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Break
Part 2: Breaking Out
by CatalystOfTheSoul

I shifted my toes, my sweaty hands rubbing themselves together in brain still thumped painfully against the outside of my skull, as if crying out in indignation. I really shouldn't have sat up. My stomach reeled, threatening to throw out whatever I'd swallowed that day.

Scratch that. I really, really, really shouldn't have sat up. Little stings fizzled all over my body and I groaned, shifting to put my hands on my head—I needed aspirin. Badly. Fenton Anti-Stick Rays, this hurts. My wrists jostled, something keeping them from making it half-way to their destination.

Oh no. My eyes trailed to inspect the faint glow of cold metal handcuffs holding me in place. It took me a moment of biting on my tongue and trying to figure out just who had decided to capture me this time before memory slammed into me with the force of a raging hurricane.

Oh.

I whimpered slightly in panic, twisting in my restraints and searching the room in for an escape. Largely darkened, but the little light shining underneath the door made reflections jump all over the startlingly white room—a dark figure was slumped in the corner, moaning to itself.

"Hello?" I gulped, frantically looking between it and the door, "Who's there? Mr.—Mr. Lancer?"

The figure looked up at me suddenly, scuttling deeper into its corner. I couldn't quite make it out very well, but the flash of eyes, the dip of nose, and, most importantly, the slight glitter of blue skin made it instantly apparent. This wasn't my English teacher. "Go away, go away." It mumbled, purple eyes dimming beyond that of a normal ghost.

"What?" I whispered, shifting onto my knees to get a better look, "Hey…are you alright?" A large, pointed ear dipped down and stayed there. The creature hissed, stuck out its tongue and tasted the air. I surveyed the ghost cautiously, reassured only by the faint scratch of chains against linoleum.

"H—human?" It asked me, cocking its head to the side, a drift of shakiness coming into its frame. "You…" It sneezed, "You smeellll not-human. But you smeellll human. I don't…" It licked the air again, "Human or ghost? Human or brother? Kiillller or friend? Torturer or tor-tured?"

I blinked, holding out my palms in a symbol of peace. That last question kind of hit me, "I'm…I'm kinda hard to explain. But, heh," I jiggled my chains, "Tortured. See?" As if to prove myself, even in this scant light, I twisted my human torso to show a faint scar that stretched from shoulder to elbow. "Friend." I asserted, pointing to my chest. "I'm a friend."

It kneaded claws onto the floor, making loud, scratching sounds that reminded me of fingers clawing across a chalk board—and I shuddered. That noise. It made my insides curl up on themselves and my ears want to twist it away; my teeth ground in disgust. "You friend?" It asked, flicking up its chained wrists to show them to me, "You know me?"

"Erm, no, sorry." I bit my lip, scooting forward a little, "My name is Danny. Dan-ney. What's your name?" The creature whipped something that I recognized to be a tail, its animal-human features tight with coiled fear. It shook its head, flat almost-humanoid nose sniffing at me cautiously. It shuddered, pressing itself against the wall.

I felt a sudden sting of pity for the thing. It didn't quite matter to me that I was captured right now—it'd happened enough times that the stressful waiting period when your captor wasn't present had stopped phasing me. I simply refused to think about how different this situation was—how much more dangerous.

Besides, I had something to worry about huddled in front of me. An assistant, maybe, to get us out of here? Someone who knew where Lancer was? Information, perhaps? Or, more selfishly and very, very reluctantly admitted, a distraction from what lay behind the door. "What's your name?" I coaxed, my gentle voice seeming to sting and make it flinch.

"They tell me I have no name," Its miserable eyes jerked to face the ceiling, "They tell me I am ghost. I haaave no name. I have nooo mind. I am ghosssst. I am filllth. I am to be tor-tured. I have noo-o friends, they say. They saayy I have no passt. No emo-tion. They lie, I tell them they liie. I have name. I haavve feeling. I haaa-ve mind." The creature jerked to place its wide gaze upon me, "They laugh. "You stuu-pid ghost," they tellll me, "stupid, dumb, filthy ghost." And they do thisss,"

My stomach twisted – in horror or anger or fear, I wasn't really sure; the ghost slithered forward to show me its exposed chest that hung between a tattered and grimy half jacket—a remnant of what the ghost once wore, I guess, and in a fresh scar that still oozed bits of purple ectoplasm;, a large Y-incision splayed across his front.

