…oooOOO-TUCKER-OOOooo…

When Tucker had first woken up, he briefly entertained the idea that he was dead. Or at least seriously broken. Like seriously seriously broken.

If this was the afterlife, he wanted a refund. Or at least his life back, 'cause this sucked.

Ignoring the way his body was trying to drag him back into the fog of sleep, he eased his way up to a sitting position and tried to categorize the pain.

His head hurt, for starters, but that felt minor. More like grogginess than any actual trauma. His neck was fine (thank goodness) and his chest was alright.

He moved his arms slowly, rotating them left and then right. No major issues there, just a light soreness.

So at least Tucker wasn't broken, even if he had just woken up in an entirely white room with no idea where he was and a killer headache.

Tucker would say that he was surprised, but this was Amity Park. He'd be lying.

But then it him that he didn't even know if he was in Amity, which made his strained mind spiral all over again.

Panic aside, his first order of business was clear; ask whoever was keeping him captive why they hadn't given him a bed. His back was trying to start a revolution.

Second order of business, try and remember what had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

Thinking hurt his head, but he did it anyway, slowly sifting through the events of the past few days.

There'd been the crazy lady on the TV (Ido-what?), then the visit to Vlad, then…

The memory hit him straight in the face, making him choke on the air in his esophagus.

Mind controlled Vlad. Mind controlled ghosts. The explo—

Tucker sat up all the way with his eyes blown wide open, the chilling recollection of watching Danny get engulfed by fire making his gut clench.

For a second, he almost wished he hadn't remembered it.

Was Danny even still alive? A blast like that likely wouldn't have killed him, but what if—no, bad thoughts. Bad Tuck. Danny was an idiot, but he was also the strongest person Tucker knew. He was fine.

From what horrifying-ness he could decipher, at least Sam was safe. Though who knew what the crazy lady could be doing to her.

Realizing he'd caught up on all his missed episodes of The Tucker Foley Show, the techno-geek decided that he couldn't put it off any longer.

With his lips pulled into a tight grimace, Tucker slowly eased his way to his feet.

In a futile attempt to distract himself from the pain, he examined his surroundings with narrowed eyes. The room—cell?—was small, containing only cold tile and fluorescent overhead lights that burned his eyes.

Upon closer inspection, he concluded that, indeed, he had no idea where he was.

He suspected it was a GIW facility. After all, the room was white. What more evidence did a guy need?

But they had multiple facilities, multiple places of operation. He could be anywhere.

Just when he was about to lie back down (after all, if he was being held prisoner by an unknown and likely hostile force, he might as well catch up on some sleep), a steel door to his left slid open with a mechanical clank.

Whatever Tucker had been expecting, this was not it.

Technus stood there in all of his outdated glory, sporting a faded expression on his face, mouth still and eyes void as he floated into the room.

It was vaguely disturbing to see a usually so animated enemy brainwashed. Or whatever crazy lady did to make them do her bidding.

Watching as the ghost stood frozen, suspended in time like a glitchy laptop, it was almost as if he'd been zombified.

Woah.

Tucker grinned, despite the seriousness of the situation, because zombie ghosts was an awesome concept.

The brainwashed zombie ghost (awesome) set down the tray he was carrying. Only then was Tucker able to get a good look at its contents.

Food. Technus had just brought him food. Which, based on his limited understanding of hostage situations, meant crazy lady wanted him alive.

For now.

He would ask himself it this day could get any weirder, but such a thought would definitely end up getting him jinxed. And the last thing he needed right now was bad luck.

There was an apple, clear water bottle, and three carrots sticks arranged unceremoniously on the red-plastic tray.

"What?" Tucker glared at the ghost, gesturing at the inedible food despite knowing he wouldn't get an answer. "Am I a rabbit now? Did Sam put you up to this?"

As expected, Technus ignored him, gliding out of the room without a backwards glance. The door grinded to a close as soon as the ghost was gone.

"This is torture." Tucker leaned back as far as he could from the rodent food on the tray, though he did take the water. His throat was dry as a very dry…thing.

However, after the first forty seconds of staring at the cell's artistic rendition of an arctic hare riding a polar bear in a blizzard (that is to say, very white), Tucker made a decision,

"Guess I'm blowin' this popsicle stand." He walked over to the door, trying to recall the sound it had made when it slid open.

Had it been gears? Ghostly tech?

Either way, he'd be out of here in not time.

"'Sides," He smiled to himself in the stillness. "Danny'll be lost without me."

