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five-rivers · 2 years

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Forced Fruit

CW: Torture, psychological torture, medical abuse, non-consensual body modification, kidnapping, Spectra. This fic is an excuse to torment Danny.

The topic came up during a planning meeting for the Winter Truce. All the adult ghosts in the area were there to divvy up responsibilities, such as decorating, catering, and sending invitations out to children. However, as often happened during the few times such a large number of ghosts gathered in one space, things turned to fighting, resolved themselves, dissolved themselves, called a time out, got bored, and engaged in gossip.

(Not all the steps, particularly the resolution, were necessary.)

The topic was Danny Phantom. Newest (part-time) resident of this area of the Ghost Zone.

“He’s a menace!” complained the Lunch Lady.

“A terror,” agreed Ghost Writer.

“He has a protection Obsession and his first contact with other ghosts was people attacking him,” said Skulker with a dramatic groan. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“You were one of those people,” said Desiree.

“So were you!”

“How was I supposed to know? I’d been trapped in a bottle for years.”

“His Obsession isn’t protection.”

“Nocturne!” scolded Frostbite as everyone turned to look at Nocturne in surprise.

“What? I’m not his ally, and he hasn’t exactly tried to hide it and you know it.”

“Still. It’s rude.”

“It’s ruder to not share it, don’t you think?” asked Nocturne, stirring his drink with a claw. Stars glittered in the depths of his cloak. “He shouts it out like the Box Ghost. Box Ghost, wouldn’t you be offended if someone thought you were Obsessed with, I don’t know, tape?”

“THE HORROR! THE BOX GHOST CARES ONLY FOR TAPE USED IN PACKING PARCELS!”

“There you have it,” said Nocturne, gesturing lazily.

“I hardly think that is an accurate analogy,” said Frostbite.

“Come on, old man!” interrupted Johnny. “Don’t leave us in suspense!” His shadow chittered and hissed in agreement.

“Phantom’s Obsession,” said Nocturne, raising his glass, “is helping.”

“Well, that’s crap.”

“Oh, no,” purred Spectra, leaning forward and drumming on the table with blood red nails. “Based on what I’ve observed of the pest, that fits very well.”

“But,” said Ghost Writer, “he is singularly unhelpful.”

“Not exactly,” said Skulker, thoughtfully. “Any time one of us has asked him for help, has he said no? Think about Pariah.”

“Pariah, indeed,” said Nocturne with an air of dark amusement.

Frostbite glared at him. “Phantom is a generous soul.”

“He’d have to be, to die with something like that on his mind, and so young, too,” said Spectra, grinning. “A real martyr.”

“Wow, so what made him such a pain in our processors?” asked Technus. “How’d he get like that?”

“Fighting him as soon as you laid eyes on him might have had something to do with it,” said Spectra, prodding.

“Hey! He’s the one who suggested that!”

“Those little humans in his haunt probably ask him for a lot of help, though, don’t they? Walker, dear, you spent a few weeks there. That should be long enough to get a good idea of the lay of the land.”

Walker glared. “I know what you’re doing, Spectra,” he said. “You’ve spent time there, too.”

“Oh, yes, but I want to hear you say what you did, hm?”

Walker’s frown deepened. “He isn’t well liked there,” he said. “As a human or a ghost.”

“Wait, wait,” said Kitty, “are you telling us that fighting us is the only thing he’s got going for him, Obsession-wise? That’s not healthy, is it? Hey, fuzzball, you’re a doctor, right?”

Frostbite cast his eyes towards the ceiling. “No, it isn’t healthy. But I am sure he has other outlets—”

“Enough for someone as energetic as he is?” asked Spectra. “What’s his family like, Johnny? Are they supportive of his needs?”

“Uh,” said Johnny. “They’re sort of… ghost hunters.”

The ghosts who had once been part of the Circus Gothica put their heads together and started whispering.

“Oh, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten. What a terrible situation for a child.”

“Is there a point to this?” asked Amorpho, peevishly. “Or are you just feeding on all the schmucks?”

“The point is that there is a child suffering. Did you shapeshift away your heart?”

“But there’s nothing we can do about it!”

“That isn’t entirely true,” said Desiree.

“Don’t tell us you’re going to wish it away,” said Ghost Writer, with scorn.

“No more than you could write it away. We both know our alterations to reality are ephemeral.” She twined her fingers together. “The problem here is his lack of less violent options to sustain himself, isn’t it? What if we could give him one?”

“Only one here he’d take that from is big Frosty over there,” said Kitty, “and since he hasn’t yet…”

“Not like that,” said Desiree, her tail twitching. “His powers are all very combat ready, aren’t they? What if he had something that could be used more… gently?”

“Again, we aren’t going to wish for him to have powers,” said Ghost Writer.

“No, let her talk,” said Kitty. “You have some kind of plan, right?”

“Well, after being released from that horrid little bottle, I decided to find gainful employment.” There were titters of laughter, but Desiree glared them into submission. “I found it. How many of you have heard of the Hothouse?”

“You must be joking,” said Frostbite.

“Not at all. Consider: what would happen if Phantom had a healing power? How much different could he be? How much happier? Nocturne, you must have insight, having seen his dreams. Would he still fight if he could do something else?”

“Oh, he enjoys some aspects of combat,” said Nocturne. “But he’s downright scared of seriously injuring someone. You have noticed that he doesn’t damage any of us? Think about how many times he’s dismantled that one’s armor.” He pointed at Skulker. “Do you really think he is physically incapable of doing that to flesh? He’s fought Undergrowth and he still sends the Box Ghost home without a scratch.”

“YES, HIS GENEROSITY TO THE ANNOYING PLANT MAN IS COMMENDABLE. LUCKILY, THE GREAT BOX GHOST IS MADE OF STERNER STUFF.”

“But the Hothouse?” asked Frostbite, aggrieved.

“A touch of discomfort for something that will change his existence for the better,” said Desiree. “When he no longer reacts to seeing us with a punch or a ghost ray, we can teach him. He can be part of the community.”

“We do fight a lot, though.”

“With my position,” continued Desiree, “I can make sure we get the best discount.”

A long pause.

“A discount? You didn’t say anything about paying for anything!”

“You… bought me a spa treatment?” asked Danny, blankly. The ticket hung limply in one hand, its envelope in the other.

“It’s a group gift,” said Skulker, gruffly. “Because of the Pariah thing.”

“That was ages ago.”

“Do you know how long it takes to get a group of ghosts to agree to anything?”

“Okay, yeah,” said Danny. “But this is super suspicious, you know?” He also wasn’t really a ‘spa’ person.

Skulker seemed to sigh, and Danny tilted his head, curious. The amount of control Skulker had over his fake body always fascinated him. How was he emoting like that? Why did he even bother?

“Look, if you don’t at least show up, everyone will be mad at me. Can’t you help me out here?”

“That makes it sound even more like a trap,” said Danny, despite twitching at the word help. “Like they’ll all be waiting for me or something.”

“Don’t you have any friends or anything?”

“Rude.”

“Well, ask one of them. It’s a legitimate business.”

Danny made a face. “Fine. I’ll look into it.” He tucked the invitation/coupon/gift card/thing into his pocket and, withdrawing his hand, took out the thermos.

He had to love ghost physics, sometimes. Infinitely large pockets were great.

“You can’t be serious,” said Skulker.

“Well, I can’t have you running around doing who-knows-what for Vlad or setting up ambushes for me around town, so, yeah. I kind of am serious.”

Skulker sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Skulker tumbled out into the Ghost Zone. Getting ‘flushed’ through the Fenton Portal wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was certainly disorienting. He righted himself and tapped the comm. button on his gauntlet.

“This is Skulker reporting–”

“Back so soon?” interrupted Technus in his aggravating, high-pitched voice. He threw in some cackles. “Did you give up, or were you–”

“The portal opens up into his house, you nitwit,” growled Skulker. “It wasn’t like I had to go far to find him.” In fact, the boy had been in his pajamas. “The point is, the whelp has the invitation now, so pass on the news.”

“Excellent,” said Desiree. She steepled her fingers. “The next time he comes into the Ghost Zone, we will use the invitation to summon him. The rest of you will be able to fulfill your roles for the duration of Phantom’s stay, I trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Johnny. “Hang around, chase him down if he gets far enough. Which he won’t, between you and Ghost Writer here.”