My jaw loosed in evident horror. …I think I just got sick. No, seriously. I'm going to throw up. The ghost watched my reaction, settling back on the ground. "Tortured." It said, moving its body so I could see a pair of delicate, tiny scaled wings perched on its back—a thick, angry scar clear across the left one. "See?" It said, turning back to me, a sort of curious expression its face. "Friend?"

I shook my head, uncomprehending. Poor thing. Something of a sad smile tugged at my lips, "Yeah." I whispered, "Friend."

The creature snickered, sitting up on its hind claws, tail loosely coiling around its toes, "My name is Mallllvern. But you call me Moonster, friend." It licked its lips, "I let my friends call me Moonster. My friends say it fuuunny—I llooook like Monster. They," it used a shaking claw to indicate the door, "They callll me ghossst. I am not even enough to be Moonster to them. They n-ot friend."

I nodded, a gentle chuckle making its way passed my throat despite itself; ghosts and their terrorizing nicknames. For a moment, just a moment, my captivity didn't seem so bad. "My friends call me Phantom, sometimes." I winked, "You can too, Monster."

The thing grinned, showing off sharp, glinting teeth. "Hello, Phantom Danny."

Of course, that's when it happened. Typically, the moment I let my muscles relax—it was just my luck that a glorious shock of pure electricity jostled through my veins at that exact time. For some reason, I wasn't surprised. My life sucks like that. I honestly don't see any reason to play terrified little mouse.

Across from me, there was a silky, slithering howl that broke through my mind and shattered upon my ears. Monster was getting the same treatment I was, and it's really not pretty to hear a humanoid-thing get tortured. Their voices are twisted between beast and human, making it all the more mournful of a keen—and much, much louder than my own, depressed cry.

The moment it stopped my headache was back, with more force and vigor than ever. Stupid, evil, government agents. I thought to myself, looking up as a pair of men came into the room, a figure dragging between them. My eyes were blurry, but I could nearly make out the incoherent mumblings of their captive as he was being chained to the wall.

Almost as clearly, I could sort of identify the voice—not that I exactly had to. If it sounded familiar, and it was in this place, and the person wasn't glowing…well, then, who else could it be? "Mr. Lancer?" My words cracked pathetically on themselves, but the teacher's head swiveled pitifully in my direction anyway.

"Danny?" He chocked out, stricken by a massive coughing fit. One of the armored agents kicked him harshly before turning to me.

"Ghost."

What? I wanted to be heavily sarcastic and say something witty and active and rude and…something. But I locked my jaw, glaring up at the man—I recognized Operative O's scowling face as if it were my own. I'd never imagined he'd really be someone to fear; so I refused to admit that he was. The agent lashed out at me, "We know your secret."

No duh. You called me ghost. I worked my mouth, a bubble of defiance fizzing behind my teeth. I could spit at him, if I really wanted to, I guess. But otherwise I was at a complete loss for what to say. No use in spitting without a witty comment to follow. "We know," The Operative growled, apparently deciding that I wasn't worth waiting for a reply, "That you've tied yourself to this body, Ghost. Preformed some permanent kind of overshadowing."

What.

"You're hiding."

…What?

"You're a filthy, ectoplasmic coward."

No, seriously, what?

O crouched, grabbing my chin in his thick, nearly-white gloves that scratched roughly against the surface of my skin. "We're going to force you out of this body," O grinned a deep, satisfied type of smile, "No matter what ties you've made to this body, no matter what takeovers or commas you had to create to make your signature hide so well under a human host," it was now that I noticed something slightly damp brush against my skin that transferred off of his glove, "We. Will. Tear. You. Out."

I swallowed. The substance trailing little dark spots weren't only on his gloves—they flecked across the operatives entire torso, a uniform that is normally made a top priority to keep clean and sterile; dripping still warm, sticky stuff. Blood. Red blood.

Human blood.

