and Dad came here? With us? Now?"

Jazz blew out a breath and hefted her own box of FentonWorks equipment. "Honestly? I'm not sure. They wouldn't hesitate if it was an opportunity to teach us about ghosts. But business? Mom, maybe, but Dad…." She trailed off. They both looked over at their father, who was somehow managing to juggle the Fenton Bazooka, Fenton Weasel, Fenton Ghost Gloves, and the Fenton Ghost Catcher. Danny doubted anyone lesser could hold them all without dropping anything.

With a sigh, Danny put his box of weaponry on the ground. "Tell Mom and Dad I had to go to the bathroom if they ask," he said. "I'm going to do a quick scout of the town, make sure we aren't dealing with ghosts."

"Danny—"

"I'll stay invisible and be back in no time," Danny assured her. He climbed back into the Assault Vehicle and added, "Promise."

Jazz frowned but didn't argue. "Be careful."

Danny slipped into the washroom and immediately went ghost, turning invisible and (temporarily) intangible and getting as far away from his parents and all their weapons as possible. Norrisville was bigger than Amity Park, and the pyramid that was McFist Industries overlooked the entire town. Danny flew low and started scouting in ever-widening circles, waiting for the familiar cold that was his ghost sense to swell in his chest.

It never came.

He stopped by the abandoned fudge factory on the outskirts of town. (Jack would be disappointed it had closed.) He hadn't checked the swamp yet or the lake or the mountain in the distance (one mountain? Really? Was that normal?), and he had flown fairly quickly while doing his patrol, but his ghost sense didn't fail him, and it had a decent range.

He'd still nip over to those places just be safe, but he was pretty sure he was the only ghost in this town.

Except that didn't make sense, because his parents wouldn't just randomly decide to get someone to mass produce their products now. If they really did just want that, they could have turned to Vlad. As much as Danny hated that idea, Vlad wouldn't turn them down if it meant he had a chance to see more of Maddie. And turning to Good Ol' Vladdy should've been the first thing his dad had suggested.

Instead, they'd reached out to a company he'd never heard of in a town that was—since he hadn't known of its existence until this morning—probably in an entirely different state.

He could see not leaving him home alone after the damage from the party that one time and the fact that he'd used the Emergency Ops Centre. Though his parents had been slightly more forgiving once they'd realized he'd used it for its intended purpose of battling ghosts, he'd still gotten grounded for a month. But they thought of Jazz as the responsible one; they should have no problem with leaving her behind.

But his mom had been pretty insistent that this was a family trip, even if it meant pulling them out of school.

Despite the fact that he was still failing half his classes.

Despite the fact that something like this could have waited until they'd actually had a school break.

"I don't get it," Danny muttered as he started over the swamp. "What's so special about this place?"

Danny was so intent on trying to figure out the mysteries that must be hidden in Norrisville that he forgot to stay invisible. And while he was hypersensitive to the presence of ghosts, he was less attune to weird people living in a swamp—especially when he was puzzling over why the heck his parents would come here, of all places. And that was perhaps why he didn't notice the crazy guy with the alligators until the rope tightened around his feet and he hit the mud.

A/N: A fair bit of setup, I will admit, but things will get rolling soon. A special shout out to Wooster (my unwitting sounding board for what I've been willing to share) and Dream Theme (the random fact confirmer for those things I actually remember to ask), both of whom have put up with me while I've been plotting out this story.