ABSTRUSE.

"There's absolutely nothing that can be done to fix this horrible monster."

Clockwork was almost tempted to tilt his head in a mock form of curiosity, but the Observants would just take something of that sort as an insult—and planets forbid anything within that vein. The levitating, oversized sentient eyeballs never ceased to poke and prod at Clockwork's seemingly infinite patience—or, at least that was how he had viewed it, before the growing code of structure and law within the Zone required someone of his caliber to be 'strictly controlled,' and while he had, in fact, seen it coming (as he did most everything else), it still vaguely threatened to beat upon his tolerance levels from time to time.

The Council felt they were perfectly justified to sit around and tell the Timekeeper what he should and should not do; and in a way, they were, and Clockwork did not blame them for it. On the other hand, it seemed to utterly slip their minds that there had never once been an instance that he had abused his own power unjustifiably. But: how would they know? Not a specter within the Zone had known he even existed (a state that was a great deal more preferable than this, in quite a few ways) until recently.
Well, it was recent to Clockwork. A fair number of ghosts, if asked, would just wave their hands dismissively and say, "Oh, the Master of Time? Pffft, he's always been around, hasn't he?" Generations were much more confusing to define when referring to ghosts, but looking at it from a human point of view, yes—Clockwork truly seemed to have been 'always been there.'

Though... that was not quite true, either.

However, the Observants (and everyone else) did not know that. They were under the impression Clockwork was a (what was the phrase?) true-blue immortal—even in comparison to ghosts—being that was formidable and terrifying.

Clockwork would not deny he was, actually, a force to be reckoned with, but terrible? He found the idea rather uncomfortable. He disliked how ghosts tensed and flinched around him. It was better when he could just waltz (if he could) out of his lair and not even be spared a glance. Nowadays—the Zone did not have days, technically, but that was another matter entirely—if he even behaved the slightest bit odd, everyone took it as a sign of the coming apocalypse.

Forget that Clockwork had explained numerous times that an 'end of life as we know it' scenario was a silly, paranoid human notion, and shouldn't be taken seriously by ghosts of all things, considering they weren't even alive, but did they listen?

No.

Happenings like that only fueled Clockwork's strong belief that humanity and specter-kin were no where near as different as they insisted they were.

Ah, but who was he? Just a ghost that supervised and kept safe the flow of time. Just an undead, blue-skinned mirror of an introspective, ancient man fascinated by time and everything connected to it; meaning, everything. A mere human whom never would have dreamed his fanatic studies would have lead to something bigger after he stopped breathing, once and for all. Why him? He'd asked a thousand or so times, when it all began. What was so crucial about him, to be given such a task? What good was a Watcher of the Timestream (one of his many titles) that could not delve into his own past and secrets?

'No biggie,' as a certain young halfa would say.

It hardly mattered anymore, might as well leave it be. There were a few billion more timelines that deserved his attention, instead of petty self-pity, something he had gotten over millenniums ago.

'No pressure...'

"—Are you even listening to us, Clockwork?"

Said Master (what a joke!) hummed. "Of course." There wasn't really a measurable point in paying attention, he already knew what they were going to say.
And yet, he could not remember his wife's favorite saying. Had she even been his wife, or a sister that lived with him?

"Observants, do you remember what we last spoke of?"

There was an unladylike snort from one of the few female Observants, "You told us to observe the door, if I recall correctly," and Clockwork smiled, because the speaker was one of the rare Observants to exhibit any (decent) iota of personality. He somewhat liked her, if only for the sake of variety. "You seem to be fond of that wording!"

"I am, my dear," To this, he was met with a faintly amusing huff.

"Focus on the matter at hand, Timewatcher!" Another gargantuan eyeball cried, one Clockwork did not know personally (and taking into account what he could see of its individual timeline, he did not wish to). "You cannot possibly be insinuating what we suspect you are!"

Clockwork said simply, "But I am."

Gasps filled his lair, and Clockwork...

...had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, despite the fact he had no pupils, nor any clearly-defined irises to do so with.

"WHAAAT? Have you lost your mind?" The indignant and disbelieving shrieks were all a tad too dramatic for Clockwork's tastes, and even though he'd long been aware of their arrival, that did not mean they did not spike his ire. He almost wanted to ask himself whether they understood that something of this magnitude was of too much importance not to pursue, but, he already knew the answer.

After all, he knew everything.

...Except himself.

"I assure you, it is right where it is meant to be. Intact, at that."

"We assure you, Clockwork, that this is not good proof of such a thing!"

Clockwork tapped his staff. "Hmm, no, maybe not, from your view."