Quite suddenly I was afraid. No, terrified; my eyes sweeping over to my teacher, who had promptly either fainted or passed out on the wall—or…died. Operative O was unlocking my chain, another armored man at the door poising a finger over a little electric trigger box—the chain fell away, but my glowing cuffs remained.

Monster, huddled in the corner had his ears held flat against his head, folding so tightly on himself that he looked like he'd shrunk to half the size of what I originally saw him as. I was hoisted to my feet, and, as if a switch had been flung on in my head, I was talking—er, chattering. Like crazy.

"L—look, um, you don't understand—I—you got it all wrong! I—I'm just a kid! Please, you don't get it, really, really, you don't! I'm not a—a ghost or, or anything else! I'm just me, see? See? My hands aren't glowing and I've got normal eyes—yes, come on, if I was a ghost—which I'm NOT—my eyes would have a glow in them from overshadowing! I know it because my—my parents are ghost hunters! I know what to look for! Maybe, it's just ecto-traces left on my body from the lab? I'm not a gh—"

Wham!

Ouch. And I thought I was onto something convincing with that last bit, too. Operative O addressed me, "Shut up, ghost. There's no talking your way out of this." Two thick pairs of hands took hold of either side of me and began to unceremoniously drag me from the room. Monster whimpered, and I saw the flash of his claw point to Lancer, "I watch." He murmured very, very quietly. The GIW did not bother to hear.

All I could do was offer a brief smile before the door slammed shut and there was nothing for me to stare at but blank walls, the tops of my shoes, and the scant edges of the men dragging me behind them. "What—what are you going to do?" My legs were too wobbly to even care about helping these guys lug me along; which I assume is good—I'm not exactly willing.

"Tear you out of the human and lock you in a cell where you belong, ghost." It was a different, even harsher crackle of a voice that didn't belong to O. I had no idea who the other guy grasping my arm was, but he sure didn't seem friendly. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, right? Whatever happened to good cop bad cop?

"What about me?" I ground my teeth, "My human, not-ghost body—because I'm not, at all, a ghost. What are you going to do with me?" I struggled, just a little, and rather pathetically, in an attempt to wriggle around so I could catch a glimpse of the set of my captor's face.

I managed a glimpse of Operative no-letter's black sunglasses (inside the building?) before a stick slammed into my back and I was left, cursing, to watch my ankles. Ouch. That struck my freaking spine. "The human body has obviously had to have grown a dependency upon you for life support, ghost. As soon as we take you out he'll die anyway."

He'll die anyway. Oh no. Nonono. Not good—really, really not good. That sounded less like a "we'll try to keep the human alive" and more like a "that's an excuse to butcher human flesh". And, unfortunately, a good excuse. It'll look like I just died during the operation—an accident. Poor Danny Fenton eclipsed by an evil ghost.

I have to get out. Now. I need to leave—this is not good. At all. My heels scrapped and squealed against the floor in protest, my torso jerked and twisted against restraint, and, before I knew it, I was shouting incoherently at the ceiling. It was like suddenly, before I'm strapped to a table and torn in half, I had to defend myself—my humanity. "I'm a student! I went to Casper High—before you guys shut it down for ghost activities and I…I…"

I don't know what to do. A door opened, I was roughly pulled inside and thrown on a table—salty tears somehow managing to find purchase on my cheeks. They're not listening. Nobody is listening. I'm being strapped to a freaking dissection table and I don't even get a last word.

Operative O leaned over me, glowering, "The doctor will be in to see you—he's going to check over the humans' vitals to see what you've done to mangle it." The man hesitated, if only for a moment, "And then we're going to cut you open, ghost freak."

…Ghost freak. Wow. When was the last time someone called me that? …Heh. Not in a while, dad hasn't said it since the Bene trial ended—and it wasn't even directed at my ghost half. Now here I am, months later, caught in an attempt to get back my freedom. My ability to be called "ghost freak".

I hate irony. I really, honestly do. If I needed to recognize it in class, I never did—irony only seemed to click with me when I was directly and seriously affected.

Like now.

A white suited, masked Doctor entered and peered at me over his mouth cover. "Hello, Danny, is it?" I blinked up at the too bright light he swung over me. "The human host you've infected. His name is Danny Fenton?"

