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Chapter Text

"Vlad! Don't!"

The shout echoed through the shattered chamber, the sound swallowed by the rising hum of unstable energy.

"That fool! He's going to doom us all!" another voice roared, desperation cutting through the chaos.

The room trembled violently as arcs of ectoplasmic lightning crackled across the walls, illuminating fractured machines and the smoking remains of what had once been a lab.

"Get away from it, Plasmius!"

But it was already too late.

Vlad Masters, or rather, Vlad Plasmius, stood at the center of the storm, his eyes glowing with a manic mix of triumph and madness. His gloved hands trembled as they closed around the glowing artifact, a crystalline Ectoplasmic Core, pulsing with raw, cosmic energy. The air around him seemed to bend, the very fabric of space straining under the power he held.

"You'll see," he muttered, almost to himself. "You'll all see... I'll make it right this time."

Ignoring the voices, ignoring the fear clawing at the edges of his mind, Vlad lifted the core above his head. Its light intensified until the shadows themselves began to disintegrate.

And then—he made the wish.

A whisper. A command. A plea to the universe itself.

The core erupted, its light swallowing everything. The lab, the ground beneath him, even the sound of his own voice, all consumed by an all-encompassing, blinding white.

The world around him began to dissolve like smoke in sunlight. The cold metal walls, the alarms, the screams, gone.

For a fleeting moment, Vlad stood in the endless white void, his body weightless, suspended in the aftermath of his own ambition. He could feel reality bending, shifting, remaking itself under the weight of his desire.

He wondered what this new world would look like, the world he had crafted with a single, desperate wish. Would there be peace? Redemption? Perhaps... even forgiveness?

And as the light swallowed him whole, one final thought crossed his mind, a bittersweet, almost fragile hope. Maybe, in this new reality, he could finally have what he'd been denied all his life...

A perfect life.

With Maddie.

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It was just past 7:00 PM in the quiet town of Amity Park. The last traces of daylight clung to the horizon, painting the sky in muted orange and violet hues. On the outskirts of town, tucked between an empty gas station and a stretch of shadowed road, stood a small diner with a flickering neon sign that read: "Brews and Ghouls."

Inside, the warm light and faint hum of a jukebox offered a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. The smell of coffee and fried food lingered in the air as the door creaked open, the bell above it chiming softly.

A young man stepped inside, he couldn't have been older than fifteen. His jet-black hair was a little messy, sticking out at odd angles as though he hadn't bothered to tame it. His eyes, however, were striking, a piercing icy blue that seemed to glow faintly under the fluorescent lights.

His clothes were casual but worn. A pair of pale blue jeans, frayed at the knees, hung loosely over red-and-white sneakers that had clearly seen better days. Over a plain white shirt marked with a red oval, he wore a long, black hooded trench coat that swayed slightly as he walked, the hem brushing against his calves.

He moved quietly to the counter and slid onto one of the stools, glancing at his reflection in the chrome napkin holder before lowering his gaze to the countertop.

A few seconds later, a girl around his age approached with a notepad and pen in hand. She had long, curly raven-black hair that framed her face in soft waves, and her dark blue eyes seemed to catch every flicker of light in the room. Her skin had a warm tan glow, complemented by the pink sweater and white shirt layered beneath a slightly stained white apron. She wore baby-blue jeans that matched the softness of her sweater and lent her an air of casual charm.

The boy's eyes drifted to her nametag—Paulina.

She leaned slightly on the counter, offering him a practiced but genuinely warm smile.
"Welcome to Brews and Ghouls! I'm Paulina, and I'll be your waitress this evening," she said, her voice carrying a light accent, pleasant, lilting, and unexpected. "What can I get started for you?"

Realizing he'd been silent for a little too long, the boy blinked and glanced down at the menu, his fingers tracing the edge of the laminated page. After a pause, he cleared his throat softly.

"I'll take a cup of orange juice," he said finally, his voice low but clear, "And some eggs with sausage, please."

Paulina smiled and quickly scribbled down the order, her pen scratching lightly against the notepad. "Got it," she said, glancing back up at him with a curious tilt of her head. "Is that all?"

The boy nodded once. "Yep."

"Alrighty," she said cheerfully, tucking the notepad against her apron before walking toward the kitchen window.

Behind the counter stood a middle-aged Mexican man with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His name tag read "Rico." He looked up from the grill as Paulina handed him the order slip.

"Eggs and sausage for the new kid," she said.

Rico read the slip silently, nodded once, and turned back to his work, the comforting hiss of oil and the sizzle of eggs filling the small diner.

With the order underway, Paulina returned to the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. The boy sat quietly, his gaze wandering toward the window, watching the faint reflection of neon light shimmer on the glass.

Something about him seemed... distant.

Paulina leaned slightly on the counter again, curiosity getting the better of her. "I've never seen you around before," she said, tapping her pen idly against her notepad. "You new in town?"

The boy looked up, his icy-blue eyes meeting hers for just a moment before flicking away. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "I just... barely moved here."

"Ah, a fresh start, huh?" she said with a nod. "Well, welcome to Amity Park—the supposed ghost capital of the world." She chuckled, shaking her head as if amused by the town's own reputation. "I'm Paulina, by the way. Paulina Sánchez."

The boy's lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. "Nice to meet you, Paulina Sánchez," he said, his tone soft and sincere. After a brief pause, he added, "I'm... Danny."