"Our view is the worlds'!" The retort came so certainly, like an ultimate absolution. It sickened Clockwork. Many things within the realms made his stomach churn—that is, if he possessed the organ—and the inability to see through different eyes was one of them. All the same, he steeled himself, as he had done for centuries upon centuries.

Obviously, practice makes perfect—then, at the same time, nothing was perfect. "That opinion, Observants, is your greatest flaw. As I have been stating for years."

The same female from before called out, "Don't steer us away from our subject!" So attentive.

"That was not my intent at all," Clockwork replied, and could not refrain from allowing a fraction of mirth to seep into his tone. "Who am I, if not truthful?"

"A liar!"

"A trickster!"

"A madman!"

"The Master of Time," Clockwork enunciated, very, very clearly.

That quieted them. If only for a brief moment, which was all he needed. "As I'm sure you have all observed, no pun intended," he twirled his Timestaff through his fingers effortlessly (a long period of boredom back in the 'old days' had something to do with this skill), "Daniel Sebastian Fenton will be experiencing a period of hardship in the near future."

The answering nods were grudging and impatient.

"His ghost abilities will advance at a rate he cannot follow, and as a result, he will lose control of them altogether, and the area of Amity Park—as well as several towns surrounding it—will be destroyed. During this, his body will be physically altering itself to accommodate all the new power."

They were all staring at him now, unflinchingly, expectant.

"His mind won't be able to take it, and the sheer amount of stress and pain—in both senses—will be enough to shut down his brain, and, thus, his organ systems. The Phantom of Amity Park will die, taking many with him in the process. As you know, Fenton is at the center of many a large event in the future. Without him, many things will go wrong and not proceed as they are meant to, for the sake of our corner of the Universe."

"Why do you insist on telling us things we already know—" The unsavory Observant from before was quickly hushed by its companions.
He was a new guy.

"I proposed my earlier outline as a plan of action. 'The Paradox is connected to Fenton irrevocably, in a fashion that simple words cannot explain.' Those were some of my exact words. After all, they are but alternate versions of the same person, are they not?"

The Observants did not have mouths or brows, and completely lacked any and all differentiation between one another, other than gender, but Clockwork liked to imagine the uneasy expression he could spot in their irises.

"It takes a mere dose of common sense to understand that the Paradox is extremely at ease with his own powers. He is full-ghost, unlike Danny, and so the burst of sudden maturity—boosted ahead of time by Plasmius' ghost-half—was much easier for him to take. Danny is a halfa, and as such it is more difficult to filter power-gain than it would be for a normal specter-kin. Did you see the intense training he had to endure in the Far Frozen? If he were full, not half, the skills would have come to him naturally over time.

There is only one way to remedy the coming tragedy. Dark Phantom, as he took joy in deeming himself when he cared, has far more capability in the region which will cause trouble. In order for Danny to be able to master himself in time, the Paradox must merge with Danny Fenton."

The inevitable reaction was instantaneous and cumbersomely loud. How many affairs had he dealt with this? He knew the exact number, as expected, but that was not the point. Oh, Clockwork may have been everything from an augur, oracle, and diviner to soothsayer, destined to foretell the betoken for the rest of his after-days...

That did not mean he was fond of it.

Untold amounts of possible outcomes ordered themselves in his mind at all times—again, no pun intended, but there was only a few bucketfuls' worth of them that stuck out to him. These followed mortals and ghosts alike with the ability to veritably change life, including the afterlife, as the majorities knew it.

Clockwork had influenced many decisions concerning history in his afterlife. The fiasco with Fenton and his 'ultimate enemy', of sorts, was one of the ridiculously small number (at least, in comparison to what he'd gotten away with) of... 'influencing' in which he had been caught. So, the boy was his responsibility, as the Observants attempted to 'rub in his face,' as it were, whenever they felt the need to point out that they were in charge, and not he. Him? He was a dangerous, potentially catastrophic Ghost of Time that was far too overpowered in their minds. Why hadn't the chronokinesis been split between various ghosts? Why had it been bestowed upon this batty and disobedient specter?

It was entertaining to listen to their grumblings when they postulated he could not overhear.

Not that they were trying to be silent about it, now.

"Speaking of Amity's Phantom," Clockwork interrupted the uproarious slaughtering of eardrums, "He is on his way, now."

It took him precisely two seconds to foresee the even larger migraine that would attain him. Not that Clockwork could feel much in lieu of physical labor; but the sentiment was there, all the same.

A/N: And here I go, again! Starting things I'm not sure I'll finish. Well... I hope you fellers like this, anyway. I'm sorry if this is an idea that has been used already; I couldn't stop my fingers. This is my take on Clockwork. Is it witty and dry enough while still making him seem like a genuine character? Seriously, any helpful commentary will be loved and adored. I am so horrendously BAD at starting stories, does it seem rushed at all?