"That's my name, yeah." I tested my arms against the restraints, faintly wondering when handcuffs had become table. They weren't glowing, but there was definitely a vibration of power inside of them that twisted all over the table underneath me. No phasing out of this thing. Fantastic. The doctor guy started to pull on a pair of latex gloves, crinkling his eyes in what was possibly a smile.

I told him that this wasn't funny. "Oh, no, not at all," The doctor's brows knit together, "I know Danny's mother, Maddie, we've met at the city hall ghost conventions. She's going to be devastated." He stood, lost in his own thoughts, before shaking his head and turning back to me. "Still, she told me quite a bit about her family. It'll be a shame..."

I winced. He brought my mother into it. The doc shook his head dismissively, and a pinch in my arm indicated the progress of a needle as it began to pull out my blood, "So, ghost, oh…this is interesting." He held up the vile, fascinated, watching the swirls of dim green dance in and out of my mostly-red blood. "How did you do this? I've never seen integration quite like it!"

"No idea." I sighed, slumping on the table. I think my freaking-out-I'm-going-to-die-panic moment just ended. I'd been planning on riding the emotional high long enough so I could beg and scream and writhe and somehow find a way out of here, but my emotions just began to shut down. It wasn't that I didn't care; it was that my body was reacting to a panic situation.

Panic situations and I had a struggling relationship, at first. But now I can't seem to find the energy to make myself overflow with distracting emotions. It's really annoying, actually…makes me feel like Vlad. Ew. The Frootloop.

An image flashed over my eyes—Casper's auditorium, a plate, a sense of dizzying vertigo as the image flicked and solidified. Valerie. My hands, aged?, sitting in my lap. A voice rumbling in my throat. The doctor leaned over me, "So how are we going to get you out?"

"What happened to him?" She asked, wrinkling her hands in worry.

"I guess I'll start with hooking you up to the heart monitor—I'm going to see how well you've managed to keep your human host alive." The doctor patted my head and shuffled aside.

I snorted in indifference, "Where is it, then? Your "organization" doesn't seem to have much of an armory if it's hiding in a broken down school." Her eyes flashed in anger, opened her mouth to retort—

My head hurt. The surgeon was arguing next to me, "I can't just rip it out of him; the human host will not be able to handle a sudden—"

"We need the identity of the ghost!"

"I have to do this slowly, over a period of days, be patient and you'll get your identity; so long as I can keep the human alive—"

"Nathan, is it? You're holding that weapon wrong," I set mine down and walked over to him, "Honestly, a pistol shouldn't be so hard to wield—Yes, I know it's glowing."

"Ooh," I groaned, closing my eyes tight against the images. Which reality was true was clear—I had memory linking to it and everything. Here I was just fantasizing or something. Hallucinations, colorful, vivid, but unmistakably hallucinations. My head started spin in the way it did when I got too close to smoke.

Something cool touched my forehead, "Interesting. Do you see this? His oneiro brain waves are jumping in activity, and yet he is clearly still awake." A gruff answer, "Yes, well, I can just ask him—Danny? Hello, can you hear me?"

"Ye—OUCH!"

A pang on my shoulder. "Sugared strawberries! You idiot!" I cursed, "I'm not here for target practice! No, no, finger off the trigger. Safety locked? These weren't designed to have a safety lock!" I wrenched the gun from his apologetic fingers, "I don't want to hear it! Go take one of the stupidly named anti-creep sticks!"

"Ow, ow, ow!" My head twisted back and fourth, my teeth gnashing together. I couldn't bring my hand up to nurse my shoulder; it was still locked in the death grip of those stupid restraints.

"Danny, what's wrong?" The doctor was baiting me, I could so tell. I may be hallucinating, but this pain was real. I have no idea what he's doing, but I can't just sit here with my eyes closed and let him hurt me!

I twisted my neck and stared. It…my t-shirt was still on, my shoulder wincing underneath it. No blood, no smoking burn, no sign that it had been touched. "I…how is that possible…? But…it felt so real!" I protested, turning to the clearly confused Doctor guy in despair. "I felt it!"

