Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I bring you my latest work!

I've had this idea burning a hole in my brain for ages now. So much, in fact, that I just had to write this fic. Now, after much brainstorming, I've finally written the prolouge.

Enjoy!

Now in High Dephanision!

Prolouge: There Once Was a Hero...

It's always a treat after school lets out. It's practically the only time of day when a teenager can have a couple of hours to herself with her friends.

My name's Chrissy; Chrissy Kwan. Just your average fourteen-year old girl with her average fourteen-year old friends.

As we venture through the city, we marvel at the sights, like always: towering buildings, as high as mountains look down upon us. They are the pinnacle of modern architecture; a tribute to the years of prosperity that have blessed Amity Park for the past eight years. Before that, I can't really remember. I was in first grade back then.

On the outskirts of the city lie dozens of apartment buildings and suburban homes; all packed with everyday gadgets to make our lives easier. Housework finally takes only half the time it used to, and only a fraction of the labor.

Yes, life's been good ever since Fentonworks entered the multinational market...

Our hover-scooters slow down as we come to our destination. For a moment in time, I look over at my friends: Jake and Ellie Fenton, twin heirs to Fentonworks. They've got everything: looks, money, style; yet they refrain from popularity. They say it's not that important.

There's a little cyber-cafe that you'll find packed with patrons just after school, just two blocks over from Casper High. Yet a normal person could walk right past it without even knowing it was there. It's pretty inconspicuous, as most of these places are: stark chrome exterior, old-fashioned hinge door, very little identifying qualities. To the untrained eye, it looks like an abandoned warehouse.

Yet it's a nice, cozy place once you get inside. Get there before the after-school rush and you have a good chance of finding a seat. But the owner is a character one would never forget: he's a hulk of a man, with cornflour hair, dark blue eyes, and a rugged and strong chin. His voice sounds like glass getting ground up under a door.

His name is Baxter; he's still a kid at heart, I think.

Once in a while, he'll go into one of his long rambles about the "good old days." The days when cars didn't fly, cities weren't made of glass and steel, and soda was still half a dollar a piece.

But today, he was talking about a hero.

A hero that came from a parallel word; who took on malefactors from his nightmarish dimension and sent them back. A hero who some adored, and others despised. A hero who was nothing more than a kid when he was first seen.

A hero named Danny Phantom.

He talked about this ghost's amazing exploits: about a walking suit of battle-armor, a beautiful genie, and even a giant celtic king. He spoke of Phantom blasting them back with a ray of energy; of reaching through solid matter; of disappearing instantly, becoming a vaporous fog, and creating doppelgangers from thin air.

But when one kid brought up the mean enemy, Baxter fell silent.

Everyone of his generation knows about him: skin like a spreading disease, eyes like fiery furnaces, hair like a wolf, clothes like Dracula, and a voice that could send chills down your spine. The one who broke an innocent man and laughed over his body before he was struck down by our very own police commisioner.

He never wanted to talk about Plasmius. He never wanted to talk about that fateful day fifteen years ago when Danny Fenton was crippled for life.

Everyone went solemnly back to their activities: drinking coffee, tickering away on computers, chatting about fashion and popularity and how lame homework is. I go to my friends, the only children of that poor man that Baxter had talked about.

Then, the man launches into another of his tales about spooks and specters from another time, and everyone gathers around again.

He remembers; he was there, in the thick of it all with the rest.

Back then. It wasn't that long ago.

We once had a hero.

TA-DA!

I'm immensely proud of my latest work, and will get back to my current fic shortly. Tell me how I'm doing, please!

Your sincerest regards,

Monsieur Caracal.