A.N. I cannot say that the idea is original, but I'm willing to make my personal touch.

Humans weren't prepared for them. There was nothing what could warn the mortals and prove their existence outside of fairy tales and legends. After all, who would believe into something like ghosts. The undead beings did step their feet into the mortals' part of reality, briefly, and then no one saw them again. It kept going like that for centuries, until their King started the invasion several decades ago. In one day, the world was already overrun by the ghouls. Nothing worked against them, no bullet, no explosion could harm the beings who could flick in and out of the physical plane.

But the mortals were adaptable, you have to give them credit. Some adapted to bow to their new masters, some adapted to hide from the destructive raids of their punishment expeditions. Some learned the weaknesses of the invaders, but sadly, it was too late. Hundreds were taken to the Ghost World, to be used as a slave labor, or for other purposes speaking of which was sick by itself. Total occupation regime worked in every town or village of the Earth, with all following traits: curfews, immediate judge, prosecution and punishment, done by the cruel soldiers who were free to do whatever they wanted.

In the Ghost King's eyes, mortals weren't worthy enough to even be a province. Occupation was the only path he saw.

But people learned, they found the ways of exterminating the threat. Ectoplasm, the element you won't find on Earth, but of which everything in the Ghost World was made, including its inhabitants. It could be used in weaponry, and some ghosts even had weapons charged by it. Their own blasts, shot from their hands were rather pathetic, so fully charged rifle worked fine. Humans weren't able to use them, since the charging was direct from the ghost to its gun. Reverse engineering was what helped them to use the undead's weapons against them.

Several rebellious spots were scattered throughout the world like seeds on a field during the spring sawing. When one cell was crushed, more appeared, like hydra grew more heads the more you cut off. Needless to say that His Majesty was furious. He was the ruler of two worlds, how dared they to insult him by rebelling. And the actions fit his feelings. For each ended ghost the rebels paid tenfold. It didn't crush their spirits, no matter how hard Dark tried. What a fitting last name for a being with such charming personality.

One of the cells was a perfect definition of the phrase 'hiding in the plain sight'. Amity Park was a half destroyed city, but it was a center of ghost activity. The portals were more active there, but for some reason theghosts were leaving immediately, except for the ones who maintained order. No one would have thought that the rebels would be active there. Their hideout was beneath the ground, beneath thirty feet of soil and concrete. Hundreds of safety measures were taken in order to prevent the undead from finding the place.

It was a safe heaven for the rebels, where they could always get weapons, supplies and orders from their leaders. Yes, of course they weren't a disorganized crowd, otherwise they would have been crushed by their enemies. Besides being given weapons, the rebels were also trained to fight, and what they severely lacked in numbers, they tried to compensate with the constant drills. And it was giving results, more often than, for example, a decade ago.

All of that was going within an atmosphere of utter secrecy. Not a single living soul except the one who joined could know about the membership in the rebellion. Some were orphans, and they were trained from childhood, like the person this talk is about.

"You are too slow, Samantha."

The fighter who the phrase was adressed to wiped her mouth. Samantha, or Sam, as she preferred to be called, was a young woman, barely out of age. She had short raven hair, tied in a high and short ponytail. Sam also had striking lilac eyes, which made her stand out from the crowd. Many years of trainings certainly had an effect on her figure and physical shape, making her capable of taking down most of the human opponents. Many called her rather attractive, but they usually got a punch into face afterwards.

Melee combat with the ghosts was a death sentence, but it could give some time to get a blaster. At the moment Sam was wearing a tight purple jumpsuit which had a black collar, with black belt and boots. The young woman blocked a hit from her sparring opponent, counterattacking and getting her own strike deflected. Sam's hand was suddenly twisted and she was pulled in a headlock.

"Dead," the woman heard a comment, before being let go.

It was incredible how well Maddie Fenton was holding despite her age. Being over forty years old she was still the best fighter and warrior of the Rebellion cell in Amity Park. She was also in charge of the revolt forces and, for some reason known only to her, a mentor to Sam for quite a while. Maddie had graying auburn hair and purple eyes of a brighter shade. She was wearing a jumpsuit of a blue color. Seeing Sam's disgruntled expression, Maddie smiled slightly.

"Don't worry, Sam, the trainings are never done in a few months. But I don't think that you are ready to go out yet."

"But you saw how I can shoot. I am capable," Sam argued.

"Maybe so, but it is too dangerous to send you out until you are ready for everything. Need some water?"

"Yeah," the younger woman said in a bit disgruntled voice.