He held up his hands, not seeming to understand. "I haven't touched you yet." In his fingers dangled a glossy needle, which lowered almost hesitantly to take another sample out of my skin. "Now, calm down, don't make me sedate you."

"S—sedate me?" My mind got all disoriented, fuzzy. "I…sorry." I'm apologizing. He's going to kill me and I'm apologizing. I'm crazy—it's official. Hallucinations, random freak-outs down a hallway, and apologizing to my killer. Yup. Totally insane. "I thought I saw…"

His forehead wrinkled in worry. Mock worry. "Ghost. You need to focus. Are you attached to the human you've taken over? Are you attached to Danny?" He set the needle down and pulled up a chair to plop down next to me, "Ghost," he cooed, "Danny. Why don't you tell me your real name? Your title? Are you seeing his memories, ghost?"

"I am Danny!" I struggled, glowering, "Look, doctor person guy—"

"Doctor Harris."

"Harris. Whatever. Listen, I am who I say I am. I know me—I have thoughts and feelings and friends—I get beat up by bullies and go to movies and miss my curfew." I glared at him, I wasn't sure what was going on, had no idea that this excursion into the GIW headquarters would go so wrong, but if I hadn't been spending the past three years practicing for a moment like this then I would eat my shoe. In one bite.

The doctor guy held up a hand, laughing softly. "I'm going to have to put this down for you straight. If you don't tell me your name, then I will have to commence the operation right now. This will not be a slow and gentle thing. It will kill the human you have taken over and desperately weaken your spectral form." Harris leaned in, a soft smile on his lips, "Now you wouldn't want me to have to rip you in half all in one hour, would you? Not that you would really get much out of it anyway, but I'd hate to kill your host…"

"No. Here—why not just let me leave?" I bit back, basically shoving all thoughts of the glinting cut-me-open-tools resting next to me. If I ignored the obvious, I could almost pretend I was in a dentist office; and I was always extremely sarcastic with dentists. "You're blind, you know that? I'm not a ghost—and even if I was, it's not like I can magically not feel anything. I'm not numb. Ghosts are formed after death because of emotion, why would we not feel it?"

The man only crinkled his eyes in a victorious grin, "Oh, well, yes, you see—that just proves everything. "Why would we not feel it?" Oh, dear me, ghost, I think you just blew your cover—not that you had much to go on in the first place, of course." He frowned, "If it's any consolation, I believe you—you're probably too heavily tied to your host to not feel this."

I couldn't say anything. My jaw moved but my lips didn't part and my vocal cords were too constricted by emotion that not one sound let itself out in my defense. I was frozen, no idea what to say or do or think… "We'll take you down the hall to sector five," the doc folded his arms, "I'm sorry that I have to do this, but, I need your name and I really do want to do this carefully. There's no time for dallying."

Sector five. Wait. Memories—blackness, chaos, rage, my mind, burning. And we were only near sector five, sure, a few feet away, and just about on the corner of it, but…I closed my eyes, focusing on the atmosphere for anything that felt so desperately wrong. There! To my left, estimated twenty feet away, was about the edge of something only intuition and a sick feeling in my stomach could recognize.

"Hold on," I mumbled, watching as Doctor Harris leaned over me, pushing the table that was more of a cart, when I noticed that it began to shudder and roll towards the door. "Wait, you don't understand! I can't go over there! It's not right, please, I swear—"

"Ghost, you're starting to panic before you even hit the crossing point. Breathe, will you? Your host needs air; he's beginning to look a bit purple." He smiled down at me, not seeming to notice that my sight refused to meet his—I had eyes only for the wall that I was being carried away from (but, in a roundabout way, I would eventually end up at), a hole already beginning to burn itself into my mind, I don't want to go there!

"I'll give you my name!" The crazy, half-formed thought chocked out of fear and panic and tore at my throat, "If you don't take me to sector five, I—I'll give you….my…" Fantastic. Way to go, Fenton! Dig yourself into a hole. I swallowed, feeling my cart-table shudder to a stop. "You…asked who I was."

Doctor Harris hesitated, then spun me around put me right back where I was before. "If you talk," He said, very gently, "I can have the supplies I need transferred into this room, ghost. You won't have to undergo sector five."

