Warning: Partially off-screen torture (I mean torture has sort of already happened on-screen so I'm not sure I have to warn you guys again, but…)

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Maddie gripped her hair with her hands, strands falling into her eyes. It smelled terrible: sour ectoplasm and dust and sweat. She glanced up through it, looking at the lab around her. Guns and other devices littered the tables, most meant to hurt or destroy ghosts. The portal sat, inactive, against the far wall. They had discovered what had been wrong with it—certain integral parts had been taken out.

And Maddie had a certain suspicion as to who'd done it.

She laid her trembling hands on the table. Perhaps they shook from exhaustion, perhaps from the four cups of coffee she'd drunk an hour or so earlier. A scalpel sat to her right, and in a fit of anger, she swept it—and the rest of the tools—off of the table. They clattered to the floor, her chest heaving.

She fell to her knees next to them, looking at her life's work. Over two decades of research—close to half her life—had been dedicated to this, slaving away to prove something no one else even dreamed to consider. It had felt impossible at times, like trying to climb a mountain that grew steeper and steeper. She'd pull herself over one ridge only to realize she had thousands of feet left to climb.

The scalpel gleamed in the pile, greenish in the light. Maddie picked it up, rising, and flung it at the wall. She remembered cutting into a ghost, the ectoplasm welling between her fingers as she explored its unique internal structures: the nerves, the core, its molecular make-up. Like a child pulling the legs off an insect, ignoring its squirms.

Bile rose in her throat, and she looked down at her filthy hazmat suit in disgust. She had to get away from it all—from all of this. What if that ghost had been her baby, her precious Danny? Would he have looked at her like—like he had when she'd pulled out the thermos?

The fear in his eyes, a fear she had only glimpsed before, had been wrenched to the forefront—wrenched by her. It had lurked like a shadow beneath their interactions before—she could see that now: his upset whenever they spoke of Phantom. Of unknowingly cutting up their baby boy.

She sobbed and began to pull the hazmat suit away from her body. She couldn't stand it anymore. The guilt was eating her alive. What if? What if? Maddie had wanted to help him, make him whole. He deserved that, after all the good he'd done. She'd wanted to make it right—it had been their invention, her life's work that had done this to him.

In the back of her mind, Maddie had all the insecurities of a normal parent: afraid of being a bad mother, of being too lenient or too harsh. But she feared she had put her life's work ahead of her children, her own flesh and blood. Jazz's words haunted her. …Not that you were ever even there to parent me…

And Danny had paid the price for her—their—negligence. Paid his humanity, his childhood, his innocence. He'd paid everything, and he'd been so painfully afraid. Of her. Maddie sobbed, finally succeeding in removing her hazmat suit, revealing normal clothes underneath. How long had it been since her children had seen her like this?

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, knowing she wasn't talking to anyone. Danny wasn't here; he wanted nothing to do with her. And rightfully so. She'd been so desperate to help him she hadn't listened to what Jazz had been saying, had ignored the signs of his fear and discomfort. She'd scared him. Scared him so badly.

All she could see was him scrambling back, Jazz yanking her arm away. What had she been thinking? Of course it would've scared him! She'd just been so—so obsessed with the idea of fixing him—fixing her mistake.

How could she have missed all the warning signs? The subtle flinches, flinging a fork across a room, avoiding her and Jack. The grades, the "bad" behavior. Her child, usually so bright and engaging, had faded like an old picture, edges peeling.

The desire to help hadn't let up—she still wanted desperately to cure him. Especially because she didn't know how this condition was effecting her child, how much longer he might have left before it became irreversible.

But she could see now that she had terrified her child with what she'd said about Phantom and the way she'd gone about it. All she and Jack had ever talked about was hurting him, and then, when they'd found out, all they'd talked about was running tests and curing him. He probably thought they were planning on ripping his core out. And really, Maddie couldn't blame him.

Instead of explaining or listening, she had let her emotions rule her—and rule over Danny's. She still had thought of him as a troublemaker, as her baby who needed stern guidance; not an almost-adult who'd used his powers to become a selfless hero.

The portal mocked her out of the corner of her eye, judging her silently. The urge to curse at it, to destroy it, overwhelmed her. Instead, she turned her back on it all and sat on the floor, hunching in on herself.

She glanced up as she heard steps coming down the stairway. They were heavy—probably her husband, then. "Mads?" Jack called tentatively. "Are you alright? I heard crashing."

"Fine," she croaked, her voice hoarse. His concerned face appeared a moment later, his eyebrows drawing closer together as he saw her—and their equipment on the floor, her discarded hazmat suit. He had changed out of his own orange suit for his pajamas.

"Aw, Maddie…" He came and sat next to her, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. She leaned her head on his broad shoulder, looking up at him. His eyes were rimmed red, his face covered in scruff.

"I made all the wrong choices," she said to him. "For Danny. He was so afraid—afraid of me. I'm his mother; he's not supposed to be afraid of me." They had agreed early in their marriage, before ever having kids, that they would never spank their children. There was too much science against it, and they had wanted their children to come to them when things went sideways.

So where did we go so wrong?

"We…" Jack struggled for words. Everything about his demeanor was the opposite of how it was meant to be: lifeless, sad, silent. "We both did."

"I shouldn't have pulled the thermos on him," she confessed tearfully. His look of fear—eyes wide, mouth open—would haunt her for the rest of her life. "I just—I want him to be well. He lost his—his humanity because of us. We have to help him."

Again, her husband seemed to search for the right words. "I think… The best thing we can do right now is what he wants. We need to… show him that we can listen to him. That we can respect him."

"But he's sick!" Maddie cried. "He's sick and it's our fault! We half-killed our baby boy!" Jack swallowed and he looked away, his eyes glistening. Maddie's eyes were already spilling over.

"I know," he whispered. "But we can't help if he's too afraid of us to talk to us. We haven't been thinking clearly this past week. We've been arguing almost constantly—we haven't slept. We really don't even know what happened during the invasion. What if Jazz is right and the worlds really did merge?"

"But it's impossible," Maddie protested. "Scientifically speaking, how would someone even go about doing that?" She pulled back, wiping her eyes awkwardly. Jack did likewise, dampening his pink pajamas.

"We've been wrong about what's possible before. And I've been taking some readings—they're all over the place. We should do what Danny asked us and make sure the shield stays up around the city." Jack said the last part quickly, as though afraid she would protest.

"What sort of readings?" she asked. She'd been ridiculous in arguing with her daughter as much as she had. Her anger and desperation had clouded her judgment and made her more prone to irrationality—she should've at least humored Jazz to look. She'd just been so—so upset. Her worry that perhaps, if they waited any longer, Danny's half-ghost state might become a permanent one…

That's no excuse, she told herself. You're a fully grown adult, Maddie.