“Our powers aren’t undefeatable,” said Ghost Writer.

“You’ll also be keeping an eye out for other clients trying to leave prematurely,” said Desiree.

“Doesn’t it, like, bother you at all to call them clients?”

“Not really. Why?”

“They aren’t here because they want to be, you know?”

Spectra leaned forward from the dark shadows behind Desiree’s desk. “Darling, you’re the ones hiring us. Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical to argue about terminology?”

Johnny held up his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it.”

“Don’t let her get to you, Johnny,” said Kitty, wrapping her arms around one of his and glaring at Spectra. “We’re doing the kid a favor, remember. It isn’t like we’re having them take away any of his powers.”

“More’s the pity,” said Walker, casting his eyes upward.

“For once, I agree with the spoilsport,” said Spectra. “Are you sure we can’t get the ‘bosses’ to make an exception, just this once?”

“I’ve already asked,” said Desiree. “No exceptions. We only add or improve abilities, we don’t remove them. We don’t want that. He’s too useful for getting rid of nasty problems, like Pariah Dark. Besides which, they’re already being fairly generous as is, given that between all of you, you couldn’t scrape together–”

“You didn’t help that much with the payment, either,” pointed out Ember. “I’m the one footing the bill.”

“But I am vital to everything else,” said Desiree, “and we are getting a very good bargain. There are some ghosts who would kill for the package you’re getting. A full Healer’s Suite for a difficult client, plus a bit of redirection, and all the rest of you have to do is help keep him and the others contained for the duration of his stay.”

“WE ALSO CHECKED THE ‘AESTHETIC FREEDOM’ BOX!”

“Does he have to be here?” asked Desiree.

“Listen, have you tried to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be? It’s impossible.”

“THE BOX GHOST DOES NOT ‘HAVE’ TO BE ANYWHERE. THE GREAT BOX GHOST DOES AS HE PLEASES.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Danny told Jazz, rinsing off his toothbrush. “Before you guys get up, at least.”

Jazz started her toothbrush up just as he turned his off. The sound made a good barrier against eavesdropping parents. “Alright, but if you aren’t I’m calling Sam and Tucker for a search party and sending the Boo-merang after you.”

“Ugh,” said Danny. “Please don’t. I’m sick of getting hit by that thing.”

“Then you’ll be home before I get up.”

“I already said that,” said Danny, aggrieved. “Jeez.”

Jazz popped her toothbrush in her mouth and shrugged.

“Whatever,” said Danny. “Goodnight.” He then proceeded to turn invisible and drop through the floor, all the way to the basement.

Every time he did this, he was surprised his parents hadn’t coated the walls and ceiling of the lab with something ghosts couldn’t phase through. It was sure convenient for him, though, so he wasn’t about to say anything about the oversight.

He flew through the portal quickly, not wanting to linger and risk discovery. On the other side, he oriented himself toward the Far Frozen - he was overdue for a checkup and he wanted to ask Frostbite about that spa thing - and he started forward, only for the Zone to warp around him, twisting, shifting, plunging him through tissue paper thin leafs of reality. He hit the ground hard.

A new record for getting attacked coming through the portal. Who did he know who could do something like that? He filed the question for later as he pushed up off the tiled floor and saw what had to be at least half of his usual enemies.

It was time to fight.

“I wish for Phantom to lose consciousness,” said Spectra.

“As you have wished it,” said Desiree with a smile, “so shall it be.”

“That was easier than expected,” observed Technus, toeing Phantom’s crumpled form.

“Out of the way, out of the way,” said a Hothouse attendant, elbowing ghosts out of the way. “Miss Desiree’s powers aren’t absolute. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” Upon reaching Phantom, she produced a syringe and jabbed it into his arm with cool efficiency. “There. Much better.” She stood up and faced the other ghosts with a smile. “We will, of course, alert you when he’s ready for pickup.”

The problem with treating Phantom was, of course, his ridiculous and disproportionate amount of power. That he was an unusual kind of ghost was secondary. They’d done business with Vlad Masters-Plamius in the past. They had data on that.

No. His power, his strength, was the problem. Usually, their ‘difficult’ clients weren’t nearly so strong. People rarely wanted to forcibly give someone who was already a threat additional powers, although there were certainly exceptions, especially in the ‘inconvenient or aesthetic abilities’ category.

So. Their first step in treating Phantom was to (temporarily, of course) disable or counteract his powers. They couldn’t completely turn them off, of course. That would be counterproductive. For them to force his powers into fruition - or to graft new ones onto him - he’d still have to be able to access his special abilities in general.

Simple drugs would do the trick for curtailing his physical strength and his ability to fly. Keep him uncoordinated, disoriented. They’d doubtless have to adjust the cocktail he was on as they worked. Even with their vast collection of records, half ghosts were all so unique.

There was nothing they could do about invisibility, but enough of their staff had alternate ways of perceiving invisible things that it wouldn’t be a problem.

Intangibility, human or ghost based, was largely a non-issue. As part of their dealings with Plasmius, they had commissioned a number of adamant-titanium alloy items. The combination of earthly and ectoplasmic materials was nearly impossible to phase through or phase with. The greatest stumbling block there was keeping it on Phantom, although from their research it seemed that he wasn’t comfortable with shape shifting, generally only managing it as a reflex.

Ice powers could be counteracted somewhat by keeping him in a hot environment… although given the other stresses they planned to put him under, that wouldn’t be healthy long term. They would have to be careful with that one.

The biggest problems were ectoplasmic constructs like ectoblasts and shields, and the so-called Ghostly Wail. For the constructs, they’d have to rely on the room and their restraints. For the Wail, on the other hand…

They had to do something about it now, before Phantom woke up.

Phantom lay on the bed within his assigned room, deeply asleep. He looked very young like this, and very alive. She thought she might be able to predict the aesthetic changes that would be added to his spa package. There were certain features that team just loved to play with.

That wasn’t her job, though. She pulled her syringes from her pouch and got to work.

Danny woke slowly, as if sleep was a syrup that clung to him. But he had to, because… Hadn’t he been fighting? Where was he? He opened his eyes to a ceiling that refused to focus and tried to sit up. His arms refused to cooperate.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Phantom. Welcome to the Hothouse Spa and Clinic.”

That made him work a little harder to get up. A ghost in a neat uniform floated next to the bed he was on. Her hair and sleeves were both pulled back.

“In accordance with the package that was ordered for you, you have been sedated and will be monitored until we have completed your treatment. Your treatment will start shortly. In the meantime, we invite you to explore the amenities available to you.”

Danny’s vision swam and he dropped his head.

“Please enjoy your stay,” said the ghost, pleasantly.

Danny didn’t see the ghost go, but he could feel her absence. Okay. Right. He’d been right about the spa thing being some sort of trap. He’d obviously been drugged. Either that, or he was suffering the effects of some ghost power.

Thinking made him feel nauseous. He swallowed.

Right. So. He had to look around. See where he was. What he could do. What he could use. Start making an escape plan. He wanted to get out of here before Jazz came after him.

Danny made a heroic effort to get off the bed, and rolled off onto the floor. The air was knocked out of him

“Well,” purred a painfully familiar voice, “that was certainly pathetic.”

Danny flopped over to squint at Spectra. He wanted to ask why she was here, but, like the rest of him, his tongue wasn't working properly.

He clenched his fists, drawing power to them, but the energy discharged into sparks before he could do anything with it.

"Look at you, lying there. When violence isn't an option, you're useless, aren't you?"

While it was true that Danny solved most of his problems with violence, they were generally problems of the violent variety to begin with, and he thought that using his immediate reaction to being kidnapped and drugged was kind of unfair. Then again, Spectra was the textbook definition of unfair, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Jazz said it was important to remember that she was full of crap.

Besides, violence wasn't his only option.

He called his rings and turned human. Falling through… wherever he was wasn't going to be pleasant, but once he was out and his head was cleared, he–

His fall stopped abruptly, all his weight hanging from his wrist, which, unlike the rest of him, wasn’t phasing through the floor. Something wrenched in his shoulder, and although it was far from the worst injury he'd had, even if he only counted this month, whatever was disorienting him didn't do anything for pain. Except maybe make it worse.

His vision went black for a moment, and then Spectra pulled him back up through the floor. The sudden movement sent pain radiating from his shoulder.

Spectra grinned at him. "Like I said, pathetic."

He went ghost again just in time for her to throw him into a wall.

