Summary: Calmly, Vlad turned to her with a small, sad smile that refused to reach his eyes. "I can't tell a lie, Maddie," he murmured, his smile unwavering. .... "Yes. Yes, I am Plasmius."

V/M. Mild Language. Note: I do not own Danny Phantom; that title belongs to the marvelous Butch Hartman. Send your thanks to him.

"Skulker, this is proposterous," Vlad stated, as calmly as he could. "There's absolutely no point."

The billionaire flexed his fingers, to keep the blood flowing to them. The ecto-plasmic binds around him were starting to make some of his limbs fall asleep.

"But, Vlad, I need a test subject. And who better than you?" Skulker leaned in next to his ear as he added, "The other halfa."

Vlad turned his head away, stretching his neck so as to get farther away from the monster beside him. "Yes, I understand that you need a guinea pig, Skulker, but the Fentons don't have to be here. Just give me the serum, and ask your own questions."

The metal man chuckled. "Oh, but Vlad! I already know nearly everything there is to know about you - you'd just be repeating yourself. If it's the Fentons you're revealing yourself to....then I'll know that it works."

"Skulker, please," he begged, looking at him again. "You can't do this, I thought we were friends."

A harsh laugh escaped Skulker, and some unknown force curled his lips into an iron sneer. "Well, Vlad, you are very wrong. We are mere aquaintances, is all, nothing more."

Vlad closed his eyes, barely holding on to his nerve. He felt like crying, but tears would only make his situation worse.

"Do it on somebody else!" He was on the verge of yelling. "Why does it have to be me?!"

But Vlad already knew.

"Because," Skulker replied. "It has to be another half-ghost. It doesn't matter if it works on a human.....and it doesn't matter if it works on a ghost. DNA is very important. You should know that by now."

He wrapped his large fingers around a syringe that was lying on a counter nearby, striding over to a small beaker that was filled with a lavender substance. Placing the needle in the flat liquid, he carefully measured the dosage with the piston. His moves seemed tortuously slow, and Vlad had a feeling that Skulker was doing that on purpose.

"Be a good little boy, now," Skulker taunted. "I might give you a lollipop once we're finished."

Vlad would have been angry; hell, he should have been, but he couldn't find the energy. He felt exhausted, like he had been reaping the same patch of soil for years, and there was still nothing to sow from it. And, in a sense, that was true.

His head fell back, his neck arching against the back of the chair as his face was lifted towards the ceiling. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he thought that it might just explode in his chest. Simultaneously, he knew that that was just wishful thinking.

Skulker pressed the tip of the cold needle against the bare flesh of Vlad's neck, making the man shiver. "You've been living a dream," he whispered. "A dream where there was a chance to win for you. Where you could be happy. And you've been living that dream for twenty years. But, Vlad? It's about time to wake up. Your chance is over. It has been for a long time."

Vlad knew his words were true, he knew that he had been too hopeful, but he didn't want to face reality. Because the reality was, he would always be alone.

"Think about it," Skulker told him, piercing the needle through Vlad's skin. "Technically, I'm doing you a favor."

As Skulker pushed the piston down, dispensing the serum, Vlad felt a mild burning sensation, and everything became a mess. His vision blurred, his body tingled, and there was a sharp ringing in his ears that should have deafened him. Around his wrists, ankles, and waist, there was a sudden feeling of looseness, and a large shape moved away from him. It was a vibrant color that he couldn't quite identify. A low tone overlapped the ringing, producing a few words that Vlad couldn't understand. It felt like the sound was from some foreign language.

Nothing around him made sense. It was all spinning around him, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. He moved, or so he thought, in some direction or other, hitting something hard. His whole world seemed like a child had dumped the pieces from five different puzzles into the same pile. It was confusing, and he couldn't make this out from that.

Finally, he lapsed into unconciousness, unable to process anything more.