…oooOOO-DANNY-OOOooo…

Danny was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

He had literally no idea where he was.

He'd wandered out of Dash's entertainment room where they'd been 'planning'—more like staring at their stolen news article and throwing stale Doritos at each other—and now he was hopelessly trapped.

All the halfa had been searching for was the bathroom, but Dash's house was a labyrinth and Paulina's garbled instructions were failing him.

Had she said go left after the marble bust? Or straight after the grand piano? Did any of the Baxters even play piano?

All were unanswerable questions.

Danny was just debating whether he should sacrifice his dignity and call for help when he limped around yet another corner, finding himself in a narrow hallway.

Lining it on either side were dozens of family photos.

Some were of smiling people he didn't recognize, most blond and blue eyed, but a number depicted a single child.

Despite the chubby cheeks and angel curls, which were now replaced by hard lines and slick-backed hair, Danny recognized them immediately.

Dash.

He'd been shoved into lockers enough by the guy to recognize his middle school self.

Almost out of a morbid curiosity he continued on, using the wall to get his weight off his inured ankle.

Gradually, young Dash got bigger, a small Kwan eventually joining the narrative somewhere around fifth grade.

Danny remembered when the Asian American had first stepped into the classroom, immediately catching Dash's eye.

For some reason, the two had hit it off right away.

Danny could still recall the strange sense of confusion he'd felt at the blonde's emotional one-eighty, followed by spiralling thoughts of what did I do wrong? when Dash treated the new arrival like royalty.

Then Paulina joined their number, a picture of all three of them appearing towards the end of the hall.

In it, Dash looked annoyed by their arms slung around his shoulders, but Danny now recognized the content half-smile plying at the jock's lips.

Seeing the three of them like that—so, together—reminded him of his missing in action friends and worry reared its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, wrapping tight coils around his every thought.

In an attempt to distract himself from the fiery need to jump into the air and zoom off to find them, he absently fingered the picture's frame, ghosting the polished wood with pale tips.

Would he have become just as bitter and angry as Dash if Sam and Tuck hadn't been in his life? If his family had been a little less present?

It was sobering to imagine a life void of Sam's aggressive compassion, or Tuck's strange combination of narcistic optimism.

Even his family, despite their many flaws, really did try.

His parents were supportive in their own way, and Jazz was…Jazz. He wouldn't ask for anything—or anyone—different.

Sighing, he was about to turn around and concede his search, having had enough serious, existential thinking for one day, when a voice nearly sent him into cardiac arrest.

"Lonely, isn't it?"

Danny recoiled, phasing halfway into the wall before he registered that it was only Paulina. Relaxing, marginally, he treated her to his finest glare, "You guys seem insistent on putting me in an early grave. Seriously, I've gotten more jump scares in the past two days then I have in my entire ghostly career."

The Latina laughed, the sound significantly different than the one she used at school. Warmer, and more genuine, than the raucous tone it took on at Casper High.

"You're welcome," She straightened the photograph, crooked from Danny's clumsy hands.

She either ignored or didn't hear Danny's answering, "That wasn't a thank you".

"So," Her brown curls bounced as she turned towards him again. "Enjoying your internalized monologue of self-doubt?"

His eyes widened. "I wasn't—"

"Oh, please," Paulina waved a dismissive hand in his general direction. "I know it when I see it."

"Really?" He tried to keep the surprise out of his tone, but he never would've pegged her as the introspective type.

Loud, bossy, and authoritative, maybe. Definitely not contemplative.

To his surprise, Paulina gave a brisk nod, the smile slipping off her face. "I wasn't always a self-absorbed witch, you know."

Danny recalled their preschool days and had to disagree, but for the sake of his livelihood he chose to keep that to himself.

She shrugged, her gaze hollowing as she fixed it on Dash's picture. "It's just easier. This way, I objectify myself before anyone else can. I'd rather write my own personality than have some stranger assign me one."

He tried to imagine what such a life could possibly be like, finding himself unable to even comprehend it. Danny had always been on the outskirts; just a silent observer looking in.

It used to feel condemning. Now, however…

"The next time Sam calls you shallow, I might have to fight her on it."

The Latina barked another laugh, her previously dark mood slipping back to wherever it'd come. "She'd beat you up for sure."

Danny opened his mouth to argue, but found himself unable to come up with a convincing one.

Then Paulina leaned in, smirking as if she knew his deepest secrets. Which, given her aptitude for gossip, was entirely possible. "And if she didn't, you'd let her win anyway."