He hesitated on the name, almost as if testing how it felt to say it out loud—or as if it wasn't the whole truth.

Paulina leaned an elbow on the counter, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "Just Danny?" she asked, her tone playful as she arched a brow.

Danny's faint smile returned, soft but guarded. "Yep," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Just Danny."

Paulina let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she jotted something on her pad she didn't really need to write. "Alright then, Just Danny," she said with a grin. "So what brings you to Amity? We don't usually get newcomers unless they're running to something... or from something."

Danny tilted his head slightly, amused by the question but hesitant all the same. "I'm moving here with my uncle—Vlad Masters," he said.

Paulina's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Mr. Masters? You're his nephew?"

Danny nodded, his fingers absently tracing a circle on the counter's surface. "Yeah. Well... not by blood. He's technically my godfather," he clarified, glancing up at her. "You know him?"

Paulina's expression brightened immediately. "Of course! Everyone at Casper High knows Mr. Masters," she said with a light laugh. "He's, like, the coolest science teacher ever. Always bringing in gadgets and weird experiments that somehow don't explode—most of the time."

Danny smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "That sounds like him."

Paulina tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her dark blue eyes. "So is it just you moving here, or your whole family?"

Danny's smile faltered a bit. He looked down at his hands, voice quieter this time. "Just me," he said. "I, uh... needed to get away for a while. From my family."

Paulina's teasing tone softened as she studied him for a moment. "Yeah," she said finally, nodding in understanding. "I get that. Family can be... a lot sometimes. Trust me."

Danny nodded slowly, the small smile on his face tightening just a little. "Yeah, well, my family's an even bigger pain" he said. He forced a small chuckle, then quickly shifted the subject. "Uh—anyway, what can you tell me about Amity? I mean, why's it called the Ghost Capital of the World?"

Paulina chuckled, clearly amused. "You seriously don't know?" she asked, eyes widening as if surprised by his question.

Danny shook his head. "Guess not."

"Well," she said, leaning a little closer over the counter, lowering her voice just enough to make it sound like she was sharing a local secret. "Amity Park's called the Ghost Capital because it's where the Fenton Family captured the first real ghost. Like, an actual, honest-to-goodness spirit."

Danny's fork paused mid-tap against the counter. "Oh... really?" he said, feigning interest but looking just a little uncomfortable, his eyes darting away.

Paulina nodded eagerly, clearly enjoying the story. "Yeah! It happened, like, years ago. Since then, weird stuff's been going on all over town, ghost sightings, objects moving on their own, creepy lights over the river. Nothing huge lately, but enough to keep Amity on the map." She gave a small shrug, the corners of her lips curling upward. "Kinda spooky, but also kinda cool, right?"

Danny nodded again, but slower this time. His expression dimmed slightly, his fingers drumming quietly against the counter. Each mention of the Fenton Family seemed to weigh on him more than the last.

Paulina noticed, tilting her head a bit, as if sensing she'd touched on something personal. But before she could say anything else, the sharp ding! of the diner bell cut through the air.

"Oh, your order's up," she said, straightening.

Behind the counter, Rico set down a steaming plate of eggs and sausage beside a glass of orange juice.

Paulina grabbed them carefully and returned to Danny's seat, placing them in front of him with a small smile. "Here you go. Hope you're hungry."

"Thanks," Danny said softly. He picked up his fork and began to eat, though his movements were slow, almost mechanical.

Paulina leaned on the counter again, watching him curiously. After a few moments, she decided to keep the conversation going, her tone lighter this time.

"So," she asked, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, "Where are you from originally, Danny?"

Danny cut into his sausage, taking a few quick bites before swallowing. After a moment, he glanced back up at Paulina, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Uh... I'm from Wisconsin," he said finally, his voice casual but a little hesitant, as though he wasn't used to talking about himself.

Paulina nodded, resting her chin on her hand as she smiled. "That's nice," she said. "I've lived here in Amity my whole life. My papá and mamá moved here from Jalisco before I was born."

Danny perked up slightly, interest flickering in his icy-blue eyes. "Really?"

"Yep," she said with a proud little smile. "Sometimes I wish we lived somewhere bigger—like an actual city with skyscrapers, maybe even a beach. But..." She glanced around the cozy diner with a fond look. "I still love it here. There's something about Amity—quiet, weird, but kinda charming, you know?"

Danny nodded thoughtfully, cutting another piece of sausage before finishing the rest in a few bites. Then he moved on to the eggs, eating a little faster now, his hunger showing despite his usual calm demeanor.

Paulina chuckled softly as she watched him. "Wow, someone was starving," she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Food that good?"

Danny looked up mid-bite, cheeks slightly puffed before he quickly swallowed. "Heh—yeah," he said with a sheepish grin. "I haven't had a real meal in a few days, so this is... amazing."

Paulina giggled, the sound light and genuine. "Well, I'm glad you like it. Rico back there always says food tastes better when you actually sit down to enjoy it."

Danny gave a small, appreciative nod. "Guess he's right," he said, taking another bite. For the first time since he'd walked in, his shoulders seemed to relax a little.

Once Danny finished the last of his meal, Paulina returned to collect his plate, flashing him a friendly smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Danny leaned back slightly on the stool, taking the final sip of his orange juice. The glass was cold in his hand, condensation dripping down to the counter. He tilted his head back, gulped down the last of it, and let out a quiet, satisfied sigh — the kind that came from finally eating after days of going without.