"I can show you—" Jack began, but Maddie shook her head.

"I don't think I'll be of any use right now," she admitted. "We both need food and a good night's sleep before we do anything." She wasn't sure how much sleep she would get with Danny's face running through her mind, but she had to try for the sake of a clear head.

"You're right," Jack said, standing. He helped her up.

Maddie scrubbed her face, which was hot and prickly from crying. "Jazz still likes Alfredo, right? Do you think that would make a good peace offering?"

Jack smiled sadly. "It wouldn't hurt to try," he said, as though he was afraid their relationship with their two children had been ruined permanently—as permanently as Maddie feared Danny's condition was.

She had to steel herself to stop from crying again because she could hardly stand the thought.

Danny alighted near central hall, looking around. It seemed relatively intact, and police guarded the entrance. He walked up to them, and they straightened. Trying to sound older than he was, Danny asked, "Is Mayor Jones inside?" The two officers glanced at each other briefly before the one nearest to him gave a brief nod.

Muttering his thanks, he entered the building. He couldn't be more thankful that Vlad wasn't currently mayor, though a small part of him worried where the older half-ghost was. He'd talked with a few of the workers who were cleaning up the streets, asking them if they knew where the Mayor was—if she was even alive. They'd told him she—and the remaining government—were holding assembly at the town hall.

The double-doors led to a long cavernous room. Windows on either wall let in sunlight, illuminating the space. People sat on makeshift benches as the mayor stood in front of them, speaking about how the cleanup was going. She was a tall woman, and thin, with dark skin and bright hazel eyes. Everyone turned to look at him as he came in—they must've been the other government officials. They broke out in whispers that seemed deafening to his new senses. He could smell their sweaty unwashed bodies (and if that wasn't one of the worst smells in the world).

"Phantom," the mayor called in greeting. She looked to the rest of the assembled people. "Let's adjourn this meeting for now—I have a feeling we'll be receiving pertinent information—"

"Respectfully Mayor Jones, we have a right to hear whatever it is he has to say," a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman interrupted. She seemed strangely familiar. "It will clearly pertain to the present crisis and our unanswered questions. It may be more helpful if we're all here to hear his testimony."

Er, testimony? Danny had come to explain what had happened, yes, and perhaps develop a strategy forward, but he hadn't been prepared to testify, like some kind of witness or something. He'd been imagining something much more casual.

"You're right, commissioner Baxter," Mayor Jones said. Oh, God, is that Dash's mom? Now that he knew the connection, he could see his classmate's chin and cheek structure mirrored in hers. "What did you come to talk about, Phantom? Why haven't we seen you this past week?"

Everyone's eyes were back on him, and he resisted the urge to shrink before them. I came here with information that they need. I can do this. He did his best to channel his inner-Phantom, keeping his back straight and his chin level. He walked forward so that he was in front of everyone in the benches, nearer to the mayor. "I'm uh…" He thought for a moment. "Sorry for going AWOL. I was injured during the invasion, but I'm fine now."

The mayor examined him closely. Seeing no sign of injury, she said, "What can you tell us about all this?" She gestured to the windows and doorway, through which Danny could clearly see destroyed buildings. "The invasion came and went, but we can't reach the outside world. Our electricity, water, infrastructure—everything's been decimated." There was no note of accusation in her voice, but Danny heard one anyway.

All this happened, and it's your fault. You didn't fight off the invasion well enough, didn't put up the shield in time. You didn't stop the Empress from merging the worlds. It's your fault. "The Empress had a larger plan at play," he began, trying to keep his voice strong. "She wasn't simply working to invade Amity, like we originally thought."

"Then what was she trying to do?" Someone from the benches demanded.

"Her ultimate goal was to merge the worlds—Earth and the Zone—and she succeeded, though we managed to drive her from Amity," Danny said. The crowd burst into noise, talking about the hows and the whys. The mayor herself seemed puzzled, frowning slightly.

"—has to be impossible. How would—"

"—need to do something! We can't just—"

"So all the ghosts are loose in the world? Hundreds will die—"

"That's what the earthquake was!" Danny shouted, trying to make his voice heard over the din. They quieted, ready to listen. It was bizarre to have so many adult faces looking to him for explanation, as though he knew all the answers. "It wasn't just Amity, either—it would've happened across the world. The Zone felt it, too, from what I understand."

"But how come nothing works—our phones, our radios?" Dash's mom asked.

Danny grimaced. "From what I understand—which isn't much—the Zone's unique atmosphere disrupts normal radio and phone waves. Not to mention, all the phone towers have likely been destroyed. The Fentons know how to create radios that will work in the Zone, however." He wished he would've been able to give them a more scientific explanation, but he had never been good at that sort of stuff, not like his—his parents.

His mind shied away from the topic, remembering his mom drawing the thermos on him, his dad telling him the only way they'd fix the shield was if he consented to their tests. We'll cure you, Danny-boy, it won't even hurt…

He shook himself out of it as the mayor spoke. "So there's no way of knowing what the rest of the world looks like? No way of knowing whether our government is still functioning, how many died?"

Danny shook his head. The deaths haunted him. How many had died? "Not without looking for ourselves." A world-wide catastrophe, resulting from his blindness. "But I don't think any place else was as prepared for the ghosts as we were—and look how we did."

Some of the assembly officials paled at his words, panic stark in their wide eyes. They began to speak up again, talking to one another hurriedly. Mayor Jones raised her hands. "Please, stay orderly! We need to be able to hear everything!"

"But this—this merging, how do we fix it?" A voice cried desperately. "How do we separate the Zone from—from the world?"

The truth was that Danny didn't know. But the honesty stuck in his throat like a lump of food—how could he confess his failure and then admit that he didn't know how to fix it? Again, he wished he were as smart as his mom or Jazz; they would know what to say, how to calm the crowd.

All Danny knew was how to fuck up.

But their dirty faces were expectant. These were the ones who had begun to pick up Amity after it had fallen apart, arranging cleanup crews to dig crushed corpses out of buildings. He took a deep breath. "I think if we study how the Empress managed to do it, we would have a better idea of how to do it ourselves," he said carefully.

"Then we need the Fentons," Baxter said decisively. "We'll figure out how to do it—and then we'll do it." Danny feared it would be infinitely more difficult than she seemed to think it would be. "And until then, we can get on with our lives. We're safe inside the shield."