The halfa flushed scarlet, glancing around frantically even though he knew there wasn't anyone around to overhear their conversation.

He felt like Sam was going to materialize out of nowhere, ready to comment on his reddening ears with a snide smile.

"A little louder, will you? I don't think the folks down in Somalia heard." He whisper-shouted at her, trying to will his cheeks back to their normal pigment.

"Oh, honey," The Latina shook her head in mock sympathy. "The whole school already knows about your little crush. The teachers know. Most of the A-Listers have money riding on the fact that she'll probably ask you out first."

That was not helping with his embarrassed state at all.

He groaned, "Seriously?" Then the tail-end of her reveal hit him. "Wait, you're an A-Lister!" He tried to reach for her, but she wormed out of his grasp. "Who did you bet on? Tell me now—"

But the teen was already sashaying down the hallway, shouting a quick, "I'll never tell!" over her shoulder.

"I could just overshadow you and find out." The halfa added vehemently, though there was small half-smile curving the corner of his lips.

"Mmh," She paused in her retreat as if genuinely considering it. "No. You wouldn't."

The Latina was right, unfortunately. He'd never overshadow someone without their consent.

Darn hero morals.

He grumbled something less than complimentary under his breath that Paulina elected to ignore,

"Aren't you coming?" She gestured at the end of the hallway. "Thought you had to go to the bathroom."

Danny paused for a moment to pull himself together, then followed after her, still a mottled red.

After she'd shown him to the bathroom, the Latina acted as a temporary tour guide and led him back to Dash's entertainment room, commenting on the different styles and interior tidbits of the house all the while.

When they returned, she unhooked her arm from his (she'd insisted Danny not put his full weight on his ankle) and strutted in like she owned the place.

Kwan and Dash were sprawled out on the carpeted floor, the news paper article lying abandoned between them as they conversed.

"—I just think its entirely possible." The darker-haired of the two said, crunching down on a chip. "I mean, that one ghost can do it, right?"

"But I've never seen Phantom do it, and I watched him like all the time," There was a foreign smile on the blonde's face, twisting his lips into unfamiliar shapes.

Kwan finally noticed the other two's arrival, shooting them both a wide, upside down grin from his vantage point on the floor. "Well he's right over there, why don't we just ask him ourselves?"

Even Danny, oblivious though he may be, noticed the red flush that swept Dash by storm.

The jock chocked, sitting up straight to pound on his chest. "Jeez, Kwan! Why didn't you tell me!" As soon as he was no longer dying, the teen reached over and punched his friend in the arm.

Kwan's playful grin dipped into a downright evil smirk, shooting Danny a smug look. "Didn't feel like it."

The resident Latina, though she seemed to be enjoying Dash's palpable embarrassment, cut it short by sitting criss-cross on the floor next to him. "Ask Danny what?"

"If he could teleport. Dash doesn't think he can."

Even though they'd made him welcome earlier, it still felt strange to insert himself into their inner circle. To be the subject of their conversation.

The halfa shifted forward hesitantly, lingering on the outside of their circle while trying to gauge Dash's face for any sign of a negative reaction.

Sure, they'd worked out a hesitant truce before, but maybe—

As if reading his mind, the blonde's head swung upwards, pinning Danny's gaze with his own.

When the other spoke, his voice was harsh, "What the hell, Fenton? Sit down before you collapse."

For a second, Danny was sure he'd heard wrong. That his ghostly ears were screwing him over, even though they'd never done so before. "What?"

It looked like the blond was going to explode, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he glared daggers at the standing teen. "I said get the fresh frick of your feet before you collapse, moron."

"Oh." Danny shuffled towards them, purposefully angling himself between Kwan and Paulina, the latter of which had a strange smile on her face.

"I can't believe how stupid you are," Dash continued, pushing up off the floor and stomping towards him.

The halfa wished it was socially acceptable to turn invisible as he tried to lean as far back as humanly possible. "Dash, what are you—"

The jock absolutely confounded his usual victim by kneeling in front of him, grabbing his hurt ankle and pulling it up into the air. He yanked the leg of Danny's pants up, revealing swollen skin.

"You absolute idiot," Dash grimaced at the offending limb, flexing it left and right as he watched the youngest Fenton's face for a reaction. "You're just making it worse by being such a stubborn patient. Use the crutch, or I'll break your knees. Understood?"

They must have fallen into some kind of alternate dimension; that was the only explanation for Dash's strange behaviour.