They went to the room next door, which was something barely resembling a kitchen. Since Fentons were wanted by the Ghosts, she had to live there 24/7, so why not make a fitting room. The underground was a home to many freedom fighters, but the mid aged woman was there longer than anyone, along with her husband and daughter. So why not make a living space more comfortable, it was only natural. Yes, the yellow plates on the walls were a bit worn out, the furniture was as well, but it wasn't something unbearable. At least there was a working water system. Maddie poured some water into a metal mug while Sam examined the room for who knows what time.

There were no windows for obvious reasons. It wasn't big, about eight square meters if you don't count the cooking place. There were a fridge, an electric cooker and several shelves. There was also a small microwave, on top of which was a photo frame. It was a picture of Fenton family, taken eighteen years ago, the latest moment their family was together completely.

Near Maddie was Jack, her husband. He was a tall man, who barely fit into the image. Jack had raven black hair with a white trim near his neck, accompanied by ice blue eyes and a goofy smile on his face. In his large hands was a small two years old girl, with red hair and teal colored eyes. It was Jasmine, their daughter. Maddie was holding a newborn child, who was staring curiously at the camera. He looked a lot like his father, with the same black hair and blue eyes. Danny, they called him.

It was a tragedy for Maddie and Jack when the boy vanished. And they had previously thought that they were blessed with fortune. Danny could die the second he was born. Maddie was too stubborn to sit back while the others were fighting. Even when she was on the last month of pregnancy. Such an exposure to the ectoplasm should have led to the child's death. But he didn't, Danny survived the exposure, furthermore, without any noticeable mutations. It was a miracle, but it was destroyed after the boy had dissappeared a few days later.

As Sam was thinking about that, Maddie put the mug on a metal table with a loud sound, getting the younger woman's attention. Sam thanked the elder huntress and started drinking. Maddie looked where her student has looked and her expression became somber.

"He would have been barely older than you, you know?" She asked sadly.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, putting the mug down. "You have said this before, Mrs. Fenton."

"Have I? Sorry, my dear. It's just...I think you would have made nice friends."

Sam chuckled slightly. Honestly, the thought had crossed her mind a few times, but there was no point in thinking about that for too long. History doesn't tolerate 'ifs'. What happened did happen. Sam also wondered how could the boy disappeared. Fentons thought that that were ghosts, an obvious conclusion, really. But why? They didn't threaten Fentons and hereby got rid of them. The entire sheme seemed pointless. Yes, Pariah was a brute, there was no denying it, but there should have been someone who advised him, otherwise he wouldn't have ascended so high with sheer force alone.

The silence was broken when they heard a booming voice.

"Maddie, here I come!"

Maddie smiled. "In the kitchen, Jack."

The giant barged into the room, wearing his unmistakable orange jumpsuit. Seeing Sam, Jack beamed.

"Oh, hey there, Sam, came for the training?"

"Yes, Mr. Fenton."

"Can you imagine Mads? The lower part of the suit worked!"

"That's great news, honey."

"Yes, when the suit will be finished, we will be able to get rid of this slimy King and end the war!"

Jack was known to be optimistic about everything.

"I think I should be going now," Sam said.

"Don't you want to stay for dinner?"

"I really don't want to be a bother. I should eat my own ratios," she insisted, getting up from her seat.

"You aren't a bother sweetie," Maddie smiled. "You are like a daughter to us."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fenton, but I really got to go."

"Alright then."

Sam nodded and went out of their quarters, only to be greeted by a gloomy corridor with a blinking light bulb. Charming. But it was her home for the last fourteen years. Despite the fact that she lived there, everything around didn't come from nothing. People there had jobs, and used every tiny piece of money they could to purchase things for the needs of the Rebellion. Sam was not an exception.

On her way to her room the young woman met some of her comrades, but her thoughts were on another thing. Sam felt bad for fairing so badly during the practice. It was a private session, but the other instructors had previously seen her hand to hand combat. She didn't want to fail her mentor, and she didn't want to make her embarrassed. Suddenly Sam caught a glimpse of one person in particular.

"Wassup, Sam?" Tucker asked.

He was an eighteen years old man with dark skin, green eyes. Tucker was also wearing a yellow hoodie with a red barrette. He couldn't brag with his physical abilities, so Tucker worked in the center, aiding and guiding his comrades who were on the battlefield. And he was quite skillful in the matter.

"Hey, Tucker," Sam mumbled, still looking at the distance.

"Let me guess, not doing very well?" Tucker asked, writing something on the PDA in his hands.

"How did you guess?" The woman asked sarcastically. "Yes, the same problem as ever. I just don't know why I can't improve."

Tucker shrugged. "It's not like people learn these things in less than a year."

"Yeah, and what about your little crush?" Sam stopped and looked at him. Tucker froze and turned to her, fixing the glasses on his nose.