"I think you're forgetting things like food, water, and electricity!" a man cried. "We're rationing, but we have maybe another two weeks before we run out! Our sewer system is practically non-functional—how are people meant to get clean water?"

The terror in his voice shook Danny to the core. He'd been thinking about fighting, about recovery. But how were they meant to do all this? A city depended on its infrastructure to work and be reliable. Everyone in the benches began speaking again, and the mayor seemed just as lost. She'd probably been thinking such things all along, and it was her job to fix those things.

He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Baxter is right," he called. People began to protest, but he continued, "in that if we can keep the shield up, everything will go a lot smoother. The Empress isn't done—she wants to rule over everything. The only reason she didn't manage here is the shield, and it won't last forever. Its power source needs to be maintained."

"Didn't the Fentons think of that when they put it up?" someone said.

"The Fentons didn't put up the shield," Danny corrected. "I did—with the help of some friends. They will beneeded to make sure it stays up." Sorry, Dad. He would maneuver them into doing it somehow; this was more important than any of them. Whoever had been left alive in the city needed to be protected, at all costs.

Not to mention… Talk about that later.

"We'll need to speak with them immediately," Mayor Jones said. She regarded him. "Perhaps you could, Phantom. We're all quite busy here, after all. If we can expect no help from the outside, we need to figure out how to get our electrical plant up and running—not to mention the rest of the cleanup and sewer system. We won't be expecting any gas or food…"

Danny grimaced. "The Fentons may be able to help with the electricity problem," he said. "But I can't be the one to talk with them about it."

The mayor blinked, looking surprised. "What do you mean? You've been cleared of—well, everything. There's no reason for them to distrust you. We can't afford any of that, not if what you've told us is true." She had a dazed, glazed-over look to her eyes. Danny didn't blame her; this was a lot to take in. The people in the benches began to talk over him again, but neither he nor the mayor made to quiet them.

"It's more personal than you're probably thinking," he muttered. "I'd show you, but I'm not wearing shoes right now." Furrowing her brow, Jones glanced down at his boots before a look of realization crossed her face.

"You're not really…"

He nodded. "They didn't take it as well as I was hoping." That was an understatement. Again, his mom drawing the thermos appeared in his mind, the way he had dodged the beam, dodged his own mother. The way they had kept going on and on about how he needed to be fixed, needed to be cured.

"I'm sorry," the mayor said. "We'll send someone to talk with them. Where are you staying?"

"With a friend," he said. "Don't worry about it. There was another thing I needed to speak with you about. Well, a few things, but this one specifically. There are—" He became conscious of an ecto signature moving closer. He'd felt it before, but his mind hadn't registered it as a threat. It was clearly moving toward him, however.

"Phantom?" Jones asked.

"There's, um—actually, this is a nice transition into what I need to talk with you about," Danny managed to say before Technus flew, intangible, in from the ceiling. Immediately there was a reaction from the people below: they screamed, beginning to duck under the benches or glance to the door or windows for escape.

"Ghost child!" Technus called, as though he didn't see or hear the people panicking. "I have been searching for you all over. I helped as requested! You humans really need to upgrade your hospital equipment—" The ghost moved closer, and the screaming grew louder.

Danny knew this couldn't go on any longer; he flew up so that he was level with Technus, over the crowd. "Everyone calm down!" he shouted. "He's friendly!" Ish, he added internally, but the ghost knew better than to try anything. Or at least, Danny hoped he did. He'd seemed oddly eager to help, these past few weeks.

The crowd began to quiet, realizing that the usually violent ghost was neither firing nor summoning metal to cover himself in and kill them with. "He's here to help!" Danny told them.

"Ghosts are nothing but troublemakers!" Dash's mom shouted. It sounded so similar to his own parents that Danny flinched. Does everyone in Amity think like this? Was he going to be faced with people thinking he was diseased everywhere he went, that half of him was wrong and immoral?

Technus bristled at the insult. "I suppose next time I will leave your injured to die," he snarled. "That seems to be all you're good for."

"Technus," Danny warned lowly. The ghost's aura wasn't as bright as it usually was; he must've expended a lot of energy helping. The half-ghost knew what that was like, to work hard and be ridiculed for it. Technus calmed slightly, though he still looked offended.

"I, Technus, master of all technology, am above such petty insults," he announced, tossing his nose into the air. "I came only to speak with the ghost child, not involve myself with humans."

"Why don't we land?" Danny asked, and together they descended to the ground. The front row of people flinched away from Technus, nervously eyeing him and the doorway. "This is the next thing I wanted to say," he said to Mayor Jones. "The Zone was conquered by the Empress first, and a lot of them are looking for protection inside the shield."

"Absolutely not!" Dash's mom yelled. "They'll destroy everything we've managed to clean up so far, and who knows what other trouble they'll make? We can't let them inside!" There were murmurs of agreement, and Danny felt a headache coming on. Not only were the loud noises and strong smells irritating him, but he had a feeling this long conversation was only going to get longer.

"All they want is safety—the same as you or I," Danny said. "They won't cause any more trouble than a normal person."

Mrs. Baxter stood. "They're the reason we're in this mess in the first place!" She couldn't know how right she was; Technus had started all of this. The manhunt, the reward, the invasion, everything. But saying that would only end poorly, so Danny kept his mouth firmly shut.

"Maybe," he admitted. "But not all of them are responsible—just the Empress and her goons. That leaves about ninety-nine percent of the ghost population out of the equation. Their homes have been ruined like ours, their lives destroyed. Letting them in will keep the Empress from getting to them. We can help," he pleaded.

Mayor Jones nodded. "We can allow in those you vouch for, Phantom," she decided. As the gathered assembly-people made their displeasure known, she turned to them. "We know so little about ghosts," she began. They quieted. "We've accepted what we've been told of them with little thought on it—with little thought to the questions we should've been asking all along. We must act decisively and with compassion in this crisis. These ghosts may become important allies."

"Or they might kill us!" someone cried.

Technus scoffed. "As though the ghost child would let them. He has defeated most of the ghosts who would give you trouble—they won't go back on their word and risk being thrown to the Empress."

The people muttered at this, some pointing out that Phantom had protected them before, and if he thought it was safe enough… Others protested, repeating that no ghost—save Danny—could be trusted.

"If you won't trust my judgment," Jones said, "trust his." She gestured to Danny, who tried not to flush. Trust his? His judgment, which had led them all here in the first place, which had been duped by their enemy once already? That judgment?

It's a mistake, he wanted to tell them. Don't put your faith in me. I'll only let you down, like I did before. Like he was still doing—he had no idea what the next step was. He didn't know how to get everyone food, how to fix the world. He was in over his head, buried alive inch by inch by his responsibilities.