Danny felt the cold fingers on his skin press a little harder. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to draw his wandering attention back up to Dash's face.

"You still with me, Fenton?" The blond asked, that same impassive expression fixed in place.

The halfa's ghostly empathy, however, told a very different story.

Concern.

There was the barest trace of poorly concealed concern among Dash's internal whirlpool of confusion, anger, and—surprisingly—something akin to self-loathing.

So shocked was he by this most recent revelation, that he didn't realize the other had asked him a question.

"Right," Danny cleared his throat, glancing at Paulina for help and finding only that same satisfied smile in place. "I can, uh, do that. I guess."

It didn't look like Dash believed him in the least, but he nodded nonetheless. "Kwan, make sure this halfwit doesn't break himself while I'm gone."

The raven-haired jock gave his best friend a two fingered salute, "Yes, sir."

Dash snorted and exited the living room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Danny blinked, still not entirely sure he hadn't hallucinated their entire interaction. "What was that?"

"Ah," Kwan crammed another chip into his mouth, giving him a wide smile. "That was some good old Baxter concern. You'll get used to it, eventually."

"He takes injuries very seriously." Paulina added, leaning in front of Danny to swipe some of Kwan's Doritos. "We think it has something to do with all the scary football horror stories he's heard."

"Yeah, there was this one time I tore my ham during a tournament game. You should've seen his fa—"

"We don't talk about that." Dash had re-materialized in the entertainment room entryway, a bundled-up dish cloth in hand and a scowl on his face.

Instead of sitting back down, as Danny had expected him to do, the jock veered straight towards him.

"You need to ice this more, or its just going to get worse." He fixed the halfa with another glare. "And if it gets worse you won't be able to save your dork friends."

Danny winced. Even after all this time, Dash was still a master manipulator. He knew exactly what the ghost boy wanted and used it to his advantage, even though this time it was technically to Danny's advantage as well.

As if he had any actual choice in the matter, Danny pretended to consider it. "Fine," He held out his hand.

Upon closer inspection, he realized it was actually just a bag of frozen peas, but it would do in a pinch.

Dash ignored the resurgence of Danny's stubborn will and watched the halfa fix it on to his ankle. Only then did he sit back down, scooping up the news article as he went.

"Thanks," Danny muttered only somewhat reluctantly, easing the cloth wrapped bag onto his injury. The ice made his core give a pleased hum, dragging a smile onto his lips despite the pain.

It was becoming increasingly difficult not to notice Kwan and Paulina's mischievous side-eyes, but Danny did his best to pay them no heed.

Hoping to get the attention off himself and back onto the issue at hand, he gestured at the article,

"So, what have we figured out so far?"

Dash was all too happy to hop on the topic change, "Right. Kwan, you want to get all Grammarly on us?"

"Would be my pleasure," The other jock wiped his smirk away, though the remainders of it lingered at the corner of his lips. "So far, we know that Katherine Ladouceur died in a ghost related car crash. Idolon, who is obviously our blackmailing madwoman, has apparently gone completely kooky. Agreed?"

The three listeners nodded.

"My theory is, she's mad at you," Kwan pointed a finger at Danny, looking apologetic about it all the while. "That is to say, your alter ego, because she thinks you're the reason her sister is dead."

To Danny's left, Paulina audibly forced down a mouthful of chip before speaking, "That makes sense. I didn't even know about the whole Freakshow involvement, and I'm a hardened fangirl. There's no way some genetic researcher would know it wasn't actually Phantom's fault."

"Revenge," Dash added his two cents, nodding as if he'd just graced them all with sage wisdom.

"But that doesn't explain what she wants to do with Phantom, or how she figured out the connection between him and Danny." Kwan made a face, turning to the halfa with a frown, "Between you and you? Between Phantom and Danny? You know what I mean."

The ghost boy himself absently stared at his injured ankle, not really hearing Kwan's words. Something wasn't adding up.

It felt as though there was some aspect of the equation missing. Like they were mere seconds away from figuring out the truth but couldn't, not without one more crucial anecdote.

"But how is she controlling the ghosts? Where'd she get the funding? A genetic researcher shouldn't have the resources too—"

The fledgling journalist shot him a grin, eyes dancing at the prospect of a scoop. "Ah, that's the thing. My guess is she's not acting alone. Who else do we know that harbours a biased hatred of Phantom, wants to get their grubby paws on him, and has the means too?"

"Vlad," Danny muttered bitterly, at the same time Paulina balefully spat out "Red Huntress".