Setting the empty glass down, Danny reached into the pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out a few folded bills, a crisp twenty for the meal, and, after a moment's hesitation, a hundred-dollar bill for the tip. He laid them neatly beside the napkin holder. Then, without a word, he slid off the stool, pulled up his hood, and made his way to the door.

The bell above the entrance jingled softly as he stepped outside into the cool night air.

Paulina turned at the sound, expecting another late-night customer, but instead saw Danny's back as he pushed the door open and slipped out into the dark. Her brows lifted slightly, and curiosity tugged at her as she glanced toward the counter where he'd been sitting.

Walking over, she noticed the folded bills lying there. She reached for them, expecting a modest tip, but froze when she unfolded the larger bill. "A hundred dollars?" she whispered to herself, blinking in disbelief.

Her surprise quickly melted into a warm smile. Shaking her head, she tucked the bill carefully into her apron pocket.

"Just Danny, huh?" Paulina murmured, a small, amused smirk crossing her lips. "Guess he's a gentleman, too."

For a moment, she stared at the door he'd left through, wondering if she'd see him again—that quiet boy with the ice-blue eyes and the too-heavy silence. Something about him lingered, a feeling she couldn't quite place.

Outside, the evening had grown colder. Streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk as Danny walked deeper into town, his hood pulled low against the chill. The town was still awake in small ways, the hum of a car engine in the distance, the faint bark of a dog, the flicker of a television through a living room window.

He passed rows of old storefronts, their neon signs dim and flickering, before the houses began to appear, modest, well-kept, but old enough to have stories behind every cracked windowpane and porch light.

Danny slowed his pace and reached into his coat again, pulling out a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper. On it, written in neat handwriting, was an address. He glanced around, checking the nearest street sign, then followed the numbers as he made his way down the block.

Finally, he stopped in front of a large brick house. It was two stories tall, the upper windows faintly illuminated by warm, yellow light. A short flight of steps, six or seven, maybe eight, led up to the porch and front door. There was a faint hum of electricity in the air, the kind that seemed to hang around old places filled with hidden machinery or memories best left alone.

Danny stood there for a moment, taking a shaky breath before exhaling slowly. His heart thudded once, hard, in his chest. His nerves screamed at him to turn back—but he didn't.

Instead, he climbed the steps, his boots thudding softly against the wood, and knocked on the door. It wasn't gentle; his knuckles struck quick and firm, betraying the unease in his movements.

A few seconds passed. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed from inside.

The door creaked open.

Standing there was a woman, her expression unreadable in the soft porch light, her presence calm but sharp, as if she'd been expecting him.

She was tall and slender, her fair skin smooth under the soft glow of the porch light. Her eyes were a striking shade of green, almond-shaped and sharp, glinting like polished emeralds as they studied the boy before her.

Her hair was vivid red with streaks of bright orange that caught the light like fire, styled upward in two elegant points that framed her head like devilish horns. It was bold, theatrical, even, yet somehow fit her perfectly.

Her makeup was just as striking: eyeshadow in rich shades of violet and plum that made her eyes gleam even brighter, and lipstick of deep purple that lent her a dangerous sort of charm.

She was dressed in a sleek, tailored business suit—a crimson jacket fitted neatly over a crisp white collared shirt, fastened with a black necktie that hung neatly against her chest. Four gray buttons lined the front of the jacket, perfectly aligned, while a matching red pencil skirt fell just above her knees. The click of her high heels against the wooden floor echoed faintly behind the threshold.

Round, light purple earrings glinted faintly beneath her hair, and perched atop her head were a pair of black sunglasses, even at night, they seemed less an accessory and more an extension of her mysterious confidence.

She regarded the boy on her doorstep with a raised brow, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice smooth, low, and faintly accented. The kind of tone that could be both welcoming and dangerous, depending on how you listened.

Danny swallowed hard, pulling his hood a little lower over his face. "Uh... is Vlad Masters here?" he asked quietly, his tone respectful but uncertain.

The woman's green eyes flickered — curiosity, then caution. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, as if weighing whether he was a guest... or a problem. "Depends," she said finally, her lips curving slightly as she folded her arms. "Who's asking?"

Danny hesitated. His stomach tightened, and he could feel his pulse beating in his throat. "I... uh..." he stammered, eyes darting toward the porch floor. "I just—" He struggled to find the right words, every possible answer sounding wrong.

Before he could finish, a deep, familiar voice echoed from somewhere inside the house. "Penelope! Who is it?"

The woman, now identified as Penelope, turned her head toward the sound, her expression softening slightly. "It's a boy, dear," she called back, her tone smooth but curious. "He says he's looking for you."

There was a brief silence from inside. Then, the sound of footsteps approached the door.

Penelope stepped aside just enough to allow the man room to pass. The hallway light spilled across the entryway, illuminating the tall figure emerging from within.

After a moment, a man stepped into view.

The man who stepped into view carried himself with an air of sharp composure, every movement deliberate, every detail immaculate.

His hair was white as fresh snow, sleek and well-kept, pulled back into a neat ponytail that brushed the collar of his jacket. A small, neatly trimmed goatee framed his chin, the same pure white as his hair, contrasting sharply against the darker tones of his skin and attire.

Despite the pale hair, his eyebrows were pitch black, a strange but striking detail that made his expression all the more intense. His nose was narrow and slightly pointed.