But he could see the words had begun to win them over, their faces brighter. He wanted to shake them. Don't listen to her! He didn't—he only stood there as Mayor Jones began to persuade them further, using his reputation as her sharpest weapon, her best point of rhetoric.

And Danny didn't agree, but what else was he to do? He had gotten what he wanted.

Lancer had the serious misfortune of being the one saddled with the school's refugees' needs. He felt he wasn't the best for the position; he was a vice principal—a teacher—not someone who had experience in higher administration. He'd found himself looking after hundreds of people, making sure they had food, water, sanitation, anything they needed.

He wasn't entirely alone, of course: there were other teachers and people, and he'd spoken with the mayor to make sure he was receiving supplies, but… It was more than he'd ever had to do before, and there was still no sign of anyone ready to take over.

This situation, it turned out, was more permanent than he'd foreseen. Permanent—as in, not changing in the near future. Lasting. Like the air, or the sky, or the earth. Except, he supposed, those hadn't turned out to be as permanent as he'd assumed after all.

He hadn't been back to his house in what seemed like ages, though it couldn't have been more than a week or so. The roads still weren't entirely clear, and citizens were being told to stay off them for emergency vehicles (and to conserve gas, as they wouldn't be getting any soon).

Lancer walked around, distributing extra blankets to those who needed them. There was no privacy in this place, except perhaps in the bathrooms. Some had erected curtained-off sections to create their own spaces, stacking desks and draping blankets over those. Sometimes as many as four or five families were crammed into one classroom.

He backed out of the science room after giving out the rest of his blankets and assurances that they wouldn't be running out of food for a while yet—or water, or space. As people recovered enough to leave the hospital, they often came home to ruins. Having nowhere left, they would come to one of the newly formed shelters: the school, the University, and one of the office buildings had been renovated for the homeless.

Walking down the hallway, Lancer was glad it was day—at night, the green light from the shields outside cast eerie shadows. Most everyone associated the color—toxic, almost radioactive—with danger.

"Mr. Lancer?" a familiar voice called. Disbelieving, the teacher turned to see one of his students—one Daniel Fenton—standing behind him. He looked disheveled, but no more so than usual, wearing a baggy shirt and jeans Lancer couldn't recall seeing him in before.

"Great Gatsby!" he exclaimed, blinking. The man couldn't believe his eyes. Could it really be him? Lancer recalled seeing Tucker and piecing it all together—the dip in grades, the tardiness, the absences. But the student in front of him seemed so normal.

"Er, hi." Danny waved at him, looking awkward. "How is, um, everything going here?" The boy rubbed the back of his head, glancing around to the unlit candles on the floor and blankets.

Lancer didn't know how exactly to respond to such a casual setting. "As well as can be expected," he finally replied, searching his student's face. "Why don't we take this to my office? I have a few minutes I can spare."

Danny immediately shook his head. "No, that's fine. I just needed to find Valerie, and I figured you might know where she was set up—" There was a mild panic in his eyes; there was no doubt in the teacher's mind that Tucker had told him about the discovery.

Lancer smiled, trying to reassure him. "I insist, Mr. Fenton. Only a few minutes." Danny ran his hands through his hair, looking to the windows and the floor. Lancer had no doubt that he could escape if he wanted to, but he hoped the boy wasn't so intimidated as that.

"Fine," Danny relented, and he followed Lancer down the hall to his "office" (really Ishiyama's office, but Lancer's classroom had been converted to multiple bedrooms. He hadn't really had a proper office, even as vice principal).

The teacher opened the door for the boy and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. He debated closing the door—warring between the need for privacy and making Danny feel safe. He decided to crack it, trying to keep the flighty Danny from feeling trapped—the boy looked fit to burst, tension lining his every muscle. Lancer sat behind the desk. It was littered with Ishiyama's personal effects; he'd done his best to leave everything as it was, though he'd brought over his coffee cup and the picture of his "sister."

He clasped his hands in front of him. "So," he said, trying to keep his expression light. "What business do you have with Miss Gray?"

Danny fidgeted, and though Lancer knew who he was intellectually, he still couldn't comprehend it. The Phantom he'd seen from the fights would never have fidgeted. But which one was the mask? Or were neither?

"We're, uh, friends, you know. I just wanted to… see her," Danny said lamely. Lancer wondered how he had managed to scrape through without anyone discovering his secret when it seemed so obvious that he was lying, that there was more to this.

It only seems obvious now that I know. He'd suspected a number of things before, none of them this. In some ways, he was relieved—the brightness he'd seen in his student hadn't gone out; it had only focused its beam on something much greater than school. In other ways, he was horrified. A child had been fighting the ghosts? One of his kids? (Despite what some might think, Lancer cared deeply for his students. He had no children of his own, and he considered them as close as he was ever going to get).

"I don't believe that for a second," Lancer said calmly. Danny's eyes went wide, alarm was evident in the angle of his brows. "But that's not what I brought you here to discuss. I understand why you may have wanted to keep it all secret, but… Surely you believe that most of us would've been on your side?"

It was as though Lancer had flipped a switch: Danny's back straightened, and his eyes met his teacher's. "Even if that were the case—which at the time, I don't think it was—would that have been enough to keep the GIW at bay? The hunters, wanting the reward? I couldn't take that risk, Mr. Lancer."

Logically, the argument made sense. But still, the teacher railed at the idea that his student hadn't felt safe at school, or home, or anywhere, hunted by ghosts and humans alike. "I think I understand," he said. "And I want to… apologize." The boy frowned.

"For what?" he asked. "You didn't do anything—no shooting, no name-calling, no trying to conquer the world. In terms of my list of concerns, you weren't even on it." Lancer wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but he knew he had to make this right. It didn't matter if Danny hadn't seen his actions as transgressions; he'd been wrong, and his student deserved to know that.

"I repeatedly pressured you into feeling bad about your academic standing, Danny," he said. "It was with good intentions—I knew you had the potential to make it, and I wanted to help you be successful. But that was wrong of me. I shouldn't have implied that I was disappointed or that you weren't trying hard enough." Never let it be said that Lancer didn't know how to make a proper apology. He liked to think he had a way with words, as all English teachers probably did.

Danny's face slackened. "You…" He struggled for words. Lancer let him; he seemed overwhelmed by what he'd said. As though it had been… unexpected. Lancer felt a prick of fear in his heart, urging it to beat faster. "That means a lot, Mr. Lancer. More than—more than you know."

