What Can't Be Seen Through
Jasmine Fenton, renowned psychology student, and all-around pillar of stability in a disturbingly odd family, was having a major crisis. It wasn't any crisis that anyone normal had been through, in her opinion. It wasn't school. That was going better than most could say. It wasn't her social life. That was, for the most part, non-existent. Lack of a social life, though, was not her concern. She didn't really like people all that much. Jazz was more of a scientist than a friend. It was easier for her to study someone and not get involved than to let them in, where they could do damage to her.
The incident with Johnny Thirteen had made her both paranoid and more caring. It was odd, she had to admit, but she felt much closer to her brother now. She had been there when he faced his future and beaten it. He had come clean to her and her alone about his powers. It was nice to be so close to her sibling in some ways. In others, it was frustrating.
Pouring over some of her textbooks, Jazz had found a few possible explanations. She didn't have any friends, so she had naturally latched onto her brother and his friends as her closest contacts.
That might be why she had developed…a crush…on her little brother.
It wasn't really odd, she decided now, that she had fallen for him. He was sweet, if awkward. He was caring, if a little abrasive sometimes. He was cute, strong, and helpful. And he looked good in a black jump suit with white hair.
Jazz shook her head. Danny didn't like her. Danny liked Sam. Danny deserved Sam. She would make him happy. They would get married, have kids, and those kids would have kids. Jazz sighed heavily. Maybe going out for a little drink wouldn't hurt.
Danny Fenton, one of the world's only two ghost hybrids, collapsed onto the couch with his best friend, Tucker. They had had a three-hour ghost hunt after school, and he was beat. Tucker had opted to stay at his house for the night, instead of walking back home. Sam had chosen to walk to her house, it not being as far as Tucker's.
"Video games?" Tucker asked.
"Too tired," Danny said. It was clear by his voice that he meant it.
"TV?" Tucker asked.
"Hand won't move to remote," Danny responded vainly.
"What are you two doing?" Jazz asked, walking in to find the two exhausted boys.
"Trying to keep our eyes open," Danny said. "We had a lot of…homework after school."
Jazz nodded. The way he said "homework" was code for ghostbusting. They had come up with it because their parents seemed to magically appear whenever someone said "ghost."
"Oh, Danny. Mom and Dad went out for the night, something about the anniversary of their first date. Then they're going to go to a ghost-hunter's convention." Jazz supplied.
"So we're alone for the weekend?" Danny asked blandly.
"I guess," Jazz replied, clearing her mind of the images that statement evoked.
"Jazz, I don't want to hear the word ghost this weekend, if it's all right with you," Danny said tiredly.
"That bad?" Jazz asked worriedly.
"What I want to know is how the Box Ghost gets out of the ghost zone," Tucker said with irritation.
"Here, why don't I go dump the Fenton Thermos into the ghost zone?" Jazz asked, taking the cylinder from her brother and moving down the stairs.
The Fenton Ghost Portal loomed large in the corner of the basement. Jazz approached it fearlessly. After all, it was something she had done everyday for a few months now. She had to. Apparently, she was the only one who could remember to change the ectoplasm-filter. The filter was what kept the ghost portal running. The amount of ghost goo that the portal came in contact with was more than what most machines came in contact with in a whole year.
"Mom and Dad made the thing, why can't they just remember to change the filter?" Jazz muttered. Placing the full Fenton Thermos into its slot on the outside of the portal, Jazz noticed the small red light flickering next to the filter.
Let's see…Green meant good.
Yellow was okay.
Red was bad.
Blinking red couldn't be good then.
Her fears were confirmed when the thermos began to drain automatically. The result was a filter overload. In a situation like this, there was an emergency code that allowed the filter to open and dispel the ectoplasm it had collected.
Unfortunately for Jazz, she was in the path of said outpouring of ectoplasm.
Jazz only had time to blink as a wave of green goo enveloped her, throwing her to the far wall.
Five minutes later, Jazz was back up, scraping the slime from her clothes. Wait a minute…her clothes? She had come down to the basement wearing her normal set of long sleeve shirt and pants. Now she had an outfit similar to Danny's on. Instead of the black on white design that Danny had, though, hers was white where his was black and blue where his was white. Realization dawning, Jazz pulled a few strands of her hair into view. Yep, they were white.
Jazz took a deep breath and let it out. She needed to stay calm. That set Murphy's Law into motion. Looking down at her right hand, she realized that it didn't look…right. It felt weird, harder.
Flexing it carefully, she concentrated on the feeling. Almost immediately, a layer of metal came into view, along with a two-barreled gun on the back of her right hand.
The Fenton Peeler, Jazz sighed. She had taken to carrying the thing around everywhere, and tonight was no exception. It seemed she was now a ghost with a molecular peeler mounted on her mechanical right hand. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't…oh hell.
Jazz took a deep breath and let out a nice scream.