Kwan rolled his eyes at them, "No, stupids. Phantom's other sworn enemies."

Danny turned his head back to Kwan, giving the other a sheepish smile. "The Guys in White."

"Bingo! Fifty points to Fenton." The raven-haired teen cracked his knuckles, "That's my theory, anyways."

"Works." Dash intoned, munching a Dorito. "Too bad they're going to regret it."

"Regret it?" The ghost boy shot him a concerned look, "What are you going to do?"

"Me?" The blond looked at Danny as if there were corn sprouting behind his ears. "I'm not going to do anything. You're going to kick butt."

Danny sputtered, his brain short circuiting at another strange resurfacing of Dash's kindness. "R-right. Kick butt."

Dash groaned, pushing himself back up to his feet. "I still can't believe your Phantom. You're such an idiot." But there was a smile hidden in the folds of his lips.

"That's enough planning for one day," Paulina remarked, stretching her arms out over his head.

The halfa didn't miss the way Dash's eyes tracked her every movement, especially focusing on the strip of tanned skin peeking out at her midriff.

Apparently Danny wasn't the only one with a little crush.

Kwan—apparently harbouring a death-wish—was making kissey faces behind Paulina and pretending to swoon into Danny's arms.

Either Dash didn't see him or was outright ignoring his best friend's antics.

"Let's eat," The Latina continued, unaware of the situation at hand. "I'm thinking leftover pizza if you have any, Dash."

"Yeah," The blond cleared his throat, following after her into the kitchen like a lost puppy. "A-anything for you."

Kwan snorted loudly, rolling his eyes so far that Danny was sure they'd pop out of his head, before making his way after the two lovebirds.

Danny cast the abandoned news article one last look, trying to unsuccessfully bury that same sinking feeling as earlier while he limped towards the kitchen.

They were missing something.

He was sure of it.

…oooOOO-TUCKER-OOOooo…

Tucker wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but it felt like hundreds.

The door, which he'd long since diagnosed as electric, had a panel inside the wall. How did Tucker know that? Simple. He'd spent a couple of his 'hundreds of hours' removing the steel walls with his pocket multi-tool.

He wasn't sure if the crazy woman had searched hi. while he was unconscious (creepy) and deemed the tool useless, or if she had enough confidence in her ghostly watchdogs to trust them with his imprisonment.

Either way, she'd made a big mistake.

Inside the panelling was a low-grade six number lock, which he assumed was meant for his door.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he proceeded to disassemble the device from behind.

It was easy, suspiciously so, until he found the first g-board in a layer of Philip screws. GIW was inscribed on its corner.

The simplicity of it all suddenly made perfect sense; those guys were idiots.

Grinning, as he was always up for proving those neophytes wrong, he yanked out one of the insulated wires, tweaked the circuit, and Voila!

The door slid open with an extremely satisfying sound and a minimal amount of smoke.

Pausing only to pocket his trusty multi-tool, he poked his head out the door and was off.

Tucker had hacked GIW files before, mostly when he was looking for a break from real databases, so he had a very minimal understanding of their layout.

"If I'm correct, the other capture room should be right—"

He faltered mid-step, finally taking in one crucial detail,

There was no way both he and Sam could escape from here.

Crazy lady probably knew he'd broken out. In fact, there was likely an entire army of mind-controlled ghosts heading for him as he stood here wasting time.

As if mocking his very thought process, a crude alarm began to sound above, the lights flickering red in true Thriller movie fashion.

By the time he'd hacked Sam's door code, it would be too late. But he could—would—never leave her.

She was his best friend; if she didn't leave, he didn't leave. That was final.

Which meant he needed a new plan, and fast.

Thinking back to lazy Saturday hacking nights, he tried to recall anything in a GIW facility that could prove useful to him.

Then it struck like a bolt of arcane lightning; the perfect idea.

Snapping into action, he turned his back on Sam's cell and ran as fast as his legs could carry him in the other direction.

It physically pained him to leave her behind, but the fact that at least he wasn't escaping without her was enough to stay any crippling guilt.

Tucker shoved the thought aside and focused on the task at hand, mentally mapping his way through the GIW's blueprints.

If his memory wasn't pulling a fast one on him, then a control room should be right ahead.

He felt like laughing—or crying, he wasn't sure—when he saw open steel doors, multiple computer monitors on their other side.

The techno-geek's relieved jubilation lasted for all of twenty seconds, quickly being interrupted by a searing ectoball.