"Valerie is just..."

"C'mon, say it."

Like hell Tucker was going to answer her question while seeing the fire in her eyes. Luckily, they were near Sam's quarters. It was basically a 1010 room with everything piled nearby, except the toilet. It was the separate room. In one corner was a small bed, in another was a table, another corner was occupied by a kitchen. Sam went to the fridge and took a carrot from the fridge. It was hard to be a vegetarian while living off the ratios, but she managed.

Tucker sat on a bed. "I don't like what you are planning," he grumbled, causing Sam to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I know that look. It usually means that you are up to something which will backfire at ME."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yep."

Sam, sighed. "Look, Tucker, it's nothing serious. Just a little ambush on the small patrol of pathetic ghosts."

"Are you crazy?! Going there all alone?!"

"Yep. I go there, come back. Simple as that."

"Going against the beings who become stronger during the night in the late evening?" Tucker asked sarcastically, "Sure, go ahead."

Going against the ghosts at night was a suicide for an untrained human. The ghosts knew that, so they could be caught unaware. Besides, the patrolmen weren't that powerful, not every ghost was as mighty as the Ghost Lords.

But there was also a problem of getting out during that night. The curfew worked in the facility, so that's why Tucker's assistance was required. He could help to sneak out from the place. He could also use scanners while being inside the vault and warn her if some ghost would be smart enough to sneak from behind. And when the time came, the young woman came out from facility through the secret entrance. Sam immediately scrutinized her nose. She hated the smell of the sewers. But it was safe, at least. Sam went out through the gutters.

"So, I have...observed their movements," Tucker said through the comlink on Sam's ear. "I know their routes. Three patrolmen are on Winston Drive, just behind the corner. There aren't any ghosts nearby. The rest is on you."

The huntress nodded, before moving out. The city had seen better days, that's for sure. The tall buildings were empty and dirty, just like the streets after the ghosts' curfew. Not a single living soul around. People around mostly lived in poverty, only those, who were useful to the Ghost King or whoever he had appointed, lived like they used to be and even better. Nevertheless, they were looked down upon by both sides. The atmosphere was grim and hopeless, like if someone with bad fantasy had taken the most stereotypical surroundings and used them. It made the woman hate the invaders even more, even if they knew about the old world only from the tales of elder generations.

As they were going through an alleyway, the rebel didn't notice an extra pair of eyes watching her with curiosity from the building's top.

"Well, it should be entertaining," the person mumbled with a strange note of excitement, leaning against the edge of the roof, knowing that the situation was going to take a nasty turn for the girl below.

At the first glance he wouldn't have guessed that she was a rebel. She seemed so fragile, but the blasters weren't lying around casually. Humans were amusing little things, it was interesting for him to watch how they slithered around Pariah's fingers, and it was even more entertaining for the ghost to watch how his father was throwing tantrums for that reason. And pieces of furniture. He wasn't afraid of that, because he never was the reason of the anger. And here the unknown observer thought that him being sent to the Human world was a punishment.

Sam stopped near the end of an alleyway. She peaked out and indeed saw three armored ghosts. As the most of their race, they had green skin and blood red eyes without pupils. They were dressed in the black medieval-like armor, with purple pieces of cloth beneath. Their backs were turned to her, so it was the best moment to strike. Sam started to prepare her blaster, which was quite a tricky procedure, no one wanted a gun to blow into his face. But she slowed down a bit as a thought occured in her mind.

'They aren't dressed like patrolmen,' she noted mentally.

Sam thought she had seen the picture of them somewhere...then the woman dispersed it, deciding that it

But she finished loading the gun, setting the middle level of power. She didn't want to waste all ectoplasm in one shot. Suddenly a comlink beeped in her ear.

"Sam, those guys are too powerful to be the patrolmen!" Tucker called as his sensors were finally able to determine their level of power.

But he was too late, Sam had already fired. One of the patrolmen made a green ectoplasmic shield and easily blocked the shot.

"Those are Fright Knight's soldiers," Tucker finished, making his companion pale.

Sam decided to get back before the ghosts got to her, but as she turned around, one of the soldiers appeared in front of the woman, grinning from ear to ear under opened helmet, showing black teeth.

"Well, well, well, who do we have 'ere," he said, before pushing the rebel out of the alleyway and to the street. Two other ghosts approached them,

"Out of your warm home after curfew, huh? Weren't you told that good girls stay at home during that time?" the armored being added mockingly.

"Sam, what's going on?!" Tucker shouted through the communicator.

"Sir, she is armed," another guard added.

"Hm, yes. Rebels, are we? Tsk, tsk, tsk. And going out at night, no self preservation at all," The leader said, like he was actually sorry for his captive.