Had others close to him not reacted the same way? The teacher's mind immediately went to his parents. They were zealous, yes, but Lancer would never have suspected them of any kind of abuse. Their children were the first things the couple thought of during an attack, and they'd always made an effort to be a part of their children's lives—at least from what Lancer had been able to tell.

Or perhaps Lancer was overthinking it. Danny had faced a lot in a short amount of time: his exposure, the invasion, this "merging." Too much for anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old boy.

"This is perhaps not the smartest question, but… How are you coping? No one saw—well, Phantom—after the invasion. And now…" He trailed off. Now everything had crumbled around them. The world was in pieces. Lancer couldn't think about it, or he'd break down. So instead he shoved this knowledge to the back of his mind, in a dark corner he tried never to visit, in order to function.

"I was injured," Danny replied, rubbing his chest as if in remembrance. Lancer recalled some of the wounds Phantom had sported and winced. How many times had the boy come to class, gore thinly veiled by a jacket? "And I… I—" He looked far away. "I'm as fine as I've ever been, I guess."

"And your parents?" Lancer asked. "How have they been taking everything?"

Here Danny swallowed and paled, looking at the ground. In a small voice, he admitted, "Not well." He tried to hide his trembling hands underneath his thighs, but Lancer saw them.

"Did they harm you?" he asked gently. Danny shook his head immediately.

"No. I don't… I need to find Valerie, Mr. Lancer." He stood, all at once the imposing hero and no longer the shaking student. "Do you know where she is?" Lancer sensed that no matter how hard he pressed, he wouldn't get the full story out of Danny, and so he nodded.

"I'll show you where she's been staying." But he would make sure the Fentons weren't a threat to their son.

Welcome to Evanston the sign read. Twenty-six miles from Amity, the town was small—perhaps five thousand or so people. Danny had only ever driven through it en route to another place. "Do you sense anything?" Sam whispered, knowing he would hear her even above the wind.

"Maybe ten or so unknown signatures," he replied. "Are they showing up on the radar?"

"Only seven are in range right now; the others will probably show up when we get closer," she said. Danny's sensing was more precise than even his parents' technology, at this point.

He, Sam, and Tucker were crouched behind some brush to keep out of sight, just outside the town; Danny had flown them there, and they had seen the destruction from above. Buildings collapsed, rubble everywhere. Thus far, there had been no signs of life. Danny could hear no heartbeats or footsteps, though he couldn't be sure how far his range was. He hadn't exactly had a lot of time to test it, his days occupied by planning how best to stop the Empress.

Tucker poked his head out, just barely, above the dumpster. "Do you hear anyone?" he asked, touching the gun anxiously at his hip.

Danny shook his head, nearly vibrating with anticipation. His mouth was dry, his hands clammy. He didn't usually get so antsy before a potential fight, but this wasn't any normal fight. They were implementing his plan, the way he hoped to begin to fix all the damage he had helped wreak.

We can do this. The nerves were equally evident in Sam and Tucker: his friends twitched and fidgeted. None of them had ever done anything like this, and they couldn't help but feel in over their heads, as though they'd just been told the plane was crashing, the pilot was incapacitated, and you have to fly now, you understand? Because maybe they'd run a few simulations, and though that didn't qualify them to fly a plane, it was better than the rest of the passengers.

Never mind that there were adults who claimed to be more "qualified"—there were very few people who'd had any real experience fighting ghosts.

And most of them were under the age of eighteen.

"You in position, Valerie?" he said into the Fenton phones.

"Ready to deal some damage, cuz," El replied. The two were together on the other side of Evanston.

The plan was simple: the five of them would sweep through the town looking for survivors and capturing any of the Empress's goons. After securing the town, they would establish a perimeter and make sure anyone left knew they were there. Then, Jazz would arrive—accompanied by a few police officers—to escort the survivors back to Amity.

They'd also take the time to raid Evanston for any supplies it had—water, food, clothes—but only after they'd made sure everyone was safe. This would be an arduous, difficult process, as they would have to locate them, and then load them onto the trucks.

"Good. Looks like we have about ten ghosts—but make sure they're actually hostile before doing anything, okay?" That last part was directed at Valerie, and Sam frowned.

They'd had an argument about including the Red Huntress, with Sam on one side, Danny on the other, and Jazz and Tucker in the middle. They'd debated for what seemed like hours.

"You really want someone who shot you—injured you so badly you could barely walk for days—on the team with us?" she'd demanded. The lines of her face had been angular and hard, like skin had melted and only bone was left.

"We can't afford to be picky," Danny had said, crossing his arms. "I've already forgiven her—hell, I've forgiven Technus. We need all the allies we can get, even if they've been… unreliable in the past."

"'Unreliable' is putting it mildly." Sam threw her hands up. "Whatever. Whatever, but if she stabs you in the back… I won't forgive you." They both knew that wasn't true. If anything, Sam forgave him for too much. She hadn't blamed him for falling for the Empress's trap, for his plan failing… For all of this…

El had been pleased to be friends again (Danny had heard about her fury at the Huntress for what she'd done), though he sensed things still weren't the same between the two.

"I won't shoot anything unless it looks ready to shoot first," Valerie muttered into the phones. Danny frowned at the grass beneath his feet.

Sam grit her teeth. "You better not hurt anyone," she growled. "Human or ghost. And ghosts aren't 'its,' okay? No more than any person is."

"Oh, I'll be sure to chat with the ghost and ask them how its day's been going before they try and kill me, shall I?" Valerie said. Danny could see the sarcasm in her face, the snarl of her mouth, the squint of her eyes. He'd seen it often enough during their fights. "Just so we can get that person-to-person interaction."

"Guys, we have a job. Let's focus," Danny said. "We can discuss this later." Or argue later. Whatever ended up happening. Danny knew he was practically jittering, ready to make the first contact with the outside since the Empress had merged the worlds.

Sam scoffed. "Oh, yeah, let's discuss Valerie's prejudice later, after she's destroyed some innocent ghost—" Danny shot her a hard look, and she shut her mouth, glancing away. "Sorry," she murmured. "You're right."

There was silence before El spoke. "So are we actually doing this, or…?"

"If we're taking a vote, I think sitting here and doing nothing is the best possible use of our time," Tucker volunteered. Sam rolled her eyes, but Danny let his lip quirk upward.

"Okay," he said into the phones. "Let's go in." A few months ago, he might've come up with some kind of funny name for their mission—or made some pun or play on words. But with hundreds in the town likely dead—and dead as a result of his actions—he didn't feel like joking.

He'd become accustomed to the lead-like guilt in his stomach, a near-constant companion, as though he'd swallowed something that could never be properly digested. It just sat there, making him sick.

