Author's Note: Sooo, now that Lab Rat is done, I've started working on some one-shots and drabbles 'n stuff. They're really fun (whenever they come to mind) and sort of help with the insanely annoying issue of writer's block (which, for some reason, refuses to leave me alone at the moment - the next chapter of Lost might take awhile). Most of them will be up for grabs to anyone who wants to continue them or anything - just send me a PM or something.

This was written this morning... and I wash my hands of it. Don't know what it is, where it was going, or where it will (never) go.

-Anneria

Retribution

by: AnneriaWings

This was it.

Finally.

She hadn't thought it'd finally – finally – end up the way she'd anticipated from the beginning. He'd been swift, elusive, and impossibly agile and adroit in his movements – always managing to nimbly dodge her onslaught of attacks, and even during those frantic, heart-stopping moments when she'd expected victory, he always managed to barely slip out of her grasp and escape.

Tonight, though… tonight was different. As she stood there in the alleyway, breathing heavily, gun drawn and aimed point-blank at that lowly thing that dared impose itself on her life for so long, she couldn't help but just stop for a moment and revel in the insanely good feeling of triumph. She had him, cornered, finally.

The ghost was pressed back against the hard brick wall of the alley, breathing heavily, green eyes wide with the telltale expression of fear. Gashes and scrapes of all sizes littered his body, all sluggishly oozing ectoplasmic blood that gave off an acrid smell that permeated the damp night air. Hair that was once a brilliant snowy white was now filthy and tousled; bangs tinged a slight green due to a particularly deep cut across his temple. From this close a distance, she could make out every detail in his face, the way his arms and knees visibly trembled. She could even hear the fast breathing that rasped in his… lungs? In any case, he was clearly exhausted. He wasn't going anywhere.

All of the odds had, for once, been in her favor. Any sane human being stayed well indoors at this hour – and in this weather, no less. Gusts of wind roared high above the concrete city while a light drizzle fell to the sodden ground. They were the remnants of a powerful late-night thunderstorm that had proven an enormous obstacle to both huntress and hunted.

She'd been chasing him for hours. Her pursuit had been relentless, tearing her van through residential streets and across the park and through downtown, always keeping him locked within her line of sight. The ghost had at last fled high into the skies, probably expecting the cover of blackened clouds and stinging rain to offer him some cover. And, much to her dismay and seething rage, she had lost sight of him – if only for a few minutes. A blinding flash of light and a deafening crash hundreds of feet above her had seen to that. Struck down by a sudden bolt of lightning, he'd finally fallen to the ground.

Bless you, Mother Nature.

She'd immediately gone after him after that. For a moment, he'd been completely still – and then, with a quiet groan, the ghost had struggled in getting back onto his feet. Parts of his ink-black jumpsuit were tattered, tendrils of gray smoke slowly rose from his body, and charred, nasty-looking burns ran all across his back.

For the briefest moment, the two had made eye contact. Livid hazel eyes bore into weary green, the latter's expression reflecting nothing but sheer fatigue and apprehension. Please, just stop, they seemed to scream, Go home. I'm tired.

The metallic cocking of her weapon had convinced him to instantly take off.

The ghost hadn't gotten far. The injuries present would have been grave enough to cause any living being to simply pass out. Energy long lost, surely blind with growing panic, he'd bolted into the nearest hiding spot available. The ghost managed only a few blocks before finally collapsing into this very alley, utterly spent.

And now, the small bout of pride over her accomplishment was sucked away and encased within a shroud of festering anger as she realized that everything that occurred tonight would be determined by the outcome of her next decision. The cards were hers. What to do, what to do.

"What to do with you," she muttered to herself, glaring at him with an animosity so strong it outmatched any other emotion she might have felt. Her finger rested just in front of the trigger, the crosshairs of the plasma gun focused directly on the ghost's head. In the several long seconds that'd gone by since he'd been cornered, he never made a sound, nor a single movement. Perhaps it was from exhaustion, or a primal sense of self-preservation that was surely hardwired into him. Bright, emerald eyes nervously flicked back and forth from her eyes to the cold barrel of her gun, yet still he did not move.

She narrowed her eyes, her mind tense and focused. She could always just capture him. Keep him contained for as long as she wanted, maybe run a few tests on him against the efficiency and improvement of her arsenal. There was no use anymore in trying to experiment with the ghost's paranormal physiology. She had no desire to learn from him.

She could just kill him.