Shield, he thought, rather desperately, shield, shield, shield!

He got one up just in time to block Spectra's black claws. They scraped against the shiny green surface.

"Shields are all very well and good," said Spectra, "but what happens when they break?" She pushed, and, sure enough, Danny’s shield shattered. "You can't protect anyone like this. Completely unhelpful. What good are you?"

You know what? Screw this.

If Danny's coordination and awareness had been torpedoed, he'd just scream his way out of this. He inhaled and Wailed.

Silently.

Spectra leered at him. "What's the matter, useless freak? Ghost got your tongue?"

She slammed him into a wall and he passed out.

“My,” said the observer from the aesthetic team, “he’s rather stoic, isn’t he? I mean, I know we sealed his voice, but no ghost sounds, either?”

“He doesn’t have the structure for it,” said the primary medical advisor.

“Really?”

“Current theory is that it’s a side effect of how he was formed,” said the medical advisor, nodding.

“Huh. Fascinating. We’ll have to include those in our healing plan.” She made a note on her pad of paper. “Our sound designer will be thrilled, even if we don’t get to play much with his actual voice after all. He’s really looking forward to taking a look at that Wail, too.”

“Do you have any thoughts about what aesthetic you’re going to go with for him?” asked the project manager, sipping a drink that gave off copious amounts of neon blue steam.

“Oh, yes,” said the aesthetic team member with a nod. “Overwhelming cuteness. We have a good base to start with, and I think it will fit well with the overall purpose of the client’s stay. Imagine: small, soft, fragile, fluffy, a dozen or so wings longer and wider than he is tall, a body just the right size to cuddle, nice, bright, diffuse aura, big, bright eyes, sharp teeth, always teething, always sleepy… That is what his powers will be tuned for, yes? Constant fatigue?”

“At first, sure,” said the medical advisor.

“To help with the transition,” interjected the second psychological expert. “It tends to be easier for clients like this to accept changes if they are too tired to actively resist them.”

(Even the executives of the Hothouse hadn’t liked the idea of having Spectra entirely in charge of that aspect of this operation.)

“Yes,” agreed the medical advisor. “But once his healing factors equilibrate, his form settles, and he rebalances his energy consumption, he should be more active again.”

“Ah, well. Anyway, imagine something like that coming up to you and asking to be held. Isn’t it just a precious image?”

The project manager laughed a little. “Don’t forget, this is the person who defeated Pariah Dark in single combat. That’s why we’re taking all of these security precautions.”

“Of course! Ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, he could be a tiny little gentle thing, but that point zero zero one percent… When his friends need that kind of help, he becomes a soul-crushing, mind-numbing terror. Isn’t that way cuter?”

The other ghosts in the room considered the picture for a second and made various sounds of agreement.

“About the wings, though,” said the medical advisor.

The aesthetic team member groaned. “Are you saying we can’t do them? I thought we had complete freedom on that front?”

“You do,” said the project manager, quickly.

“Yes, yes,” the medical advisor said, reassuringly. “But, as a general caution, we do want him to be functional and able to care for himself by the end of this. More than that, we still want him capable of taking up arms, if it comes to that.”

“Yeah, that’s why I mentioned that point–”

“Point zero zero one percent, yes,” the medical advisor nodded. “More specifically, about the wings, we don’t want to deviate too far from a human body plan, because we aren’t sure how his form will map to his human body. We don’t want to add anything that won’t be sustainable for him while he’s in human form.”

“That rules out a lot,” said the aesthetic team member, pouting. “But one of our junior team members mentioned a possible work-around I’d like to try.”

“Oh? Do tell. Upper management is always happy to hear about new ideas.”

The aesthetic team member grinned. “As long as they’re workable, right? Well, her idea was to make the wings aura structures. His aura doesn’t seem to follow him into human form, right? And he can certainly use the extra ectoplasm filtering capability - I mean, he’d have some of that with physical wings, as well, the way we make them, but, you know.”

The medical advisor tapped his lips. “There are some potential complications from aura structures that I want to look into before approving anything, but I think it should work.”

“Great,” said the project manager. “So, he’s going to be taken to the baths to soak for a while. Any concerns? No? Excellent. We’ll meet again to observe his next session with Spectra.”

Danny woke submerged up to his neck in ectoplasm. Uncomfortably hot ectoplasm. Probably hot enough to burn, if he was in his human skin, or even his ghost if his ice powers weren’t naturally countering the heat. Naturally, he flailed and once again came up short when something caught around his wrist.

He hissed as the motion jarred his injured shoulder. It was only sore, now, instead of still being dislocated, but it still hurt. Reaching down, he found the cuff of a manacle and a short chain leading to the bottom of the tub he was in.

Another thing he found was a lack of clothes.

Usually, that wasn’t a problem for him, because his jumpsuit reformed and repaired itself with only a thought from him, but the fumes from the ectoplasm were making it hard to think, on top of everything else, and it was hot.

Even though he couldn’t see very far through the luminescent green ectoplasm, he was still able to unerringly trace the lines of his death scar. The idea that it had been on display to Spectra and who knew who else made him, well, more nauseated than he already was.

“Hey, you’re new here, aren’t you?”

Danny flinched, hard, into the side of the pool.

“Shoot, are you okay?”

Danny squinted through the ectoplasm fumes to see a ghost woman in… basically the same situation he was in. Actually, he was far from the only other person in the room. There were many other tubs.

Cautiously, Danny nodded.

The woman smiled, shakily. Her hair floated on the surface of the ectoplasm around her, rainbow-hued, like an oil spill. “That’s good,” she said. “They sealed your voice, huh? That must be hard.”

Danny raised his free hand to touch his throat.

“Yeah,” said the woman, “a seal, that’s… Do you know where you are? What they…” She lowered her voice slightly, “what they do here?

The answer to that was no, but Danny could conclude that it was bad above and beyond everything else.

The woman bit her lips, white fangs stark against the black. "They call themselves a spa, but they’re professional torturers for hire. They'll torment you until you're in the shape the people who hired them want."

Well, Spectra fit right in, then, didn't she?

"There's people who want to be here, too, if you can believe it." The woman laughed, but it was a strained, shallow thing. "Because one of the things they can supposedly do is give you new powers. But I can't imagine going through this willingly." She hooked long black talons over the side of her tub. "When I get out of here, I'm going to find whoever did this to me and destroy them."

Well, that was… something. He was going to go with something.

It did seem to imply that someone, or several someones, had paid these guys to hold him. Considering all the ghosts he'd seen right before he blacked out… Ancients, he was an idiot for not shredding that "invitation" Skulker had given him.

He was going to leave them in the thermos for a month next time he got them. At least. Together. In the same thermos.

The woman peered at him through the steam. “How old are you?”

Danny frowned. She didn’t expect him to actually answer, did she? She’d pointed out that he couldn’t talk in the first place.

Whatever. It was way past escape time for both of them. He put both hands on the chain and called on his ice. The ectoplasm around him became blessedly colder. He pulled. It didn’t matter which way he pulled, as long as it was all one direction, so his lack of coordination didn’t matter as much.

He’d get himself free, then help the other captives get out and hope that at least some of them were less drugged than he was.

He pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and he could practically feel the metal begin to give, when–

There was a sharp prick in the back of his neck. The colors around him, already blurred by the steam, melted.

When Danny woke up, he felt… more liquid than he should. Less solid. He clenched his hands and winced as his skin proved to be… Sunburned? How did he get sunburned on his palms?

Oh, right. The hot ectoplasm.

He pried his hands open and, very slowly, sat up. The world still tilted horribly around him, but it wasn’t actively spinning. His mouth felt like paper towels. He swallowed.

The room he was in… Was it the same one he’d woken up in before, with Spectra? He hadn’t been there for long. At least, he hadn’t been there while awake for long. It could have been the same room.

The room looked like it belonged in a high end hotel, except that the door didn’t have a handle on the inside, and there were no windows. There was a bathroom, sort of bent around one corner. No door for that. A mini fridge?

Danny rubbed his eyes, and quickly decided that was a bad idea. Skin-on-skin contact was bad. It just hurt too much. Okay.

Carefully, he maneuvered himself off the bed. He just had to get to the door. Yeah. Yep. All he had to do.

Several hazardous minutes later, he was leaning against the door. The door that had no handle. That was a problem.