But it was his eyes that drew attention most of all, deep midnight blue, framed subtly by dark eyeliner that made them seem sharper, more commanding. They held a quiet intelligence, and perhaps, if one looked long enough, a glint of something unspoken.

He wore a finely tailored black suit, accented by a crimson handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket and a matching red bolo tie that gleamed faintly under the porch light. The suit's three rows of white buttons, six in total, were arranged with meticulous precision, and beneath it all, a crisp white undershirt gave his appearance a flawless polish. His black pointed shoes reflected the porch light as he stepped forward, each click of his heel measured and confident.

This was Vlad Masters, renowned science teacher at Casper High... and Danny's supposed godfather.

Vlad regarded the boy on his doorstep with one raised brow, his expression polite yet mildly suspicious. "Can I help you, young man?" he asked, his voice smooth, cultivated, the kind of tone that carried both authority and poise.

At the sound of his voice, Danny's head lifted. His hood slipped back slightly, revealing his face fully for the first time. His expression was uncertain, tense. His icy blue eyes reflecting a storm of nerves and hesitation.

Vlad's gaze sharpened. For a heartbeat, confusion flickered across his face, then recognition struck. His eyes widened, and whatever composure he'd been maintaining faltered completely. "...Daniel?" he breathed, stepping past Penelope as he pulled the door open wider. "Daniel, is that you?"

Danny froze for a moment, caught off guard by the tone. Shock, disbelief, and something else buried beneath it. Slowly, almost nervously, he nodded.

Before Danny could brace himself, Vlad closed the distance between them and pulled the boy into a sudden, fierce embrace.

Danny stiffened, eyes wide, his mind struggling to process what was happening. For a moment, he stood frozen in the man's arms—and then, hesitantly, his hands lifted, returning the hug. It wasn't a long embrace, but it was heavy with things unsaid.

From the doorway, Penelope watched with visible confusion, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "Vlad," she asked carefully, "Who is he?"

Vlad slowly released Danny, resting a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder before turning to her. His expression was softer now, but there was a trace of concern in his voice when he spoke.

"I'll explain everything," he said firmly. Then, with a brief glance toward the quiet street behind Danny, his tone dropped. "But let's get back inside. We don't know who might be listening."

Hearing Vlad's tone, Penelope's confusion only deepened. Her sharp green eyes flicked between him and the boy standing in the doorway. She didn't understand what was happening—but she could feel the unease radiating from both of them. Something wasn't right.

For a brief moment, she hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly as the night air seemed to grow colder around them. Then, trusting Vlad's urgency, she gave a quick, silent nod.

Without another word, Vlad ushered Danny forward, his hand still resting lightly but protectively on the boy's shoulder. Penelope stepped aside, allowing them both to pass before glancing once over her shoulder—scanning the quiet street, as if expecting someone, or something, to be watching.

Satisfied that they were alone, she shut the door firmly behind them, the soft click of the lock echoing through the dim entryway.

And just like that, the three of them were inside, away from the chill of the night, and far from any prying eyes that might have been lurking in the dark.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, the skyline of Madison, Wisconsin shimmered under a blanket of city lights. The glass walls of a towering corporate building reflected the night in hues of gold and silver, the hum of traffic below fading into a distant murmur.

Inside the top floor office, spacious, sleek, and dimly lit, a woman sat in a high-backed leather chair, her silhouette outlined by the glow of the city beyond the window.

She was striking tall, poised, and effortlessly commanding. Her auburn hair, cut to shoulder length, gleamed softly under the ambient light, and her violet eyes held a kind of cold, knowing sharpness as she stared out over the city. Her lips, painted a bold red, were set in a thoughtful line.

She wore a tailored blue business suit that accentuated her curves with subtle authority, paired with polished black heels that clicked lightly against the marble floor whenever she moved. Every detail about her spoke of control, the kind of person who didn't need to raise her voice to be obeyed.

Behind her, a bald man in a pristine white suit stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back. The faint reflection of the city lights gleamed off his sunglasses, even though they seemed entirely unnecessary indoors. Nervousness was written all over his posture.

"Ma'am," he began carefully, his tone respectful but uneasy. "We haven't found any trace of him, unfortunately. No sightings, no reports. None of our field agents in the surrounding states have picked up on anything either."

He hesitated, shifting slightly.

"It's as if he just... vanished."

For several long seconds, the woman said nothing. She continued to gaze out at the city, her expression unreadable. The silence in the room grew heavy, the kind that made every tick of the wall clock sound louder than it should.

The man swallowed hard. "Ma'am... what would you like us to do?"

Finally, she turned her chair slowly to face him. Her violet eyes locked onto his with unnerving calm, her face as smooth and expressionless as glass. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath every syllable.

"We wait."

The man blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "Ma'am?"

She leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the desk. "We wait until he shows himself," she said, her tone colder now. "That thing can't hide forever. Sooner or later, it'll slip up... and when it does, we'll be ready."

She stood from her chair, heels clicking as she stepped toward him, the faint scent of perfume and authority filling the space between them.

"When it reappears, we hunt it down. We bring it back. No mistakes this time." she continued, Her eyes narrowed, their violet hue almost glowing beneath the low light. "It's too important to lose again. Do you understand?"

The bald man straightened immediately. "Y-Yes, ma'am. Understood."

"Good," she said simply, turning back toward the window. "Then keep your people watching. I want to know the moment anything—anything—out of the ordinary surfaces."