He darted out from behind the brush and onto the road that led into the town. He didn't see anyone, and the signatures were a ways away. Gesturing for Sam and Tucker to follow, he crept down the street.

When the town began, Danny could see the remains of what looked like a main street, shops lining either side of the road. Or—they had been shop; they'd crumbled. Most were near-level, a destruction far worse than the one that had befallen Amity.

The half-ghost paused, listening closely. He heard no breaths, no heartbeats, nothing. Only the drip-drip of water and the patter of rodent feet. Sam and Tucker glanced to him, but he shook his head. They had both drawn their ectoguns. Specter-deflectors were strapped to their waists; they'd activated them when they'd landed.

The trio moved silently through the town, wind brushing their faces. In the shadows of one collapsed wall, a pale, rotting hand seemed to reach out to them. He swallowed and looked away. The half-ghost chilled as his ghost sense alerted him to the presence of nearby ghosts, like some kind of failsafe in case he hadn't noticed them already.

Eventually, Danny heard the thump-thump of hearts, and his eyes widened. The signatures were no closer, so he veered toward where he heard the noises. It sounded like at least seventy people, all huddled together—somewhere.

"I hear hearts," he whispered. "Seventy or so."

"Where?" Tucker asked, and Danny gestured through the ruins on the right side. There must've been a building left standing, one the survivors had congregated in. Danny turned Sam and Tucker intangible, and they walked through the rubble with ease.

On the other side, a road led down to a Walmart, which stood amid the ruins fairly whole. "They're in there, I think," he said softly. The ghost signatures were still relatively far away, perhaps half a mile, and they weren't moving. So they probably haven't detected me.

The windows weren't boarded up, but the inside seemed empty. Had Danny not heard the hearts beating, he wouldn't have thought there was anyone inside. "We should go through the front door or something," Sam said, "so they aren't scared of the intangibility." Danny nodded.

"And I'll change forms," he added. That way, the ghosts—if they are malevolent—won't come near us while we talk to the people inside there. The bright rings changed him from Phantom to Fenton, though this time he'd at least dressed for the occasion, matching Sam and Tucker for body armor and military-grade boots.

The three picked their way through the parking lot, abandoned cars and shopping carts the only things in sight, spread out across the cracked asphalt. Danny's shoulders coiled tightly as he braced himself. At the front of the store, one of the vending machines had fallen over, spilling snacks across the sidewalk. The doors were open, the caution, automatic door signs bright on their front. People must've pushed them open after the electricity went out.

The inside of the store was dim, their silhouettes thrown across the floor from the light outside. Danny glanced around, but it looked much like he would've imagined an abandoned Walmart would look like. Their footsteps echoed on the linoleum as they walked deeper into the store. Danny wrinkled his nose; he could smell the survivors' unwashed bodies from there.

"Creepy," Tucker muttered. "Where are they?"

"In the back," Danny replied. Some of the shelves were empty, but much of the food was intact. They snuck down the aisles, the stench growing stronger in his nose. There, huddled against the back wall, was a mass of people, illuminated only by a few lamps. They were like a hoard of rats, their eyes shining, their faces gray.

"How did you get in here?" a man called, standing in the front. He was perhaps thirty or so, and his thick, tangled beard covered half his face.

"Um, the door was open," Tucker said, gesturing the way they'd come.

The man's brow furrowed. "You mean—you're not from Evanston? You—have you come to help? To save us from those—those things—" Danny held up his hands. The people behind the man perked up, some of them rising to get a better look at the trio. None of them spoke, however, simply watching the exchange with round eyes.

"The ghosts?" Danny asked. Had the Empress attacked such a small town? "Did they—I don't—" The ecto signatures he had sensed nearby suddenly moved, coming towards them.

"Some of the others tried to escape," a woman said from the floor. "They tried so hard, but it was worse for them. The screaming… Better to stay." Screaming? There was something here Danny wasn't understanding; these people were acted as though they were trapped here. Like they had no choice but to stay.

Other things had to be dealt with first, however. Namely, the ghosts headed their way. "They're coming," he told Sam and Tucker.

"How many?" Sam asked.

Ignoring the man's demand to know who was coming, Danny replied, "Seven or so." Sam and Tucker flicked off their safety as a small girl came pelting down the aisle, hair flying.

"The demons are coming back!" she shouted, waving her arms. "They're nearly here!" Demons? She must've meant the ghosts. Had the ghosts harmed those that had tried to leave? But why were they keeping these people here in the first place? The girl must've been some kind of scout—she had been out the back.

"Put those away! Guns don't work on these things," the man hissed, gesturing to the ecto-guns. "Resisting only makes it worse; you'll get us all killed! I don't know how you got in here without attracting their notice, but you better keep your fucking mouths shut. The last thing we need is for you to go provoking them."

"Listen, these aren't normal—" Sam began.

"Don't speak when they come in," the man interrupted. "Don't look at them—don't do anything. And put the fucking guns away!" The ecto signatures were just outside now; they would enter the building within the next few seconds.

"We know what these things are," Danny tried to explain, raising his hands. "They're ghosts; we have weapons to fight them—"

He stopped talking as the ghosts came in through the ceiling. Although neither Sam nor Tucker had holstered their weapons, they did their best to hide the soft, greenish glow, tucking them awkwardly beneath loose clothing.

The seven ghosts glowed brightly. Two had green eyes, the others' red, and their skin colors ranged from radioactive to cobalt. They wore clothing unlike the Empress's soldiers—more modern.

"How are you, my lovelies?" one of the ghosts asked, dropping closer to the people. They flinched away, hunkering closer to the ground. The ghost smirked, revealing sharp fangs. "I so did enjoy Jesse's shrieks, but I think they were cut off a tad too quickly. Perhaps one of you might last longer." He swept hungry eyes across the terrified mass.

"Maybe someone a little older," one of the ghosts called from above. "They have more blood. And they understand better what's going to happen to them, too. A sort of delicious aged terror." She licked her lips with a long pale green tongue.

Danny's core thrummed. He knew of ghosts like these—ones who fed off of fear and pain. Corrupted, they were called, and most often banished because they preyed on ghosts as well as humans. The emotions, Danny had been told, didn't taste the same—some preferred ghost, others preferred human. He suspected these were the latter, and his fury—and nausea—flared. They were toying with these people, picking them off one by one and torturing the ones they took.

Humans were nothing but food to them: animals ripe for the slaughter. The thought of cannibalizing something even as small as a person's emotions made Danny ill. And it's might fault they're here, able to do all of this. If I'd just been able to stop her… If I'd just been smarter… But he was here now; he would help these people.