Or was it? Couldn’t he just phase through? Turn human and phase through? Why couldn’t he do that?

He frowned down at his hands. There was some reason. It was… He caught sight of the metal around his wrist. It contrasted strongly with what he was wearing which was…. A hospital gown?

He was confused, a state he didn’t think would lift until the drugs left his system. He hoped he didn’t build up a dependency.

But. Door. He went human and phased through. He came up short against that metal band around his wrist. Okay. Okay, so he couldn’t phase that through things. He’d just have to get the door open from this side. There was a handle on this side. He tried it, and discovered that it was locked. Of course it was locked. Right. He looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything that could help him.

It was a sort of antechamber. A very small waiting-room-like space. There were two chairs in pastel blue and pink, tastefully muted paint, a tiny table stacked with magazines, and a small landscape painting of the Tetrahedral Prairies. It was lit from above with a single light fixture behind glass.

He frowned at it. Maybe he could–

The opposite door opened, revealing Spectra. She smiled. “Oh, my, were you that eager for our next session?”

Danny was not. He started back through the door, but Spectra grabbed him, the distance between them too small for Danny to get away. She pulled back, pulling Danny’s arm taught once again. All the joints of his arm felt like they were about to pop out. Stars danced in his vision.

“You know, I’ve never been a fan of physical pain - much too… crude, I suppose? But this I could get used to. I suppose you’re just sweet like that, hm?” She leaned past his shoulder and clipped something around his arm. Then she dropped him, draping herself languidly over one of the chairs.

It took a moment for him to realize what had happened. On the other side of the door, there was an unphaseable metal bracelet around his wrist. Now, on this side of the door, just before his arm disappeared into it, was another almost identical bracelet. He pushed forward, experimentally. The metal jarred against the door.

He was stuck.

Well, not completely, he could slide across the door, up until he hit the thicker doorframe, but that wasn’t a useful degree of mobility. Not with Spectra sitting right there.

“Oh, right. You were so pathetic, I almost forgot!”

Whatever it was, Danny doubted–

She stabbed him, the long, sharp talon of her index finger sinking into his leg. She pulled it free and hot, red blood came pouring out. He could– He had to– But if he went ghost with his hand in the wall like this, what would happen? He didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

"For someone who claims to want to help, you spend an awful lot of time doing the opposite," said Spectra, leaning back in the chair and propping her feet on Danny's shoulders as he tried to put pressure on the stab wound.

Danny, not having a lot of other options, hissed at her.

Spectra tasked. "Don’t give me that! It's true. Do you even know how many ghosts you've hurt? And if you're as heartless as your parents, at least think about the humans you've hurt. That's before we get into the burdens you put on your so-called friends and allies. How many scars does your sister have because of you?"

His vision grayed out briefly as he felt his ghost half stir at the insult. The part of his wrist that was stuck in the door felt uncomfortably dense. His eyes were glowing, his sight limned with green that threatened to blot out everything. Bad, bad, bad, this was bad.

Something - Spectra’s heel, maybe - brushed the side of his neck, and then he felt her hook her toes under his jaw, the curve of her foot cupping his pulse.

“Now, now, you are paying attention, aren’t you? Do your sister that much courtesy, at least! Don’t you care about what happens to her? Or do you only care about yourself? Well, you are a… whatever you are. A crime against nature, shall we say? An abomination? A freak? I’ll bet you haven’t thought about anyone else from the moment you got here.”

That… it wasn’t true. The whole reason he was trying to escape was so he could go home to his friends and family.

“Oh, I can see those little gears in your head turning. You don’t even need to say it out loud - not that you can. You’re thinking something saccharine about your friends and family. But isn’t that just for your own comfort? No thought for your responsibilities? For how many people are going to suffer because you were curious? Have you no shame?”

Spectra pulled her foot back to rest on his chest. She slowly put weight on it, the sharp heel of her shoe driving hard between two of his ribs. He could feel her draining him of energy as images of terrible things happening to Amity Park flashed through his mind’s eye.

Most of his enemies knew he was trapped here. What did they have planned for Amity? What would happen to Sam and Tucker? To Jazz and his parents? To Valerie? They’d try to stop the disaster, he knew. They’d be in danger. All of them would be in danger. Because of him.

“Not much you can do after the fact, is there?” purred Spectra. “What will you do, if you go home to ruins and blood? If you weren’t as stupid as you are careless, you’d beg to be kept here.”

Danny twitched. A greatly abstracted attempt to throw Spectra off.

“Oh,” said Spectra, as if she had just remembered something. “But you can’t, can you?”

She laughed.

“You, ma’am,” said the aesthetic team member, “are an artist.”

Spectra preened. “I do try.” She settled elegantly on the couch. “What’s next?”

“It’ll be a while before you’re on again,” said the medical advisor. “You really pushed him, which is what we wanted, but he needs recovery time.”

“Not mentally, surely,” objected Spectra.

“No,” said the other psychological expert. “You remember those films we picked out? We’ll be playing those for him once he returns from the baths.”

“Ah, yes. The educational films. With emotional enhancement, I presume?”

“Of course. We don’t want to drag this out longer than we have to.”

Spectra scoffed. “Anything else I should know about?”

The aesthetic team member grinned. “The sound designer came up with a great plan. We’re building off the study we did of Ember McLain’s voice.”

“Oh, you’re giving him another power? Is that alright with management?”

“Minor adjustments to an existing one, to fit the aesthetic plan,” said the aesthetician, waving off the false concern with ease. “It would be like, oh, making your flames white instead of black.”

"On the subject of sound," said the medical advisor, "we're fitting him with a prosthetic ghost sound generator on the advice of the psychological counsel."

"It will help him learn which sounds are connected to which emotional states," said the other psychologist. "So when his own structures for it grow in, he'll be able to use them properly."

"Oh?" Spectra raised an eyebrow. "He'll have voluntary control?

The aesthetician laughed. "Hardly! Between the aura modifications and this, he'll be an open book to any ghost with eyes and ears. Which will be good for him. Isn't the reason he got into so many fights that he was so hard to read?"

Spectra rolled her eyes. "And his atrocious personality."

"He'll have about the same level of control as a newly formed ghost," said the medical advisor. "After that…" He made a face. "Unfortunately, his control will always be limited. To avoid impinging on his human internal organs, we had to simplify the design, and we decided that the range, depth, and complexity of the emotion conveyed was more important than voluntary control."

Spectra didn't bother to hide her delight. "That's perfect. I love having music with my dinner."

"If we could have made the structures smaller scale–"

"No, no, no," said the aesthetic team member. "He has to have the biggest pur possible."

"I know," said the medical advisor, flatly. "You've told me so several times."

"Yeah, because you don't get it."

Danny jolted out of a nightmare, his heart beating rapidly and his core aching with failure and despair. It took him several heaving and panicked minutes to realize that it hadn't been real.

Not that it made him feel any better when he figured out where he actually was. He was in one of the tubs again, but this time it was dry. He looked down at himself. The hole in his leg had been neatly wrapped in bandages. A flat metal disk was somehow adhered to his chest, exactly where he knew his core to be. There was a small electronic box stuck to it, with little lights on the front.

He tried to reach for it, but found that this time, both his hands were trapped. His right wrist was chained to the bottom, as before, and his left arm was strapped firmly to a little ledge on the side of the tub. A nauseatingly thick IV tube was plugged into the crook of his arm, and he followed it up to a rack hung with dozens of pouches of colored fluid.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Danny jerked his head up to meet the eyes of a purple-skinned ghost. He smiled, showing off brilliantly white teeth.

“My name is Mandy, and I’ll be carrying out your calibration today. We’ll be taking you through a range of base emotions: surprise, fear, anger, disgust, sadness, and finally happiness.” He laid his hand on the rack of IV pouches. “All the emotions will be ectochemically induced. Our proprietary emotional formulas also include mild paralytics, to prevent injury. After calibration, we’ll give you a relaxant, clean you up, and then you can have a soak while the other treatments are applied. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Danny shook his head frantically. Mandy just smiled wider.

“Here we go,” he said, twisting something on the rack.

A bright purple liquid dripped into the IV tube, mixing with the clear substance that was already there. Danny watched it flow down until it hit his arm. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, his hair all stood on end and he was overtaken by a sense of shock so intense it made his heart stutter. The disk on his chest started to vibrate, producing a sound just at the edge of hearing, and he jumped, not expecting that. But his jump was… delayed. Clumsier that it should have been, and not as strong, either. It didn’t jostle his wrists against the cuffs. He’d known about the paralytic, but it still surprised him.