The man gave a curt, respectful nod before turning to leave. His polished shoes echoed softly across the marble floor as he crossed the expansive office. The heavy glass door whispered open, then clicked shut behind him, sealing the room in silence once more.

For a long moment, the woman remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the glittering sprawl of Madison below. The city lights shimmered in her cold and distant eyes, like stars reflected in still water.

Her reflection in the window looked back at her: poised, beautiful, unshaken. Yet beneath that flawless composure lurked something else, an edge of obsession, grief, and quiet fury restrained behind a mask of elegance.

"You can't hide forever, Daniel..." she whispered, her lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile.

The name hung in the air like a ghost, swallowed by the hum of the city below.

As she turned away from the window, the faint blue glow of a Fenton Corp logo flickered across the large holographic display on the far wall. Lines of data and surveillance feeds pulsed across the screen, grainy satellite images, energy readings, ghostly signatures, and a file labeled simply: SUBJECT D. FENTON — STATUS: MISSING.

The woman walked toward her desk, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing through the otherwise silent room. She paused beside the glowing hologram, her expression softening — not with affection, but with something that sat uncomfortably between sorrow and resolve.

This was Dr. Madeline "Maddie" Fenton, once a brilliant inventor and ghost researcher, now the powerful CEO of Fenton Corp, one of the most advanced technology conglomerates in the country.

And the missing "subject" she was hunting... was her only son.

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The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Dr. Madeline Fenton stepped into the heart of Fenton Corp's underground complex, a sprawling labyrinth of reinforced steel, humming containment fields, and sterile white light.

Here, deep beneath the surface, was where the true work of Fenton Corp took place. The public believed this was a research division devoted to clean energy and quantum containment technology. In reality, it was a prison—and a sanctuary—for the supernatural.

Rows of transparent containment pods lined the corridor, each one filled with a faint ectoplasmic glow. Ghosts, entities, and other anomalies floated or paced within their shimmering barriers, their forms flickering faintly like candlelight in the sterile air.

Maddie's heels clicked methodically against the polished floor as she walked past the first chamber.

Subject 012 — "The Youngblood."

Inside the pod floated the spectral image of a boy no older than ten, wearing a tattered pirate hat and clutching a wooden sword. He drifted lazily in midair, humming a childish tune as glowing toy blocks assembled themselves in orbit around him — spinning, collapsing, and reappearing in strange geometries.

He was one of their few cooperative subjects. A rare case of innocence in a world full of vengeance and madness. All he had asked for was a place to play, and someone to play with.

Maddie paused briefly, watching as the boy noticed her and waved with a mischievous grin. She allowed herself a faint smile before moving on.

Next was Subject 010 — "The Unlucky."

A translucent young man in a shredded biker jacket slouched against the corner of his cell, tossing a ghostly coin into the air. Each time it landed, the lights above him flickered or a piece of equipment sparked nearby. His curse, an aura of misfortune that warped probability itself.

He smirked when he saw Maddie pass, the coin vanishing midair as he drawled, "Careful, Doc. I wouldn't take the elevator tonight."

She ignored him. He was more bark than bite, the moment danger showed itself, he was the first to vanish into the ether.

Further down the corridor, Maddie stopped at another containment field — though this one was inactive. Instead, a woman stood just beyond it, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

Subject 008 — "The Shifter."

Her dark hair shimmered like liquid ink, her face shifting subtly even as she spoke, one moment young, another mature, then nearly identical to Maddie herself. She wore a fitted Fenton Corp uniform, the badge on her chest reading AGENT STATUS: APPROVED.

"Evening, Director," the ghost greeted, her tone smooth and confident. "The east containment cells are holding steady. No leaks."

"Good," Maddie replied curtly.

The Shifter smiled faintly.

Maddie continued on.

The next chamber she approached glowed a deep crimson. Inside, swirling tendrils of pink and violet energy pulsed around a tall, ethereal woman with dark eyes and flowing hair. Golden cuffs bound her wrists and ankles, glowing with sigils of power.

Subject 006 — "The Jinn."

A wish-granting entity, but every wish she granted twisted into cruelty. It was her power that had sparked Fenton Corp's research into magical entities beyond ghosts: pixies, fae, even rumors of divine beings hidden among mortals.

As Maddie passed, the Jinn's voice drifted through the containment glass, smooth, melodic, and dripping with temptation. "Care to make a wish, Doctor? I could give you what you've lost."

Maddie didn't stop. "You've caused enough ruin with your lies," she said coldly.

Finally, she came to the far end of the hall, the lights dimmer here, the air heavier.

A reinforced cell sat isolated from the others, surrounded by a dozen energy barriers. Inside, a pale figure hunched over a desk made of manifested ectoplasm, scrawling endlessly on blank sheets that appeared and vanished as soon as the ink touched them.

Subject 004 — "The Writer."

Unlike Youngblood, his power wasn't play; it was creation. Whatever he wrote could become real. Reality itself bent to his imagination, though imperfectly. His mind was ancient, far older than any of the others contained here, and his stories carried weight enough to reshape worlds.

Because of that, he was never permitted freedom.

As Maddie continued deeper into the containment wing, the lights dimmed slightly — a subtle but deliberate design choice. The lower the subject number, the greater the danger.

And then, she reached the reinforced chamber of Subject 002.

The transparent barrier that separated the ghost from the living was layered with multiple containment fields, each one humming faintly, etched with glowing runes and scientific markings alike — a fusion of spectral physics and ancient sealing rites.