"I don't need your pity, you slime!" Sam spat.

"Well, this makes it even more interesting," the apparent leader unsheathed his green sword. "Otherwise it won't be much fun."

The human prepared to fight for her life. Sam was the first to shoot at the nearest soldier. It didn't have much effect, because the supernatural reaction allowed him to move aside. But it did create a one moment confusion enough for the huntress, or more of a prey now, to make a run for it. Sam ducked behind the old and rusty car. She took the blaster and set it to maximum. It was a drastic step, but she didn't have another way.

Suddenly two hands, phasing through the car, grabbed her from behind. Sam was pinned to the metal wall and was forced to drop the weapon. She was thrown on the ground, before the assaulter stepped through the broken vehicle, his seemingly bulky armor making metal sounds. Sam suddenly spun around, pointing the picked up blaster at him. She smirked, before pressing the trigger. The green blast pierced the ghost's chest. Screaming, the ghost was reduced to the puddle of ectoplasm, and his armor fell on the ground. The huntress didn't have time to cheer, because she was roughly grabbed by her neck.

"You little brat," the ghost growled before kicking her in the gut, pinning the woman to the ground. Solid, sharp asphalt.

Before Sam could even blink, she was then hurled to the wall.

Sam hated to say or even think about such thing as being too weak. But there was a border between self respect and denial. And she couldn't go against the fact. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. Oh, and heavens forbid her from becoming on of those after her death.

Meanwhile the observer did just that, observed. So frail, and so feisty. A true joy for his eyes. Such a performance and such a dramatic end. He was getting too carried away. Suddenly an idea occurred in his mind, and it put a smirk on his face. There was nothing better than to take the prize out of Fright Knight's grasp. The guy would know how to mess with him of all people.

Sam's vision was getting blurry from the beating she received. Her costume was torn in many places, she was bleeding from a multitude of wounds. Her communicator was smashed and she was left to the hands of cruel fate.

"Hm, had enough, little wretch?" The armored green skinned piece of slime asked.

A spew of blood and saliva was his answer. Roaring, he was about to finish it all, end her pathetic and fragile human life, but then he heard a voice.

"Enough."

Sam was dropped on the ground, and she grunted from the impact. Taking short breaths, she wondered what it was, as she couldn't see properly, for that she needed strength to move her head. But she heard the voice. So commanding, arrogant, yet playful, as if they had just drew a picture on a list of paper, not almost beaten a young woman to her death. All of that was combined with a tone of utter apathy, of youthfulness.

"No way," the ghost mumbled. "I...We didn't know you will be here."

"Yet here I am," the tone remained. Sam guessed that whoever it was, the guy was not to be messed with. "Just what are you doing here?"

"We've caught this petty human snooping around. She is a part of the Rebellion, obviously."

Sam saw a pair of white boots in front of her. If only she could look up.

"Petty? She has killed one of your kin," an amusement slipped through the emotionless mask. Talking about the comrade's death like they were mere figures on a chessboard. "Either she is stronger than you give her credit for, or you are pathetic. Pick one."

The ghost would have done a lot for such arrogance. Be it someone BUT the person even many ghosts wanted to stay away from.

"Thanks for the compliment," Sam said sarcastically, before coughing.

"It was anything but the compliment," the man seemed non phased that she was talking back to him, "It was not even directed to you, girl."

"With whose shining boots am I having honor speaking with?"

A snort was a response. "I doubt my name would tell you anything. I'd rather remain in my world to coming to this stinking hole."

"Just end this all, and I'm done."

Sam heard a laughter - a cold laughter, although not something maniacal from the old movies. Back when they were being made. It was calm, yet the one which sent shivers even down Sam's spine. Suddenly the young woman wished that he wouldn't have come. There was something about that kind of people, the brutes always inspired less fear than the likes of the one who stood near her.

"Silly girl. This isn't going to end that easily."

"You wish to interrogate her? She is but a low ranking freshmeat, are you sure she knows anything at all?"

"Oh, you will be surprised. But it is not your problem anymore. Get lost."

Sam heard multiple footsteps growing more and more distant.

"Well, girl, you seem to be a bloody mess."

She was about to retort, but then she felt a cold touch on her body.

"I swear if you..."

The seemingly young man burst into laughter. "I prefer the ones which are already dead or completely alive, not the ones in process."

Sam yelped in pain as the cold fingers touched her bruises. "And you want to finish it?" She asked.

"Maybe. Everything depends on whether or not you are going to wake up alive. Considering the blood loss."

As he said it, she suddenly felt really dizzy. Yes, the loss was catching up with her.

"Good night."