"You're…you're sure?" I responded, desperately trying to stall my way out of this. I didn't mean to say that, but, if it keeps me away from the…but my identity! I won't be able to hide after this!

"Of course. You'll be perfectly safe." He patted my shoulder, "And your human host might even get to live through the operation. Isn't that nice?" Fingers went to a small radio attached to his collar and the doc flicked it on, "Would you boys be kind enough to bring in my instruments? Yes…sector five: division room seven. Oh, no, I won't be needing any anesthetic… Well, I'm sure the human mind is far enough under to—oh, of course. Can't forget that. Yes, I know, thank you. Oh, wait! One of you bring in that lie detector first."

He stopped and turned back to me. "There, see? My end of the bargain is done. Back to your name?"

"L-lie detector?" I glanced around, totally unsure if I'd made a good decision. It hadn't even occurred to me to lie yet—and he's got a…lie detector…but, those things aren't always accurate, right? Something about…heart rate…and stuff. Give me a break. I'm not on top of my game today.

Doctor Harris nodded, making notes on a little clip board. "The Agents are only looking for a specific cluster of ghosts. Once we're assured that you're not one of them, we can do this nice and slow, okay, ghost? The human inside of you may actually survive."

I swallowed, heavily. I bet I know what ghost is number one on their list. And I guess…yeah. It's official. I'm done for. There is no way the Frootloop or I planned for this to—

A flash of red hot anger seared against my mind, contempt sweeping over from some unknown source. Idiot! It hissed. Your feet aren't restrained! A cold-hot sensation traveled to my hands and whipped my attention there before receding into a quiet bubble of nothing.

I blinked, Doctor Harris was swinging some foreign object around and ushering two agents to stand in a corner of the room. "We don't need to terrorize the thing." He said with clear frustration. "Just…behave for the next few minutes. You will have your answer shortly."

Swiftly, the doc turned back to me, waving a small, thick band around in the air for me to view. "Okay, ghost, this would be a true lie detector. It attaches around your wrist, like so." In one swift motion, a metal ring joined the clasp around my right wrist, a green light blinking on top of it for just a moment until a jerk of tiny pincers dove underneath my skin.

I flinched, but otherwise didn't move. I guess I can admit that I've felt worse. Wait.

My wrist.

Idiot! Your feet aren't restrained!

…My wrist!

My heart began to flutter uncontrollably; I couldn't help but give a very faint, hidden twist to my left hand, secretly gauging what it would take. I may be strapped down to this thing by my chest and my knees, and my wrists may have heavy restraints on them, but…

My ankles are free.

"Ghost?" My attention re-focused on the doc. "Were you listening? I need your name. Still. Everything's in place." He chuckled, "Remember, if you lie, the light goes red," He tapped the thing on my wrist. "And if you tell the truth it goes green. Very simple."

I kind of just stared at him, the feeling that my plans were suddenly being flushed down a toilet was inevitable. The moment I spoke my ghost name, the two agents in the corner were going to start…shooting me or something. I need a way to deflect their attention.

"What is your true ghost name?" The white suited man pushed.

…I wonder what would happen if I didn't say the truth. It'd only take a second, all I need is their eyes off of me for just long enough…what more choice did I have, really? It's go out on a limb or die, basically. My torturers are waiting. My lips trembled, and, despite myself, I spat out the first Frootloop name that came to mind.

And there are really very few Frootloop names to choose from.

"Vlad." I spoke simply, calmer then I expected. "Vlad Plasmius."

Doctor Harris's eyes flicked to my wrist, and I tensed, watching with him as the light flicked on to tell my lie in a clear, easy to read…

Green color.

The doc straightened triumphantly. "You see? He's not on your list. Some harmless extra." Turning with a dramatic flourish, the man pointed them to the door, "You can go now."

My body was too tensed in action to care about a defective lie detector when I had three men with their backs to me. No time to waste! With a half-strangled gasp, I braced for the pain and yanked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doctor Harris spinning to face me, shock barely registering in his eyes when a great snap! echoed throughout the room. I brought up my left palm to face him, ignoring the throbbing of a freshly broken thumb as I fired every ounce of crackling green energy I could muscle up.