“I think that’s enough,” said Mandy, and Danny twitched away from his voice startled, but this twitch was even weaker than the one before.

Slowly, Danny’s heart rate returned to something normal. The humming of the plate on his chest subsided, but didn’t vanish.

“On to fear!” Mandy turned the tab on a lurid orange pouch.

Maybe it was because Danny was already afraid, but this sensation left him almost insensate. When he came to, he was cowering, and the plate was vibrating so hard it was disrupting his breathing - a thought that sent another spike of fear through him.

“And… anger!”

The liquid that dripped into him was fuschia, but the color that crept across his vision was green, followed by bright blue-white. Rage became cold faster than it became hot, and he was too angry not to let it spill out of him.

He was cut off with a wash of scalding hot water.

“Ah-ah!” said Mandy, waggling a finger. “None of that! That could have been dangerous. You’re not the only one here, you know?”

Danny bared his teeth, still furious. It was the only movement he was really capable of.

“All these other clients… You don’t want to hurt them, do you?”

Something in Danny withered.

Mandy did not give him forewarning about disgust, but Danny was more than able to identify the wave of revulsion that left him gagging and retching, and then gagging and retching because of the retching. If there had been anything in his stomach, it could have been messy.

Almost as soon as that started to fade, he began to cry. His brain scrambled for reasons he could be feeling this way, and settled on grief. Everyone was dead and gone. That’s the only reason he would feel like this. Before he’d recovered, he was filled with a joy so obviously artificial that his skin crawled even as he silently giggled, the vibrating plate sending shudders through him.

“Calibration complete,” said Mandy, cheerfully. He turned one last knob, and something milky flowed into the IV tube.

Starting from the crook in his arm, Danny felt all his muscles relax one by one, all sense of tension slipping away. His head fell back against a pillow.

Mandy pulled something up from the side of the tub, and started spraying Danny with uncomfortably hot water. “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, wiping snot and bile from Danny’s lips. “It’s just how your body reacts to these things.”

The tub filled. It was hot enough that Danny felt like he was sitting in a pot of soup, and he started panting, some reflex to get cooler air into his body.

Between the heat, the vibration, the paralysis, and Danny's general misery, he… drifted. He didn't sleep. He didn't think he could sleep. But his thoughts rabbitholed through anxieties and fears until they, too, exhausted themselves into a gray blanket of malaise.

It was in this stare that he was carried back to 'his' room and carefully arranged on the bed. The IV was still in his arm, whatever poison was in it dripping into his veins. Across the room from him a person in the Hothouse uniform was adjusting a giant television screen.

When they finished, they came over and adjusted a knob on the IV rack. The world, from the vibration at his chest to the ache of his scalded skin came back into sharp focus. He gasped, not at all ready for it.

He still couldn't move.

"We have some movies set up for you, dear," said the spa attendant. "We hope you find them improving."

Danny, unable to do anything else, watched.

The movie started out as a classic fantasy. A great warrior defending his home from an even greater evil, accompanied by a cast of quirky supporting characters. Then, in the last act, the hero went out to fight alone, to hold off the evil, telling his friends to stay behind. The hero was, barely, victorious, but he returned to find his friends wounded and dying, caught by surprise by another prong of the villain’s attack. The hero tried to save them, but couldn’t, and the movie ended with the hero lamenting his lack of healing knowledge.

And then another movie started. And another. They all had different lengths, and there were dozens of them, all of them with complimentary themes. No matter how strong the hero was or how hard they worked, if all they knew how to do was fight, the story ended in abject tragedy.

And Danny couldn't help but cry.

He hated himself for getting invested in things he knew were designed to torture him and break his heart. But he did. He wanted to solely blame the drugs that were still pouring into his system, but as that pain within his chest, a pain exacerbated by the buzzing disk, grew and grew, he knew that couldn't be all of it.

Before the movies ended, he was emotionally wrung out, ached to sleep, and was filled with a desperation for any sign that his friends and family weren't dead so great that he probably would have sold his soul for one.

Despite this, Danny held a tiny spark of hope. He had come up with a way to escape, despite everything.

Changing the temperature of something, especially changing it unevenly, warped it. Doing so repeatedly stressed it. The high temperature of the rooms and his general exhaustion mean that Danny couldn’t bring his ice powers to bear in an attack.

He could, however, focus on making a little band of the metal cuff around his wrist freeze and melt repeatedly.

Was this a very effective method? Was it something he expected to come to anything?

No.

But it was all he had.

One of those so-called spa attendants came in. She smiled at him and held up a pair of earplugs in one hand, and a sleeping mask in the other. "I'm getting you ready for your nap, okay?"

It was not okay, but Danny couldn’t say so. He couldn’t even move.

The attendant put the sleeping mask on first, then put the earplugs firmly into his ears, pushing them deep enough to be uncomfortable. He could, just barely, hear the disk vibrating on his chest. Otherwise, he was immobile and insensate.

And then the touching started. Hands, all over. He couldn't hear, couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't anticipate. All he could do was lie there and experience hands running up his arms, down his back, through his hair…

He didn't want to. He wanted to be somewhere else. He wanted to be home. He wanted, at least, to be able to fight back.

He felt broken inside.

"Alright," said the current monitoring psychologist. "He's reached the breaking point. Time to roll it back." His breakdown had to be carefully shaped, after all.

They watched as the more hands-on technicians pulled away from the client, then turned to the medical advisor.

"So, what do you think? How soon can we start the next phase?"

The medical advisor peered over their shoulder at the readings. "I'd like to have him go through at least one more treatment cycle and consult your colleagues before we move on. But if he reveals a notable vulnerability…"

"Of course, of course. Aw, look at that. He likes having his hand held and his head patted."

"Oh? How can you tell?"

"Wavering stress levels. See? There’s not much of a reaction, seeing as this is a pretty disturbing and traumatic experience for him, overall, but, especially for humans, bodies will react without the consent of the mind.”

“Speaking of bodies,” said the medical advisor. “Do you mind turning to that section?”

“Sure. Huh. Is that temperature fluctuation normal?”

“It’s hard to tell. He’s something of a singular entity. Unique. It is something to take note of.

Danny was still awake when they came for him again and ‘prepared’ him for his next ‘treatment.’ He was starting to get feeling and movement back in his limbs, but he wasn’t in any state to struggle with them. Still, making himself cooperate with them made him feel nauseous. He was just trying to conserve his energy, but…

It felt wrong. Like he was making a mistake. But he wasn’t sure what else he could do. If he fought too hard now, he might get sedated again, or they might notice what he was doing to the metal cuff around his wrist. So, he stayed docile and let them lead him, staggering, around the room.

They took him out into the hallways, and he tried to keep track of where they were going. Even a vague idea of direction could be an advantage. The halls, like the rooms he had seen so far, were done in a blandly pleasant style, but they seemed to pulse sinisterly. And what was that perfume? It felt like it had crawled into his nose and was now tearing at the backs of his eyes.

He walked with the… orderlies? Aides? Nurses? Attendants? He knew they’d introduced themselves as something but forgive him if he hadn’t been paying attention to that detail. He walked with them through labyrinthine halls and passageways and rooms full of… full of…

… Something was wrong.

The attendants giggled and patted him. The hallway in front of him stretched and time seemed to slow to nothing, and–

And he was in the tub again. Chained to the bottom, like before.

“Hey, are you back with us?”

Danny turned to see the ghost who had spoken to him the first time he had woken up in the tub. She was barely recognizable. Her hair had lengthened and darkened, her eyes were pitch black, all the way through, and the taloned hand that hooked over the side of the tub was easily three times the size it once was.

“Yeah,” she said, lisping a little on her fangs. “Not pretty, is it?”

Danny shrugged, and started trying to focus on the cuff again.

“How are you holding up?”

Danny hunched his shoulders and tried to keep his emotions off his face. He didn’t do a great job.

“I’m sorry. If I could do something to help…” The ghost trailed off.

The plate on Danny’s chest issued a weird sound that made Danny’s whole body shiver.

“What was that?” asked the ghost.

Danny tried to point at the plate on his chest, trying to show it to her, even though it was mostly submerged. She looked at it with a sort of horror.

“What are they doing to you?”