Although 'kill,' in a sense, wasn't exactly the best term to use in this case. The thing was already dead, wasn't he? 'Destroy,' perhaps, or even 'obliterate'. She could pull the trigger. She could end his existence forever.

It would be so easy. The sleek plasma gun grasped within her hands served a single purpose: to destroy. A single well-aimed blast at this range would be enough to rip through his very core, successfully destabilizing his spectral form enough to send him off to who-knows-where in the afterlife. If in the impossible chance that ghosts could feel, it'd probably be painful. She hoped it would hurt.

No, hurt wasn't enough. For everything this vile piece of garbage had put her through, she hoped it would be agonizing.

Almost unconsciously, her finger brushed lightly against the trigger, feeling the smooth curve of metal. The ghost tensed, wide eyes staring at the barrel before rolling upwards and resting on her own. "Please, don't," he suddenly whispered to her. It was the first time he'd spoken all night.

Words tumbled out of her mouth before she realized it. "Why shouldn't I?" She spat.

"Please… just let me explain—"

"No," she breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. Opening them to glare daggers of ice, she took a step forward. "No…" she repeated.

The ghost carefully raised his hands up, the universal gesture that no harm was meant. "M… Maddie, j-just put the gun down—"

"You killed my family."

The accusation was cold and blunt. The ghost's fingers clenched as he swallowed heavily, an almost-impressive display of pain glimmering within ethereal green irises. Any naive citizen of this town would easily fall for it – but as a well-trained ghost hunter, she was smart enough to discriminate between the real thing and this disgusting mockery of true emotion.

"I didn't… I-I was trying to save them…"

"Shut up." The weapon in her trembling hands charged up without warning, splitting the air with an eerie, high-pitched whining. The ghost flinched. "No you weren't. Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"No…"

"You killed them." Clenching her teeth together, she felt nothing but pure hate and despair as a wash of memories threatened to rip her apart at the seam. Her family had meant everything to her as a mother – and this… this… ghost had destroyed it, along with most of the rest of her collapsed world.

Taking a few more steps forward – her wary eyes never leaving his – she slowly advanced on him until she was mere feet away. If it were possible, the ghost pressed back even further into the wall, his head twisting to the side away from her and his eyes squeezing shut.

"The explosion at FentonWorks was an accident, please, I swear. I t-tried to stop it—"

Any further babbling from the ghost was crumpled into silence as she swiftly pressed the gun directly over his heart. Eyes snapping wide open, he simply stood there and stared cross-eyed down at the barrel, paralyzed, as shuddering breaths were drawn from his slowly-heaving chest.

"Shut… up."

"Please, it wasn't my fault—"

"I said shut UP!" She screamed, and suddenly she brought down the gun and slammed it into the side of his head. With a strangled cry, the ghost staggered off to the left and collapsed near a corner, dazed.

"You don't think this is your fault?" She snarled, tears burning in her eyes, though it was hard to tell in the cold rain. "I saw the way you ran over and began screwing with our ecto-filtrator after the alarm went off. Then my house exploded and you just—"

"I saved your life!"

"You murdered my husband and daughter!" Without even thinking about it, her foot kicked out and plowed directly into the ghost's stomach, sending him into a fit of choking and coughing. Completely contrary to her nature, she felt absolutely no remorse; only a deep and driving kind of hateful anguish. "You took them away from me! Now my son is all I have left and he's locked himself in his room and hasn't spoken to me in days. What part about this is not your fault, ghost?"

Strained gasps worked their way from his throat as he struggled to regain his breath. Panting and coughing violently, the ghost cradled the side of his head for a moment, smearing greenish blood all across his cheek in the process. The steady rain helped wash some of it away as he gazed up at her, trying to scoot back into the corner. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he gasped, grimacing as he coughed again. "But I was trying to… save them."

"…Enough," she mumbled, taking a deep breath, letting the mixture of rain and tears slide down her face. "Enough." Every cell in her body was blind and driven by the want – the need for some sort of retribution.

Maybe Danny wouldn't really want it… her actions could make him feel even more sorrow, maybe even hate her a little. But it didn't matter anymore. The specter was already dead. It was for the better. Sooner or later, he'd understand.

It was just another hunt.

The ghost was still breathing heavily, and – seeming to sense her dead-set train of thought – weakly raised a hand up to protect his face. "No…" he began.

"This is for my family," Maddie whispered.

Her finger slammed into the trigger.

Author's Note: ...Yes, she shot him. Yes, Jack and Jazz are dead. Yes, Maddie's out of character. No, I don't really care. XD; I was bored. I felt like killing something.