I didn't look to see the damage. My torso was already ducking, wriggling out of the restraint that had pressed so heavily upon my chest. My knees jerked sideways, twisted up, broke free. Only three body restraints – torso, waist, and knees. Then my hands were strapped down by a cold metal. Twisting out just took a bit of hassling. My breath was heavy as the table underneath me helplessly coiled with energy meant to contain any spectral entity.

It was really too bad I'd learned to do things the human way. For them. A sick, feral grin twitched across my lips and I was bracing a second time to break my right hand out of its restraint – the alarms had picked up my scent and I had only moments left to get out of this room.

Not that I really wanted to break my other thumb. My eyes closed themselves tight while unconsciously my lower lip was sucked between a pair of teeth. Like a band aide, I reminded, heaving the strength of my legs right up into my back and tugging with all my might.

Clink.

I looked down, blinking. I backed my wrist out again, and again.

Clink! Clink!

The helpless knock of metal against metal filled my suddenly mortified ears. The lie detector wrist band thing was still painfully connected to my wrist, hundreds of little metal knives itching just underneath skin. Like a dog with a locked jaw, it refused to budge.

Keeping me solidly unable to get past the very last restraint. I was trapped, hooked down to a table. A sitting duck. A desperate grunt and a few tugs later and my feet hit the ground, pulling back with all of my might.

Clinnnn… The table rolled a little momentously, edging inches away with the force of my pull. I paused, staring down at a small set of wobbly wheels somehow managing to hold up a laboratory table of reinforced steel that must weigh at least one hundred pounds.

Those tiny, impossible, movable wheels.

I grinned.

It took a fair amount of wrestling, kicking, and maneuvering in a very, very tight time window to get this giant thing out into the hallway, but after that, it was totally fair game. One knee balanced precariously up top while my other leg pumped at the ground, kicking off into the straight hallway that would lead me home free!

Scootering down one way, I was carefully trying to rebuild the maps of the building that I knew of – near Sector Five, three four way intersections up ahead, and then a T. Hah! I'm so near gate three.

Or…I could be routing by the cell rooms within Sector Four…

…

Oh God. The prison rooms.

Lancer.

My cart skittered to a stop, a bristling panic washing over my senses with the force of an uproarious thunderstorm. Terrifying images of a limp figure chained to a wall crashed over my vision, imaginary rats pulling at the edges of freshly misconstrued skin as a pool of blood swelled to—

I shook my head as hard as I could. He's fine. Find him. I pushed the cart shakily foreword, vaguely remembering the cell I was held in was at the end of the hallway, right on top of a T intersection. If I'm figuring correctly, the prison cell should be inside of that door right at the end of this hallway, a perfect target… My free hand flicked out to greet the far away door as I called up a ball of energy to evaporate the metal in my path.

My shot fired, an example of primary precision as I watched it coil and flame down the hall, my tightened eyes focused on watching the door shudder pitifully—

—I growled, pulling out another plug. "There, that should…" I blinked, staring down at the greasy trails along my fingers, an odd, woozy sensation flushing across my forehead as I stood up, too tall, and glanced at Valerie. She didn't seem to notice my perplexed expression, instead activating her hoverboard, the flash of a feral grin vanishing as she pulled on her hood.

"…What…" I wondered, "Valerie?"

She paused, tipped her head to the side. "What's wrong?" Her hand reach out to pull me up from the seeming hole in the floor, wires and dark grease magnifying and blurring in a strange, wiggly sort of pattern—

—I took in a deep shuddering breath, my shoulder still stinging from the way the lab table had crashed sideways on the cell wall. Errant sparkles of pain jolted along my arm to remind me that my elbow was in a grossly misplaced position. I groaned, sitting up and gingerly rubbing a cut on my fragile nose.

Monster's sharp teeth glinted up at me, "You are happy, free now, yes? Free Monster now, yes? Escape." His tiny, useless and scaly wings rubbed together in excited energy. I stared at him for an odd second before slowly shaking my head and moving to inspect my freed wrist (lie detector intact, despite some bite marks), which was basically useless due to my officially broken and blisteringly agonized arm, taking note of the chewed and twisted piece of metal that had been holding me to the table.