Well. It was good to know that whatever this was, ghosts who actually spent all their time in the Zone were also baffled by it. And by good, Danny meant ‘marginally useful, but also incredibly disturbing and not at all comforting in the grand scheme of things.’ Or, more simply, ‘bad.’

Then, he felt it. The cuff cracked.

He looked around the room, wildly. The only attendants were far off in the corners of the room. It was now or never. He pulled.

The edges of the cuff scraped bleeding lines into his wrist, but he didn’t care. He was free - at least of that obstacle. There were others.

Not the least of which was a hungry, starved thing inside him, an empty pain made worse by Spectra’s taunts and the movies he’d been forced to watch.

(Even now, he didn’t want to think too hard about his Obsession.)

He clambered out of the tub, then reached into one next to him, and yanked on the chain connecting her to her tub. He hadn’t been able to get his own out, but now he had the advantage of greater leverage and no longer being in a vat of near-boiling ectoplasm soup. He pulled, and ice crackled around his closed hand.

It came out.

“Thank you,” said the ghost. “Thank you, thank you.”

But that was all Danny could do. They’d been noticed, and Danny wasn’t in any condition to fight. He could try. Part of him wanted, desperately, to try. But he’d do more good if he left, recovered, and came back with some sort of plan. And backup. Maybe an army of backup.

“Sorry,” he said, and he dropped through the floor.

Phasing as a human was different from phasing as a ghost. For one, as a ghost he’d still have control of his trajectory. As a human, not so much. He tumbled through floor after floor, the sheer scale of this place chilling him.

There was just so much.

Then he was falling through rocky soil, then stone, then ectoplasm-laden air. He was out.

He flicked himself into ghost form and narrowly dodged a ghost ray. He looked up, around. Skulker. Technus. Johnny. Among others. Ancients, he’d thought they’d at least respected him, even if they didn’t like him. Jerks.

He flew, weaving. A fight with these odds would not be in his favor.

Another blast clipped him, making him spin. He raised his own hand, preparing to shoot back, just to get room–

Do you even know how many ghosts you've hurt?

–He hesitated.

The next ghost ray hit him straight in the face.

The rest of the fight didn’t go any better.

“I think this presents an opportunity ripe for the taking,” said the second psychological expert while Spectra sulked. “With this prompt, I think he will accept the modification easily.”

“I think we should have a few more rounds,” said Spectra.

“But the personal connection will be lost,” argued the other psychological expert, “and he’s good to go on the physical side of things, yes?”

“Everything checks out,” agreed the medical advisor.

“And aesthetically?”

“Putting the final touches on our package, but that’s inserted during the recovery period.”

“See? Perfect. Just because you want to keep feeding on him doesn’t mean we have to drag it out.”

“It especially doesn’t mean we should drag it out,” said the medical advisor, “since it’s still unclear how much stress he can handle. I vote for the proposed course of action.”

There were other murmurs of agreement.

“Excellent. I’ll tell the attendants to prep him.”

“This is all your fault.”

Danny twitched, only just starting his journey into consciousness. He felt tenderized. Bruised. Splitting at the seams. Like an overripe fruit fallen from a tree.

“What were you thinking?” asked that same, grim, accusatory, voice.

His thoughts felt like soup. What had he been thinking… about what? What did he do?

Danny pried his eyes open and immediately winced. It wasn’t particularly bright, but it was bright enough to hurt. He’d seen enough to know he’d never been in this room, with its dark stone walls and glowing carvings.

“Get up and look at what you’ve done.”

With effort, Danny rolled over and forced his eyes open again.

On the floor in front of him, sluggishly bleeding ectoplasm, was the ghost woman who had been in the tub next to him. The one who had been nice to him, who had explained more about this place than anyone else here in just a few sentences.

There was so much ectoplasm. She wasn’t moving. His hands fluttered over her, uselessly. He didn’t know where to start.

The thing that was still stuck to his chest keened. Something about the tone made him both cringe and try to echo the sound with his own voice, despite it being silenced. A bit of drool, stained with ectoplasm and blood, dripped from his lips.

“She wouldn’t have gotten injured if you hadn’t tried to escape. She wouldn’t be hurt if you had known some other way of doing things. If you had done something other than fighting.”

Maybe under different circumstances, Danny would have argued. Maybe he would have seen the flaws in this reasoning, in the accusation. Perhaps he would have realized that he hadn’t fought, not really. Perhaps he would have been able to say that it was the spa people who had hurt the ghost woman. But he’d been led here, he’d been prepared for this, and the only conclusion compatible with how he felt was that, yes, this was his fault, yes, he had caused this.

The knowledge hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced. More than any fight, more than any wound, more than dying halfway and stumbling back to life.

“But now that you understand how broken you are, you can fix this.”

At last, Danny looked up at the spa woman. He didn’t recognize her, and that made him start to tear up, too. How many of these people were there?

“Yes. There is a way to fix this, and I can help you.”

Danny crawled towards her, trying to communicate begging in mime.

“All you have to do is heal her.”

Danny sobbed. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll even show you how.”

Danny felt like he was on a roller coaster of hope and despair, shifting between depths and heights so quickly it made him dizzy.

“Here,” she said, gesturing at the walls. “All you have to do is take it inside of you and make it part of you.”

Danny looked around wildly. He didn’t understand. There were only the walls and the carvings–

Oh.

“It’s all there for the taking. A way to help more than hurting people ever has. As if hurting people could help them.”

Danny stood as if in a trance and began to turn, trying to take in all of the carvings. He had started to pant, one of the few ways he could express the ache building inside him. If he had a voice he’d be groaning. The weird purring whine of the plate on his chest wasn’t helping matters.

By the time he’d made a full turn, his vision had started to blur. That was fine. His eyes weren’t the important part. It was that ache, that hunger that was not hunger. His Obsession. His purpose. And, oh, he had failed it, he had made mistake after mistake… but he could fix things. He could heal them.

The pain built and spread until it radiated throughout his body. There was a change taking place inside of him. Parts of himself were twisting, warping to accommodate it. Something new was growing. Something he wanted so badly that the wanting was becoming. Something being made following instructions only understood by the parts of himself that were secret even to himself.

Something clicked into place, bringing relief. The changes didn't stop, didn't slow, and the pain was still growing, but it felt more right.

"There you are." They took his hands and guided them down to touch ectoplasm soaked fabric and cold ghostflesh. "Do you feel it?"

Another one of the new and growing pieces of himself slotted into place, pushing what was already there aside. He felt uncomfortably stretched, as if reaching for something he wasn't ready for.

"It isn't entirely unlike an ectoblast or ghost ray, and you are, at least, proficient in those." Her voice dripped with scorn. "But this is a much higher art. You must seek to help instead of harm."

That was all Danny had ever wanted.

He reached for his powers, but flinched away from the ones that hurt. He groped blindly, reaching for anything and everything. Then, he finally made contact, and energy washed out of him.

He was only barely upright in the first place. He fell. Something moved near him.

"You bastards," snarled the ghost woman. "You drugged me and used me as a prop!" She tried to throw herself at the spa person, but they dodged, and then there were dozens of others.

She was alright then. Good.

Danny closed his eyes.

“It’s a little creepy,” said the medical advisor’s assistant, walking around Phantom.

“He’s always been creepy,” muttered Spectra.

“He’s not going to react,” said the other psychological expert. “Emotional and mental burnout is common after that kind of treatment. If he’s anything like a regular ghost, he’s probably not even picking up our tone, much less what we’re actually saying.” They walked over to Phantom and gently tilted his head up. “I think it can be interesting. In any case, this proves that his Obsession has nothing to do with fighting. He wouldn’t be anywhere near this docile.”

“Hm,” said the medical advisor. “In any case, he’s healthy enough to start the second phase, but his wake-sleep cycle should be closely monitored. We’re aiming for a ratio between 1-5 and 1-3 before he’s released.”

“Don’t we usually have ratios closer to 1-20 for things like this?” asked the assistant.

“Most of those aren’t part human,” said the medical advisor. “If he spends much fewer than one hour in six awake, I would start to get worried about life functions. We can account for those while he’s under our care, helping him bathe, intravenous feeding, things like that, but he has to be able to maintain his health once we release him as well. It just isn’t responsible to release him, otherwise.”

“But he is ready to receive the aesthetic package?” asked Spectra, examining her nails.