"Perhaps—you," the one closest to the people said, dipping down further to tug on the arm of a teenage boy. Those around him scrambled away from the ghost, crying out. "That fear of yours is potent—such a strong taste even now." The boy looked at him with wide fearful eyes.

"P-please," he breathed, and the ghost laughed.

Danny couldn't stand it anymore. He nodded to Sam and Tucker, then gestured to the ghosts flying up above. The other two nodded. He'd take the one with the boy. They had one thermos between them: incapacitate and capture was the idea.

Right now, the ghost was too close to the boy for Danny's comfort. He might teleport in the midst of them, but the ghost's signature was powerful. Danny didn't want to risk harming any of the (many) bystanders. If he could get the ghost closer…

Well, there was nothing like bravado. "He doesn't look like he'll last a minute," Danny announced. Perhaps a rude thing to say, but he just needed to bring the ghost over and away from everyone else. The man who'd spoken to them eyed him fearfully and backed away into the crowd. Good.

"And you think you'll fare better? You can't be much older," the ghost said. He didn't release the boy's arm. "Though you have spoken out of turn, in the presence of your betters. That's something you must be punished for."

"Betters?" Danny demanded. "The only thing I see is a sick fuck who doesn't deserve to be in the same room as these people, let alone call himself a 'better.'" That seemed to anger the ghost, his face contorting darkly. The ones above swooped lower, growling and murmuring.

"I see you need to be taught a lesson," the ghost snarled. He let go of the boy's arm, shoving him back into the crowd. The teen let out a muffled sob, falling to his knees. The ghost stalked closer to Danny, who backed up until he almost bumped against one of the shelves.

His mouth opened, his tongue flickering out as though to taste the air. "You don't… taste right—"

But he was close enough to Danny—and far enough away from the others—for the half-ghost to launch himself at him. "Now!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the ghost's face. He was so surprised he didn't even turn intangible.

Danny heard firing as Sam and Tucker began to take out the ones above. He focused on the one in front of him, changing quickly into his ghost form and rushing to put himself in between the ghost and the people. They cried out at his transformation, screaming and shouting.

"It's Phantom!" the ghost exclaimed, alarm in his voice. Danny shot an ectoblast point-blank, blasting the ghost into—and then through—the shelf. He drew the thermos, and as the ghost rose to fight, swept him up in the beam.

Danny whirled. Sam and Tucker had taken care of three of the ghosts, and the rest had scattered. They'd flown out through the ceiling and were fleeing through the town—presumably away from him. Danny captured the three injured ghosts in the thermos.

"Valerie, El—we have three hostile ghosts headed your way. We found some survivors, about eighty or so. I'll follow them—we can trap them between the three of us," he said into the Fenton phones.

"Got it," El said, echoed by Valerie.

As he turned, people flinched away from him. The man with the tangled beard was staring at him, mouth agape. "Are you—are you going to keep us here, now?" he asked, shaking.

Danny re-holstered the thermos. "I'm not here to hold you against your will," he said, loudly enough for the others to hear. "Not that I'd advise leaving. Sam, Tucker, can you guard them and attend to the wounded?" If a different ghost attacked—or had somehow slipped through Danny's senses—he didn't want to leave these people defenseless. And he scented blood among the sweat, as well as the sweet, rotting smell of infection.

"On it," Tucker said, and Sam nodded.

Danny shot into the air, moving through the ceiling and racing after the three ghosts that were left. He could feel El's signature closing in on them from the other side. "Are they in sight?" he said into the phones.

"Not yet, but my ghost sense went off, and they're on Val's radar," El replied. "We know exactly where they are."

It took less than a minute for Danny to catch up with the ghosts, slamming an ectoblast into the back of one of them. She yelped, plummeting ten feet or so, clutching her back. Danny would've felt bad, except he knew how horribly they must've terrorized those people, for them to look so haunted in such a short amount of time.

"Please!" one of the others yelled as Danny ruthlessly swept the injured one into the thermos's beam. "We didn't know this was your territory, Phantom. We wouldn't have taken them otherwise—"

He interrupted the pleading by sweeping the beam past, the ghost just barely dodging to the side. "So what? You could've gone to some other town and hurt the people there?" He saw Valerie and El in the distance, closing in quickly.

"You don't understand—they taste so good in their final breaths—" She dodged again as he fired an ectoblast. The other tried to sneak up on him, sending a bolt of his own energy at the half-ghost. Danny shielded to block it, dropping the shield and teleporting just behind the female ghost.

He rammed the thermos directly against her shoulder blade (which was actually kind of squishy because ghosts didn't have proper bones) and sucked her in. Valerie and El arrived in time to fire at the last ghost, sending him spiraling to the ground from their double-hit. Danny trapped him in the thermos.

How many other ghosts were like these, cast out from ghost society for their violence and troublemaking, to find the perfect opportunity to terrorize and hurt in this newly-merged world? And humans, not understanding what even they were…

They taste so good in their final breaths… He felt sick, the weight of the guilt plummeting to his toes and dragging him down. This is my fault. I caused this, even if indirectly.

"Nice job," Valerie complimented, but Danny couldn't bring himself to say thanks. Nice job? Most of the people of Evanston had probably died in the earthquake, and those that had managed to survive had done so only to be tortured by beings they didn't even understand. The rest of the world couldn't have looked much better.

Gorge rising, Danny swallowed. Not here. I'm not done yet.

"You found survivors?" El asked. Danny faced her, tucking the thermos back into his belt.

"Yeah." It came out hoarse, as though he'd inhaled a bonfire's amount of smoke. "Yeah," he tried again, "about seventy or eighty. At the Walmart, just a little ways away." He didn't move.

El glanced at him. "Are you—okay? Did something happen? Are Sam and Tucker—"

"They're fine," Danny said. "These ghosts were keeping the people prisoner. Feeding off their emotions." El paled, her tannish skin taking on a green pallor. Danny wondered if he looked the same.

"Wait—that's possible?" Valerie asked. Danny jumped, having nearly forgotten she was there. She'd pushed her helmet up. "Why the fuck didn't I know about this before?"

"They aren't super common," El answered. "And most of the time they're banished from the Zone proper. No one likes to have their emotions fed on."

"Banished? How can they be banished? In fact, how can they even exist?" Valerie questioned, her hands on her hips. Danny didn't blame her for her confusion; in the early days, he'd been baffled, too. And slightly afraid he might suddenly get the urge to start eating people's feelings.