Inside the cell drifted a tall, skeletal figure clad in spectral armor that flickered between forms — part medieval knight, part hunter, part phantom beast. A tattered hood covered much of his face, but from beneath it, two burning green eyes pierced through the gloom with predatory focus.

Subject 002 — "The Hunter."

He had earned that title in blood.

This ghost didn't haunt; he hunted. Soldiers, agents, even other ghosts. He stalked his prey for sport, vanishing into the ether before anyone could stop him. The G.I.W., Th Guys In White, Fenton Corp's private enforcement division, had lost more good men to him than any other spectral entity on record.

Maddie's gaze hardened as she approached his containment field. The Hunter stood perfectly still, the faint glimmer of a smirk visible beneath his hood as he sensed her presence.

"Dr. Fenton," he hissed, his voice a chilling whisper that somehow echoed through the containment barrier. "Back to admire your trophy?"

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't look away.

The Hunter tilted his head slightly, a low, hollow laugh reverberating through the chamber.

Maddie turned away, her expression unreadable, though deep within her chest, a quiet ache stirred. This was the ghost that had stolen something from her she could never reclaim. Something precious.

But she hadn't come here for him.

Not tonight.

She continued down the final stretch of the corridor, her footsteps slowing as she approached the most heavily guarded containment chamber of them all. Its doors are several feet thick, reinforced with both ghost-proof alloys and dimensional locks. Even the air around it seemed heavier, time itself pulsing faintly within the walls.

This was where Subject 000 was kept.

Her first capture. Fenton Corps' greatest triumph, and, in a sense, the beginning of everything.

Etched into the glowing identification panel beside the door were two words:

Subject 000 — "The Time Lord."

Even after all these years, the name sent a chill through her. This entity was no mere ghost, but something far more ancient — a being that existed outside the linear flow of time. It had whispered of timelines, fractures, and destinies undone. And though she had bound it here, beneath her company, Maddie often wondered if she had truly captured it... or if, somehow, it had allowed itself to be caught.

Taking a deep breath, Maddie pressed her hand to the scanner. The locks hissed and disengaged with a deep mechanical groan, and the great chamber door began to open, revealing the faint glow of shifting time-energy within.

"Let's see what secrets you're hiding today," she murmured under her breath, stepping into the containment chamber of the being that had once claimed to see every possible future.

The reinforced door slid open with a heavy clang, releasing a faint hiss of air and the low hum of energy fields winding down. Maddie stepped inside, the cold of the chamber brushing against her skin like the whisper of forgotten time.

The space was vast yet barren, a circular room of dark alloy, etched with faintly glowing glyphs and temporal stabilizers that pulsed in a slow, rhythmic cadence—in the very center sat the being known as Subject 000.

He didn't rise or acknowledge her immediately. He simply sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an aura of quiet inevitability.

The ghost's clothing was worn and color-faded. A torn, once-purple tunic and matching pants that looked like they had weathered centuries. His bare feet rested on the cold metal, and his posture was calm, meditative even.

His long, unkempt hair, a tangled mix of gray and black, hung loosely around his face, and a rough, uneven beard framed his mouth, giving him the look of someone who had long since stopped caring about appearances.

And yet, his eyes, a deep, glowing crimson, were not the eyes of a monster. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much. They held sorrow. Patience. And a quiet understanding that transcended pity.

In his hands, incongruously, he held a comic book, its glossy pages crinkled from use. He turned one page delicately, the faint rustle echoing in the otherwise silent chamber.

When he finally looked up, a faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

"Hello again, Maddie," he greeted, his tone soft and even, like the voice of someone speaking from across time itself.

Maddie didn't startle. She never did around him. But her grip on the datapad at her side tightened ever so slightly. "Good evening, Clockwork," she replied, stepping closer. The metallic floor rang softly under her heels. "Were you expecting me?"

Clockwork gave a small, serene nod. "I was."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then you know why I'm here."

"I do," he said simply. His gaze didn't waver. "Young Daniel has escaped."

The words hung heavy in the air, like the tolling of a distant bell.

"I foresaw this, as I usually do. The timeline bends, but never without reason." He said.

Maddie's jaw clenched. "And what does that mean for me?" she demanded, her tone hard and cold, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else, fear, perhaps, or anger too long buried. "What will that thing do now that it's free?"

Clockwork didn't look up as Maddie turned to leave. He simply sighed, softly, almost wistfully, before speaking again.

"Still trying to distance yourself from your own son?" he murmured, flipping another page of his comic. The paper's faint rustle echoed through the otherwise still chamber. "How sad. I thought after what happened with Jasmine, you might've learned to understand your children's pain... their fear. Their humanity."

Maddie froze mid-step.

Clockwork's voice remained calm, but there was something piercing beneath it, the quiet authority of someone who knew too much.

"But I suppose not," he continued, glancing at her over the top of the comic with faint, pitying eyes. "It's difficult to see the big picture when you're so fixated on the smaller ones."

Her jaw tightened. "And what is this 'big picture,' Clockwork?" she asked, her voice cold, clipped.

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried centuries of understanding — and a trace of disappointment. "I've told you before, Maddie. You and Jack both. But you don't want to accept it. You never have."

Her expression sharpened into a glare. "Because what you told us was insane," she shot back. "A ghost rewriting existence? You expect me to believe that?"