“Yes,” said the medical advisor. “I suppose you want to inflict the injury?”

“Of course. If I can’t deal psychological damage, I at least want to do physical damage.”

The assistant shivered. “I still don’t understand why we need this part…”

“It eases the acceptance of the aesthetic package if the ghost’s core sees a need for it. After all, the base function of the aesthetic package is a self-healing factor, even if we’ve learned how to use it for other purposes. I think a shoulder injury will be ideal… Perhaps another leg injury as well?”

Specta glided over, a sharp smile on her face. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Danny opened his eyes slowly. He hurt. Everywhere. He deserved it, too. He curled in on himself and groaned.

Groaned.

He sat bolt upright. He could– Was that–?

“Can I–?”

He could talk again. He could– He could–

“Now, I know you aren’t going to use that awful wail of yours and hurt all our other clients.”

Danny startled, looking up at the ghost who approached him.

“You’re going to be good, yes? Helpful?”

Danny was nodding. Why was he nodding?

“Good. Come along, I have something you can help with. You want to help, don’t you?”

Danny knew he shouldn’t want to help these people. He did. He slid off the bed and grabbed the IV stand he was connected to. Walking was difficult, and he was tired by the time he got to the doorway, but he managed.

He padded along behind the ghost, hating every minute of it, but unable to stop, because he wanted to help so badly it made his heart hurt.

But the way was long, and he found his eyes slipping closed…

Danny’s existence was nightmarish. Or… he was having a lot of nightmares. He wasn’t sure. His life, or his dreams, whatever they were, currently consisted of getting woken up by a revolving cast of spa people, led out into the hall, unresisting, and then dozing off before reaching whatever the destination was.

He’d say it didn’t feel real, but it felt all too real at the same time. He wasn’t sure how many times it had happened. His memories were blurring together, which, he supposed, might be the point.

But this time was different. This time, Spectra was his guide. This time, they had actually gotten there. There being a room full of ghosts who were, apparently, paying customers.

(He didn't know why he followed Spectra here. He didn't want to be anywhere near her.)

“Sit here,” said Spectra, pointing at a small stool. “This is where you’ll be of the most help. Today, you will be helping by using your healing powers to accelerate the recovery process of the people in this room.”

Danny frowned. “Don’t I need to…?” He raised his hands. To heal the ghost woman, he’d had to touch her.

"You haven't noticed?" sneered Spectra. "In addition to a powerful active healing power, you have been given a passive healing power. As it is always on, you only need to be in the general vicinity of people who need healing.”

Danny froze for a moment with raw greed before remembering that Spectra was describing something Danny already had. Theoretically.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Danny. None of these people had been particularly forthcoming with information so far.

“It would be irresponsible of us to do this and then not explain what your new powers are,” said Spectra, primly.

Danny wanted to laugh. Seriously? Irresponsible?

“Remember, emotional harm is still harm, freak, and harm is the opposite of help. I should know. You don't want to be like me, do you?”

Everything Danny had been about to say shriveled and died.

“Wait,” he said, instead, “it’s always on?” Something about that bothered him, but fatigue had snuck up on him again, and his thoughts were starting to slow.

“Oh, there’s technically an off switch, one just as accessible as the rest of your powers, but with your Obsession you’ll never be able to use it. I actually heard one of the doctor types say that your core will probably either repurpose or deconstruct it within a month."

“I don’t have an Obsession,” mumbled Danny.

“Are you sure? If you didn’t have an Obsession, you wouldn’t be sitting on that stool. Come on, if you don’t have an Obsession, do something unhelpful.”

Danny cast about, trying to think of something he could do without getting up and… oh…

Oh, no, this was much worse than it had been before. He’d never been stuck like this before.

"If you didn't have an Obsession, I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun with you when we first met. I don't think I could have talked you into half the things I did if you didn't need to be helpful."

Danny clenched his teeth, then stood up and hit her.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Having him still be able to fight was always the plan. It’s not our fault that you managed to make yourself look like that much of a threat despite the drugs.”

“Are you quite certain you’re giving the brat the right drugs?” snipped Spectra.

“Between them and his core shift, he should be so suggestible right now that you could tell him he was bright neon pink and he might believe you. He should barely be able to think. At all. And he won’t even remember this. Again, it’s your own fault.”

Spectra hissed.

“I mean, there isn’t any point to it, even, other than satisfying yourself. We’ve already got everything but recovery treatments taken care of. Why do it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Spectra.

“Clearly.”

Technus stared at the other ghosts. “Why me? I know I’m the hippest out of all of us, but I don’t have any particular connection to Phantom, astral, LAN, or otherwise!”

“Trust us,” drawled Johnny, leaning over the handlebars of his bike, “it has nothing to do with you being cool. Just, me’n’Kitty aren’t really the nurturing type, Ember needs to be on tour, Skulker is just… Skulker. Walker’d throw Phantom in jail. And Desiree’s busy.”

“What about Nocturne?”

“That’s funny. Anyway, you at least have an attention span and can plan ahead. You’re the best person for them to release Phantom to.”

“But what will I do with him.”

“Dunno, man. Whatever they tell you to?” Johnny shrugged. “They’ve got some kind of care plan, anyway.”

“No, I mean… He’ll be awake, some of the time, won’t he? What do I do with him then? He’ll be trying to get away. Or punch me in the face.”

“Dunno. But he’ll be Obsession-starved, won’t he? Just find something for him to help you with. You’ve got projects and stuff, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“There you go, then.”

“But they can’t be done by just anyone,” whined Technus.

“Phantom’s not just anyone. His parents are inventors, yeah? It’ll be fine, dude.”

“Come on–”

“Really, dude, do you want Nocturne to have custody of Phantom? Besides, you have time. He’s not getting released today.”

Technus… did not want Nocturne to have custody of Phantom. “Fine.”

Something… was different. Danny didn’t know what it was. He’d sort of lost track of everything for a while, after his escape attempt and the horrorshow that followed. There was a sort of vague impression of things he’d done. Being led around. More treatments. A lot of sleeping. But the memories held no detail.

But something was different. He sat up and the disk on his chest made a small noise of discomfort. Absently, Danny raised his hand to pick at it. His fingers met smooth skin.

His heart skipped a beat.

Danny looked down. The disk was gone. So… What had made that noise? As if to echo his silent question, a hum of confusion emanated from inside his chest.

Inside. Inside. Did they– Did they open him up? Did they phase the thing inside him?

A keen started up, and Danny curled up, hugging his legs and trying to push reality away from himself. What were they doing to him? Why were they doing it? None of it made sense. They’d given him healing powers at his enemies’ request, but they’d also put whatever this was inside of him, and broken him to the point he could barely stay awake for an hour at a time. He didn’t understand.

He wanted to go home.

“Good to get confirmation the primary aesthetic package took,” said the aesthetician, sipping her drink.

The medical advisor sniffed, offended. “There was already confirmation.”

“Sure, sure, but picking out the differences between the prosthetic and his own internal sound with a special tool isn’t the same as hearing it yourself, is it?” She sighed. “I can’t wait for our one year courtesy check-in. He’s going to be so cute and fluffy.”

“You know, if you want something cute and fluffy, you can always get a doll.”

“I have a bunch. It’s different when they’re people, too. More interesting. Spicier.”

The medical advisor shook their head. "I'll never understand you artistic types."

Danny did try to escape again. Sort of. He made plans. Psyched himself up. But then he’d remember the woman he’d hurt… He’d remember that he was helping the other ‘patients’ with his new healing abilities… He’d even remember those stupid movies where the heroes fought and lost.

He couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. Every time he almost did, he felt like someone had poured an unholy combination of anxiety and depression directly into his brain. He just. Couldn’t.

And combined with the physical effects of the drugs and his captivity… and whatever these people were doing to him…

He couldn’t.

There was probably some kind of psychological term for whatever was happening to him. Jazz would know it. Would he ever see Jazz again? Sam? Tucker? His parents?

He wanted to go home. He wanted to be somewhere safe. He didn’t want to be responsible for people getting hurt anymore.

“Right now, he’s sleeping for about four hours at a time, and waking for about one hour at a time,” the spa representative told Technus. “His periods of wakefulness will get longer as he recovers. He should eat a standard meal - we have suggestions listed on this paper here - every time he wakes up, and will probably need to use the bathroom. You do have a bathroom, don’t you?”