"Sometimes, when a ghost forms, it doesn't form quite right," Danny answered. "This can only really happen to ghosts that are born when a person dies. While they can draw their energy from the Zone and its plants like typical ghosts, they can also draw energy by 'feeding' on emotions—either human or ghost. When they discover this, the ghost almost always prefers to 'eat' that way—like some kind of addiction. Fear and pain are supposedly the tastiest." He said it flatly—because if he allowed emotion to seep into his voice, he'd be overcome.

It's my fault. It's my fault.

"So they were keeping them here? Like—like cattle?" Valerie's voice rose with indignation, and she clenched her fists. "That's fucking disgusting."

"Yeah, it is," Danny said. He'd run into a few ghosts like that, and he'd always made sure to release them back into the Banished Lands, nowhere near the Portal or the ghosts' lairs. "Let's go."

The three flew back to the Walmart and landed outside the back of it. "You should probably change into your human form," Danny told El. "They don't take kindly to ghosts, as I'm sure you can imagine."

She nodded, bright rings transforming her from ghost to human. "What shape were they in?" she asked.

"Mostly okay," Danny said. "A little banged up, but it looked like they had food and clean water." She nodded, and the three of them entered through the back door. The lock had been broken, the Employees Only sign faded and gray. Again, Danny wrinkled his nose at the smell, though he tried to hide his discomfort.

As they made their way to the group of people, they turned, shying away from Danny with wide, frightened eyes. Sam was kneeling down next to one unwilling-looking woman, while Tucker kept one hand on his radar, the other on his ectogun.

"Did you get them?" he called, and Danny nodded.

He shook the thermos. "Yeah. Found some friends to help me out, too." He gestured to El and Valerie. "Did either of you find the other ghosts?"

El shook her head. "We were coming up on one of them—my ghost sense went off—but they ran away. I don't think they were hostile."

"We should've chased it down," Valerie muttered. "Just look at all this; no way was it peaceful. No ghost can ever leave anyone who's helpless alone."

Danny scratched the back of his neck. Do I correct her? Not here. And dissolving her prejudice would take time; it would also take her willingness to be wrong, which was something she was notoriously bad at. Forget crocodiles or hyenas—Valerie had the strongest bite Danny had ever known. Once she dug her teeth into an idea, she wouldn't let go for anything.

El opened her mouth, crossing her arms, but Danny shook his head. Later, he mouthed. They had these people—and supplies—to focus on. Sam stood, smiling at the woman. It came out as a grimace; Danny supposed it was the thought that counted.

"How many are hurt?" he called. She came over, wiping her grimy hands on her pants.

"Not many—it looks like the ghosts wanted them in top shape for when they took them," Sam replied, scowling. "They're absolutely traumatized, though. Tucker and I did our best to explain everything to them, but some definitely don't believe us. Have you contacted Jazz and her—ah—contingent?"

"I'll do that now," he said. "Jazz?"

There was a brief silence before his sister's voice crackled over the speaker: "Yeah? We're an hour or so behind you. These 'all terrain' vehicles should really be relabeled as 'most terrain' vehicles. I wish Mom and Dad weren't such jerks so we could borrow the Specter Speeder. That is, if the thing even works in the merged atmosphere."

The mention of their parents sent a trill of fear down Danny's spine. Again he saw his mom pressing the button on the thermos, his dad's apologetic but uncompromising stance. We'll cure you, their mouths had promised. We'll hurt you, their eyes had said.

"Er, right." Danny cleared his throat. "Well, we found a group of survivors. About seventy—and an intact Walmart, which has a lot of non-perishables. We haven't explored the rest of the town yet; we wanted to make sure everyone was okay."

"That's great!" Jazz said. When Danny didn't respond, she added more tentatively, "Isn't it?"

"It is, except they were trapped here by some… very bad ghosts," Danny said. "The kind you usually find in the Banished Lands."

"Oh." The half-ghost rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward and guilty. "You got them, though. You saved them." I caused this to happen to them in the first place, Jazz.

"I guess. Um, we'll leave a couple people at the Walmart, but we need to finish exploring—" A can of beans went flying past his head, and Danny flinched, turning intangible on instinct. A second can—this time corn—flew through his chest, landing on the ground behind him with a clatter.

"Go away!" It was the little girl—the one who'd been the lookout. "Get out, demon! We don't want you here!" She reached for another can as a frightened man caught her arm. Others backed away from the couple, glancing at him.

Their looks nearly broke his heart. How could they be so scared of him?

"Stop!" the man hissed, so low Danny wouldn't have heard it two weeks ago. "You'll make it angry!" She wrenched her arm from his grip, taking up a second can of beans.

"I banish you!" she screamed. "You can't have any of us—not anymore!" Her aim was again true, and the can would've hit Danny square between the eyes had he not been intangible. She seemed almost hysterical that he hadn't left yet, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

"Should we do something?" El muttered. Sam, Tucker and Valerie only watched, bewildered. Danny shook his head, turning tangible.

He raised his hands and began to back away as the girl raised another can threateningly. "I'm going!" he said. "I'm leaving, okay? I—I'm sorry for everything that happened to you."

"Sorry isn't good enough!" the girl shrieked, hurtling the can at him. Danny ducked out of the building, turning intangible to make it through the wall. Hopefully, now that he was gone, the others could calm her down.

He sat, his back to the brick wall, cradling his head. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It was all he could seem to think. I'm sorry I didn't stop her. I'm sorry I couldn't save you before.

"—Danny?" Jazz asked. "Are you okay? You cut off."

"I—" He choked on the word, like it was stuck in his throat the same way the guilt refused to leave his gut. "I'm fine. I think—I'm going to finish scouting the rest of the town for supplies and survivors. Did you hear that, guys?"

"I copy," Tucker said. "We'll be out soon to help."

"Okay." But Danny didn't wait for them; he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Alone with the lead in his stomach, alone with this shame slowly eating away at him, bit by agonizing bit.

If it had taken them this long to get to a single town, how messed up was the rest of the world going to be when they finally reached them?

AN: Again, so sorry for the delay. I think updates are going to be either once or twice a month now (I'll try and let you know for sure by the tenth on my profile :) ). Thank you so much for the response! I adore reading your reviews. Also, I've been exploring digital art, and I was wondering if any of you would be interested in seeing a picture of the Empress (probably posted on Instagram)? I'm not super happy with this chapter (in fact I kind of hate it) but here it is. Questions: What did you think about it? Did the emotion eating make sense? Also, to be clear with the Maddie part—I'm trying to make her motivations understandable, not sympathetic. A parent shouldn't ever treat their child like she's treated Danny, and a kid doesn't owe anything to parents who have made them feel afraid and like they're diseased (hopefully it reads like this, but let me know if it doesn't)