Clockwork turned another page, still unbothered. "More insane than ghosts living among you? Than machines that breach dimensions, or a mother who imprisons her own son in the name of science?"

That struck a nerve. Maddie's eyes flared with restrained emotion. Anger, sorrow, perhaps guilt, though she buried it quickly beneath her usual composure.

Clockwork finally closed the comic, letting it rest on his knee. His crimson eyes, weary yet sharp, fixed on her.

"Tell me, Madeline Fenton... if you were a god, if you held the power to reshape everything, what would you do?" he asked, his tone gentle but loaded with gravity. "What kind of world would you create?"

She didn't answer right away. The hum of the containment field filled the silence, steady and mechanical, as she considered his words. Finally, she lifted her chin. "I'd create a perfect world," she said, each word deliberate. "One without ghosts. Without the corruption of the supernatural. A world where humanity can live free from fear."

Clockwork regarded her quietly. Then, softly, he began to chuckle, not mockingly, but almost mournfully, like someone who had heard the same answer countless times before.

"It's always perfection, isn't it?" he said, standing slowly. His form shimmered faintly, phasing between past and present as though time itself bent around his movements. "Every mortal, every ghost, every would-be god, they all crave it. Their version of paradise. Their illusion of control."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glowing faintly brighter.

"But perfection is a lie, Maddie. A comforting one. You look at your world and see only its cracks... while I see the beauty in its fractures. The chaos, the change, the imperfection that gives life meaning. That's the truth only I, and others like me, understand."

Maddie's brow furrowed, suspicion and curiosity wrestling behind her expression. "Others like you?" she asked cautiously. "What do you mean?"

Clockwork turned another page of his comic, the soft rustle echoing through the sterile chamber. For a long moment, he said nothing, only the rhythmic tick of unseen gears filled the silence. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice calm yet resonant, carrying the quiet authority of something eternal.

"Madeline," he began, his crimson eyes still fixed on the pages before him, "I am not merely a ghost, nor a remnant of what once was. I am an essential being to the balance of existence itself. I have lived longer than most can comprehend, so long that even eternity feels familiar. I am as necessary to the universe as death is to life."

He paused then, slowly lifting his gaze from the comic, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dim blue light of his containment cell.

"And do you know what that means?" he asked.

Maddie didn't respond. Her lips pressed into a hard, thin line as she crossed her arms, refusing to take the bait.

Clockwork continued, his tone softening, but only slightly.

"It means that when someone dares to alter the very fabric of reality to fit their own fragile desires—when they twist the world to match their reflection of perfection—beings like me do not change. We cannot change. Chaos, Life, Death, Time, Destiny... we are constants. We are the anchors that keep existence from unraveling."

He rose slightly, his form shimmering between ages, young, old, and ageless all at once, before settling back into his weary, middle-aged guise.

"That is why, all those years ago, I came to you and Jack," he said, his tone now carrying an unmistakable note of melancholy. "To warn you. To prepare you. I told you what this world truly was — a fractured reflection of what once existed, and I told you what you would become if you continued down this path."

Maddie's eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around the edge of her clipboard. "What I've become," she said sharply, "is what this world needed. What humanity needed. Everything I've done — every choice, every sacrifice — I've done for them. For the living."

Clockwork gave a slow, knowing smile — the kind that carried no joy, only sadness.

"You mean for yourself, Maddie," he said quietly. "You always did."

The words hit harder than any physical blow. Maddie's jaw clenched, fury sparking behind her eyes. Without thinking, she slammed her palm against the transparent barrier separating them. The energy field rippled violently, sending a wave of distortion across the chamber.

"You don't know anything!" she snapped, her voice trembling — not from fear, but from barely restrained emotion.

Clockwork didn't flinch. He simply watched her, the faint ticking sound growing louder — or perhaps it was her own heartbeat she was hearing.

"I know more than you'd care to admit," he replied, his tone unchanging. "I know what you did after Jack was taken from you. I know how grief consumed you, how you turned your pain into purpose, your love into obsession... And I know what you did to your children in the name of science."

Maddie's expression faltered, but only for a fleeting moment, a flash of guilt buried beneath the mask of control.

Clockwork's voice grew quieter now, almost sorrowful.

"I know why you keep calling them subjects instead of your children. Because it's easier, isn't it? Easier to pretend they're projects, not people. Easier to study them than to face what you've become."

"Enough," Maddie hissed through gritted teeth, though her voice had lost its edge.

"You tell yourself you're saving humanity," Clockwork said, "but in truth, you're trying to rewrite your own failures. You can cage the dead, Maddie, dissect the supernatural, chain time itself... but you can't undo the choices that led you here."

He leaned forward slightly, his red eyes piercing through the energy field.

"You can't unmake the mother who turned into a warden."

Maddie's breath caught, but only for a second. She turned sharply, her heels clicking against the metal floor as she headed for the exit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

As the heavy door slid shut behind her, Clockwork lowered his gaze once more to his comic, though the faintest trace of sorrow crossed his face.

"Tick-tock, Madeline," he whispered to himself. "Time always reveals what we try to bury."

As the sound of Maddie's footsteps faded into the sterile hum of the lab's corridors, silence once again filled the chamber. Clockwork remained still, eyes lowered toward the comic resting in his hands. The faint blue light from his containment cell shimmered against the glossy pages.

But as he turned another page, the drawings began to shift. The ink bled and swirled, the colors bending into motion until the comic ceased to be mere paper and ink. Instead, it became a window, a looking glass into what was yet to come.