“And a shower! I’ve been meaning to upgrade it so that–”

“Great,” said the representative. “Otherwise, find some small task for him to help you with. We’ve had him periodically providing aid to our attendants, but obviously that doesn’t provide much fulfillment value to him.”

“Obviously? Why is that obvious?”

“Because he isn’t familiar enough with his new abilities yet. He’ll have trouble conceptualizing the effects until he’s more cognizant of his surroundings. Something with visible, physical, results will be better for him. In any case, he’s still Obsession-starved enough that he’ll be receptive to instructions, as long as you can frame them in terms of his Obsession.”

Technus nodded, feeling uncomfortable. He knew what Obsession starvation felt like. But this way, Phantom would only experience it once. With his new powers, he had many more options when it came to ‘helping people.’ New tools in his belt, as it were.

Technus would certainly like new abilities like that. Oh, to be able to take over technology passively. Alas. He’d never encountered that particularly groovy power, and he didn’t have anything the Hothouse would take in trade.

Still. When talking about sending Phantom here… Well. They’d been thinking in terms of the more distant future, and Technus hadn’t thought he’d be the one to take him home. A completely valid reason to be nervous.

“He’ll eventually get to the point where he’s not so docile. That will likely happen sooner rather than later given his history with you, at which point it will be acceptable to release him.”

“He’ll be all better, then?”

“Of course not. But I’m hardly going to tell you to try and keep him when he’s actively fighting you. If he gets to that point, he should survive just fine out in the larger Zone.” The representative rolled their eyes. “The self-healing powers we’ve given him should let him survive through anything but core destruction, and I don’t need to tell you how hard that is to effect.”

“Hm,” said Technus.

“It might even be better that way,” continued the spa representative. “In the case of a full-body wipeout, the aesthetic package would assert itself almost immediately. Of course, my superiors think it’s better if it takes effect gradually… That’s why we balance the added self-healing so that it’s exactly equal to native healing under normal circumstances, and only starts to make changes when the subject is injured.”

“Okayyyy,” said Technus. “So, this is everything? We’re good to go?”

The representative sighed. “No one cares about my work. Yes, that’s everything. If you can get him to bathe once in a while, that would also be good, but it isn’t necessary. Phantom is just in the next room. The sedation should last for the next three hours. Have a good day!”

Danny woke, groggily, and the first thing he registered was that he was in a different room. He wondered if he could pretend to still be asleep so they’d leave him alone for a little longer.

“Phantom!”

Danny startled at Technus’s voice, and tumbled out of the… Well. It wasn’t a bed. Blanket nest?

He clawed himself up the side of a computer cabinet, pulling a few wires out in the process. The rest of the room was similarly strewn with technology.

Was this Technus’s lair? Why? How?

(Embarrassingly, it didn’t look all that different from Fentonworks after Jack and Maddie went on an inventing spree. They could at least try to be better than the tech-Obsessed ghost… really…)

“You need my help?” asked Danny, feeling a headache start to bloom behind his eyes even as that not-exactly hunger stirred inside him. He shuffled forward, then forced himself to lean back.

“Yes! With a fantabulous new invention! Don’t worry about your technological incompetence, I will walk you through everything you need to know, and I am the most hoppin’ teacher of tech ever!”

"You," said Danny, straining to get the words out, "you aren't going to use anything I help you make to hurt people, are you?"

"What?" said Technus. "Who? Me? Naaaaaaahhhhhh. This is all just stuff to help me out around the lair."

A distant part of Danny found that reassurance suspicious. The rest of him accepted it at face value, unable to bear doing anything else.

Danny didn’t know how much time was passing, but he was being helpful. He was supposed to be helpful. That’s what he was for. That’s what he did.

Sometimes, as he was falling asleep, he remembered that he was helping Technus. That he wasn’t home. That he was still a prisoner, but now to his stupid body that couldn’t stay awake and his stupid Obsession.

He really couldn’t deny that he had an Obsession anymore.

Sometimes, he’d sneak away from a project for a few minutes, trying to find the way out, but stopping was nearly painful. Other times, he’d finish a project early, start looking, and then fall asleep before he’d gotten anywhere.

But… it was better than the spa. Technus really was only asking him to help with little things, although the projects had gotten more complicated as Technus realized Danny’s technical skills actually existed. No weapons. Nothing that could hurt.

Danny was helping. It was nice.

“Here we are, you can help me fix this speaker set while I check this out.”

Phantom slid into the chair and started turning over the small device. “What are you checking? The servos we did yesterday?”

“No,” said Technus. “These.” He touched the little knots in Phantom’s aura, right next to his shoulders, and Phantom stiffened. The knots pulsed with pale light. It was a wonder that these would become wings in just a few days.

“Wh- What is it?” asked Phantom.

“Hm? Oh, just checking on those aura construct doohickeys the Hothouse wanted me to keep an eye on.” Technus used a touch of telekinesis to bring over the papers so he could refer back to them and the sheets rustled. “They gave me all these care checklists. One of them got set on fire the other day, though. You remember that, don’t you? They should really go digital.”

“What? Aura constructs?”

“The aura constructs. You know. Didn’t they tell you?”

Phantom laughed, harsh and desperate, the sound clashing oddly with a mechanical whine from the device he’d been working on. “No one told me anything.”

“Ah, well. As awesome as I am, it isn’t my bop. Aura constructs are like… I don’t know, man. Auras are sort of… They’ve sort of got a magnetic field type thing going on, right? To draw in ectoplasm? Kinda like with solar flares. Aura constructs are, like, a riff on that. The aura field is sort of… twisted, to hold onto ectoplasm differently, so it’s semi-tangible or pseudo-tangible. You get me?”

“W-why?”

“Usually to help the aura extend further, to get totally rad ecto-absorption rates. But the vibe I got was that they did it more for the shape. Your constructs are going to look like fluffy wings or something like that.”

“N-no. Why did you– Did you do this to me? What did I do to you that was so awful that you all decided to– to–”

Technus realized, rather too late to react properly to it, that Phantom was crying and that the whine he was hearing was actually a rather subdued core-keen.

“Nothing,” said Technus. “We didn’t do this because we hate you, ghost child.”

“Then why?”

“Well,” said Technus, “we thought… Isn’t it a relief? To have a power directly related to your Obsession? To not have to fight us anymore?”

“I don’t have to fight you because of my Obsession,” hissed Phantom. “I have to fight you because you keep hurting people.”

“I don’t hurt people!” protested Technus, offended. “I want to take over the world, why would I hurt people?”

“You tried to use a military satellite to do it! What exactly did you think that thing would do? What do you– You used my house to crush rush hour traffic! We’re lucky no one died. And that’s just you. Spectra tried to murder my sister, and bragged about it to my face! Skulker hunts me for sport! Desiree turns people into random monsters because of the stupid monkey’s paw game she plays! And, and–” Phantom twisted away from Technus and phased through the table. His face was blotchy red and pale. His cheeks glittered with tears. “And you didn’t ask me.”

Technus frowned. “You wouldn’t have chosen differently.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s your Obsession!”

“And I should get to decide how to– to cope with it! Not you! Not them.” Phantom sniffled. “And they did things to my body and I don’t understand it, and I… I hate you. Why’d you do this? I just… I know the thermos isn’t that bad, I’ve been in there for hours before, I just–”

Technus wasn’t one for guilt. Or introspection of any kind, honestly. But he was sure feeling it now.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, uh. Phantom. Is there, I don’t know, anywhere I could bring you?”

“Bring me?”

“Well, yeah, like… I know that saying I hate you is like the jive with kids these days, but I’m getting the signal you don’t want to be here. Genuinely. But I can’t just let you go.” He had all those health checklists, after all. “So, is there anyone I can bring you to? Friends? Dead relatives?”

“You could bring me home.”

Technus laughed, even though that might not have been appropriate. “Back to the living realm? And your creepy parents? Ghost child, I’m not that irresponsible. Surely, you must have encountered some ghosts that you don’t fight on sight?”

“Well, there’s the Far Frozen.”

Ugh. The Far Frozen. It was cold enough to freeze his microprocessors off over there. It did match up with how old Frostbite was acting at the Truce planning session, though.

He forced a smile. “Well, then, ghost child! To the Far Frozen it is!”

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt22 #forced fruit #ectoberhaunt order #ectoberhaunt chaos #ectoberhaunt day 10: harvest and hunger

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