Letting out a less than heroic squawk, Tucker risked a glance over his shoulder to see no less than seven ghosts on his tail, all glassy-eyed and flying fast.

He loosed the most savage curses in his arsenal, willing his already aching legs to move even faster.

Another shot connected with the tile to his right, close enough for him to smell the copper tang it gave off, but it only spurned him to new speeds.

He was really regretting not taking Sam up on her fitness regime.

With one last heave, he passed between the huge metal doorframe and slapped his hand against the emergency lockdown button.

The doors creaked to life with agonizing slowness, seeming to inch together as the incoming ghosts flew even faster.

Tucker spotted familiar faces among their number, wincing at the strangely slack-jawed looks on their faces.

Absently, as his death seemed swiftly approaching, he wondered if controlling so many at the same time was difficult. They certainly didn't seem to be moving with their usual speed.

The Box Ghost was seconds from entering, pallid fingers outstretched, when the doors finally did their job and closed. The sealed in the middle, clicking shut.

Tucker may or may not have whimpered with sheer relief.

Now came the true test: had the GIW ever finished ghost proofing their walls?

The satisfying sound of otherworldly entities colliding with metal was like music to his ears, almost enough to put a smile ono his face.

Overtaken with the fact that he was still alive, he moved towards the doors and pressed a lone middle ginger to their glass display window, winking at the confuzzled ghosts before getting started on his actual mission.

The techno-geek booted up one of the monitors and plopped into its accompanying office chair, glad to get the weight off poor, overworked legs. When—not if—he ever got out of here, he was eating a double cheeseburger. Or three.

An unobtrusive Windows loading screen popped up and Tucker bypassed it with a bored click, typing in the GIW employee password of the month with casual nonchalance.

Once he was in, Tucker opened Google and pulled up maps.

Clicking 'display location', he let out a relieved breath when he saw that they were being held in an Amity facility.

Then, he screenshotted the image before closing out of the tab with a smirk.

This was almost too easy.

His plan was to email Danny their location and let the halfa rescue them, palms abalzin'. The only issue with that was remembering his old password.

Tucker was a technological genius, no doubt about it. He could recall the most complex and secret of passwords on the planet, which meant that they occupied a lot of space in his mind.

Space that most people had filled with their insta information, or, say, their email passwords from middle school.

His frantic password trying was abruptly interrupted by something big and heavy colliding with the control room's door, causing the whole room to shudder on impact.

Almost too scared to look, Tucker briefed a glance over and saw Dora, in dragon form, ramming her entire body against the steel.

Apparently crazy lady had taken Tucker's unofficial challenge to heart.

Typing faster now, he was almost out of personal passwords to try when attempt number sixteen proved successful.

He held back a triumphant cheer and, wasting no time, quickly composed a draft to stargazer24 and copied the screenshotted location, fingers drumming frantically as he waited for it to upload.

A crash echoed at seventy-four percent complete, then another splintering bang at ninety-four.

Just as the metal doors gave a final jarring crunch, metal shrieking as it split apar, the photo uploaded to his draft.

Tucker gave the most satisfying click of his life over that blue send button, grinning madly as the computer confirmed his success with a buzz.

Not even the cold, ghostly hands on his shoulders were not enough to quell his satisfaction. Somewhere behind him, Dora growled, but Tucker was too pleased with himself too pay the dragon any mind.

Then Skulker was lifting him, the mind-controlled ghost's cold aura wrapping around him as Tucker was turned intangible. He felt his beret dislodge, falling to the floor with a pathetic lack of fanfare.

But he didn't care; he'd gotten his message to Danny. He'd saved them.

"I've always wanted to say this," He levelled a maddening smile at the assembled entities, flipping them double birdies as he was floated into the air. "You're too late."

(A/N): I updated! This chapter is over 5,000 unedited words long, but out it goes, into the void~ hopefully you enjoyed it anyway~

Thanks for sticking with me in these crazy times, and a double thanks to: Phoenixdellaverita, Lala2003, BG224, Cyan Quartz, the-trash-prince, Stefunee Pylant, DP-Marvel94, Cyber-Geist, Luna Lillyth, Cyber-Geist(Twice!), anonymous, TotalAlaskan, RoundaboutNow, Ryvaken Lucius Tadrya, 2SexyForMySkirt, Darth Magnus, and Hamato-Grayson for reviewing!

They encourage me so much whenever I find myself in a slump writing this fic, and I seriously cannot thank you all enough :)

Stay safe, lovelies!

~ASL