"That was weird." I whispered, pushing the…episode into the back of my mind. Right. Now I clearly remembered my tricky jaunt through the door, the two agents that tried to stop me, the thudding sense of helplessness as my table-cart flipped through the air…"Mr. Lancer?"

Monster's ears dropped level with his neck. "I not knoow. He not speak. Free Mooonster – I ch-eck?"

"S-sure…" I stared at him for a moment, dazed. There was a buzzing reminder of pain shooting up from my arm but my mind seemed to turn it off, somehow. It shut down on the screaming squelch of broken bone and pumped adrenaline through me like never before, my mind was thinking quickly, but not quickly enough.

I had no idea how to get him free. "Hold on." I said, with dry, slow lips, and turned suddenly to kneel next to the human lump in the back of the cell. In the scant light settling in from the hallway, I could see a man curled into a loose ball, his face covered by a lax arm while his other hand snaked out from underneath the weight of his body, slightly curled fingers begging towards the door.

He wasn't moving.

"Lancer?" I rasped.

No reply.

"M-Mr Lancer?" I repeated, a sinking feeling dragging its dreaded nails across the inside of my ribcage. My hand hesitated, but by now alarms were ringing in the back of my mind, telling me I needed to move. Now. With a rush I cascaded forward too eagerly and brushed Lancer's arm out of his face.

I froze.

Wide, brown, lifeless eyes stared numbly at nothing. I yelped, reeling away in lopsided crabwalk scuttle, tears sparking in my eyes even though my brain wasn't functioning well enough to let myself understand. My mind twisted a storm of catalyzed fear and I felt my stomach rebel in painful dry heaves that left me dazed and disoriented.

Dead.

I shook my head. No, no, no, no…

He's dead.

My head slammed down on the idea. No, he's not.

Shut up Fenton, yes, he is.

I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. "Not dead. He can't be dead." I curled one broken fist in front of me, leaving my splintered arm to rest at my side and brought my knees up close so that they would dig painfully into my chest. No, no, no, no, no…

I wish I could say it was Monster that woke me up, or my own mind deciding to push its panic aside—or, heck, even GIW agents bursting into the room, guns blazing, would have made more sense. Honestly, by now they really should have burst in.

But that wasn't it at all. There was a flicker, and suddenly the press of red on my eyes vanished with an underpowered whine.

The lights had gone out. I looked up, straining to understand the change. Monster whined next to me, my only faintly glowing light. "Free?" The ghost whimpered, pathetically ducking down. "Phantom Danny, help? Free Monster?"

"Y-yeah." My pupils contracted, but I could catch enough of Monster's glowing outline to see the cuffs bound to his wrists and pawed feet. Almost on autopilot, I fired an ectoblast at those wrists—

"This is where we split up." I finished, crouching down in the darkness. Valerie nodded curtly to me, gave my shoulder one last squeeze, and vanished—

"It no-ot work!" Monster sputtered furiously, his sharp teeth glinting in some glow-in-the-dark frustration.

I shook my head, spinning dizzily. "They're getting weirder…" I mumbled before pushing the vaguely-familiar hallucination into the back of my mind. Something had clicked in my brain, jump-starting my thinking process and sparking it into something useful.

I had one goal in mind.

Get out.

Now.

"I can't chew you out, Monster." I said, blinking up at him with a fierce determination. "I'm sorry – in order to find another way I'll have to get something. A key. Or…" I curled my pliable fingers into a thumbless fist, "Do you understand?"

Thick ears dove to his sides, and thin, almost imperceptible whiskers crinkled across humanoid blue cheeks. "You…" Monster curled in on himself, body shuddering despairingly. "Phantom Danny has no room for Monster."

"I'll try to come back for you." I promised, eyes trailing to the human lump in the back of the room. "Both of you." I whispered assuringly as I got to my feet.

Behind me, a dead body and a whimpering ghost – within, a tempest of raging emotions settling onto one solid objective.

In front of me, a dark and twisting labyrinth waited with a leering danger.

I took a deep breath. Here we go.

Next chapter "Breaking Through" coming soon!

~Catalyst