NOW

Clockwork paced two and fro in his office. He didn't use this very-human like movement very often, just under the most extreme circumstances. It was much easier to float after all, but even after more than 200 years, those old human habits still showed themselves now and then. He traced the long beard he hand until it disappeared, then he traced is stubbled-covered chin, and finally the smooth baby fat of his naked cheek. When the beard regrew in a flash, Clockwork knew he had wasted enough time. It was time for action, but there was no safe action he could take. Time was like a giant chessboard, of kings and queens, knights and bishops, of the many pawns that could change an entire game. Time was a game of risk he played constantly, weighing the decision of destroying entire worlds in his hand.

Clockwork knew the boy was dead. He knew that. He knew it was the best for the world today, but any loss of live was a loss to him. His mind was contently filled with what ifs. What could stop all of these deaths? The murders that happened everyday now? A murder just happened. Clockwork knew that. A man was shot in his home, while painting a wall. The murderer then stole his pocketbook and left the man bleeding to death on his kitchen floor, the blood creating a dark, scarlet puddle that would be discovered exactly two days, seven hours, 26 minutes and 42 seconds by his daughter, who was taking her weekly visit to the old man. The murderer will never be found, even though Clockwork knew exactly what she looked like. It was a woman, with dirty yellow hair that did the man in. Clockwork could give her exact name-Isabella Bashore. He could send in a tip to the local police station, and she would be caught. But Clockwork knew he couldn't do that. First, the Observers will be all over him. Even changing the course of the future by that little was a huge offense.

Maybe Clockwork could kill the murderer that night before? No, murdering to save lives was frowned upon, but at least Clockwork wouldn't be severely punished. It was a problem of heart. Clockwork will not kill. He would not make Isabella take just three steps more and be run over by a bus. Morally, that was simply wrong. One life for another, it was simple enough. It was simple for the Observers, who wouldn't even bat an eye. None of the people connected to the murder were really important to the flow of time, after all. A life was worth much, much more then just another life. Each life, to Clockwork, was worth at least five more. But still...his mind wandered of what could have been. To humans, this might be called a little unhealthy, but Clockwork actually had the power to change the world.

What if he stopped the dinosaurs from becoming extinct? No...too big. Maybe the people of America should loose the Revolutionary War? No, if that would of happened, it would of stalled a few major inventions and the whole world today will be a few decades behind. If he could, Clockwork would do something to save Danny's life, but not at the cost of another. Not at the cost of the hundred of thousand that would happen if he were to change anything. The whole 'Dark Danny' fiasco was a one-time thing, hopefully never to be repeated again. The urge never left him, though. It was stuck inside of him, a little black worm inside what Clockwork liked to think about as a ray of light. He could do something, yet he did nothing. He comforted himself with petty talks of chivalry, of honor, and such, but deep down Clockwork was afraid. Afraid of what will happen if he were to act. Time has changed before, who knows if it will change again?

A giant, green vulture flew by his window. Clockwork stared at the being. Vultures were known as a sign of death in the human world, it's only natural for there to be flocks of them in the world of the dead. Which lead Clockwork to another problem. Because Danny has died, there was no gatekeeper preventing the humans to rage havoc through the human world. The Red Huntress-Valerie, he reminded himself, was capable enough, but not nearly as good as Danny. She simply could not face the barrage of ghosts that will come through once word got out Danny was dead. Neither the Fentons-who were much more capable than people liked to believe, could handle the onslaught of malevolent ghosts . Besides, they would be tasked with the the worry of trying to find their son, along with young Jasmine, Samantha, and Tucker.

Even if Daniel did receive his memory back, he would no longer have the drive to keep doing the task of keeping the town ghost-free. What truly anchored the boy to the city was not something of ghostly origin. It was the boy's love for the city, his home and it's inhabitants, no matter how bad they treated him, that kept him in the town. You cannot recreate the emotion that is lost with the death of the body, which tethers the soul in the realm of the living. Ghosts can still have emotions, but perhaps not the the extent that humans have. They no longer have truly tangible bodies, and do not need to take care of them. As long as a ghost has the energy to keep itself in a solid form, it can keep itself in existence. If a ghost loses enough energy to remove itself from existence, Clockwork didn't like to think of it, as he was growing older every passing second. He guessed that once the soul was gone, the conscience will also be gone, and there will just be nothingness.

Clockwork's head shot up at the sharp banging noise coming from the door across the hallway, two doors to the left. He knew it was to come, but that did not stop the basic reaction from him. After his short conversation with Daniel, Clockwork had taken the bounds off, trying to show the boy he was tied down for his own good. Clockwork guessed that he didn't make a very good first (well, not really but, you know) impression, considering the noise coming from across the hall. A bang turned into a buzz, then a bang, then a yelp. Clockwork knew that Daniel just rediscovered his ectoblast, probably because that power had the most 'muscle memory' involved.

Oh lord, Clockwork thought. The future must always be harder than the past.

Isabella will never return. Ever. She's just a tool.
I have a really short attention span. I can write maybe, two paragraphs, before I get distracted by other things.
Meh