Before him, the panels came alive with movement.

There stood Danny, his expression grim and battle-worn. Around him loomed shadows, distorted silhouettes of figures both human and spectral. Some bore faces familiar to Clockwork: ghosts and humans once trusted, all now twisted. The air within the comic shimmered with spectral energy, and the faint sound of wind, or perhaps wailing, seemed to echo from within its pages.

Clockwork's expression softened, a sigh escaping his lips, weary and ancient. "So it begins," he murmured to himself, tracing a finger across the glowing panel where Danny stood defiant amid the darkness.

He knew who they were. He had seen this prophecy take shape once the new world was created. They called themselves The Manson Tribe, a coalition of the betrayed, greedy, and damned. They were bound together by ideology, vengeance, and something far darker...

And at their center—their leader—was a figure who once stood beside Daniel Fenton as his closest friend and confidante.

Samantha "Sam" Manson.

In the image, she stood cloaked in black and violet, her hands wreathed in crimson energy that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Behind her rose the decaying silhouette of a great gothic mansion, its windows bleeding light, its gardens overrun with thorned vines of Blood Blossoms. From the shadows, spectral figures knelt before her, their eyes glowing faintly with her command.

The humans and ghosts under her, called her The Lady of Blood Blossom Manor. And Danny... would one day have to face her.

Clockwork's gaze lingered on her image—not with hatred, but with profound sorrow. "You were meant to balance him, Samantha," he whispered quietly, his voice echoing through the still air. "Not destroy him."

The comic dimmed, its images fading back to still ink, but the haunting echoes of what he had seen lingered in the air like a chill.

He closed the book carefully and rested it on his knee, staring into the void for a long moment.

"The threads of time are fraying again," he said softly to himself. "And once more, it falls to Daniel to decide what kind of world survives the unraveling."

The faint sound of ticking resumed, steady, relentless, inevitable, as Clockwork leaned back, the shadows of the future reflected in his weary red eyes.

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The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long, restless shadows across the grand yet quiet living room. The scent of oak and aged brandy mingled in the air, warm but heavy, the kind of stillness that made silence feel alive.

Vlad Masters sat in his armchair, shoulders slumped, a glass of amber liquid cradled loosely in his hand. The flames danced in his eyes, their reflection almost mournful. He hadn't spoken for some time, lost in thought, in memory, trying to process the storm of revelations his godson had brought to his doorstep.

He swirled the glass slowly, watching the liquid catch the light.

A soft touch on his shoulder broke the spiral. Penelope appeared beside him, graceful and poised as ever, though the weariness in her eyes betrayed how much the night had weighed on her too. She placed her hand gently against his shoulder, thumb tracing small circles as she looked at him with quiet concern.

When Vlad turned to meet her gaze, he managed a small, tired smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her voice low and even, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm of the room.

Vlad let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, setting his drink down on the table beside him. "As well as I can, after hearing all that from Daniel," he replied after a pause. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the tension visible in the small tremor of his hand. "And you? How are you holding up through all this? I know it was... a lot to have dropped on you so suddenly-"

Penelope shook her head before he could continue. "It was dropped on both of us, dear," she interrupted gently but firmly. "Don't go shoulder all of it yourself just because you think you should've seen it coming."

Her words were steady, but there was warmth beneath them, a subtle echo of affection and shared pain.

Vlad exhaled deeply, his composure cracking just a little. "But I should have, Penelope," he said quietly. "I should have seen the signs. I knew Jack's death broke her—we all did—but I didn't think..."

His voice faltered, the weight of the thought too heavy to finish. He stared into the fire again, eyes hardening.

"I didn't think it would drive her to that. To do something so monstrous... to her own children."

His voice rose with the last words, venom and grief bleeding together until it became something raw.

Penelope's expression darkened, her hand leaving his shoulder to rest atop his arm instead. She lowered herself gracefully onto the sofa beside him, the fabric whispering as she sat.

"I never thought Maddie Fenton would fall so far, either. She always loved Jasmine and Daniel, I can still remember her laughing about their school projects, bragging about their grades," she said after a moment. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know grief can warp people, Vlad, I've seen it break the strongest of hearts. But what she did..."

She shook her head, her tone turning cold.

"To experiment on your own flesh and blood like that, to treat them like subjects instead of children, that's not grief anymore. That's a sickness."

Vlad let out a short chuckle, the kind that carried no joy, only weariness. It was hollow, brittle, like glass about to crack. He set his drink aside and leaned back into the chair, rubbing his temple with his thumb and forefinger. "I didn't need your evaluation to tell me that much, my dear," he said dryly, though his tone softened toward the end. "I suppose I should focus on something productive... get Daniel registered for school tomorrow. Casper High still owes me a few favors, after all."

Penelope nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I'll take a few days off from the clinic," she said. "Help him settle in, get his room ready, buy him some proper clothes, make sure he's comfortable here."

Vlad turned his head to her, brows knitting. "You don't need to do that," he told her firmly. "Your patients need-"

She rolled her eyes, waving him off before he could finish. "Oh, please. My patients can survive without me for a few days. Besides..." She gave a small, amused smile. "It's been years since I've seen Danny, not since he was, what, nine? Ten? He deserves a proper welcome. If he's going to live here, the least we can do is make this house feel like a home again."

Her tone was light, but the emotion behind it was sincere.

Vlad's stern expression softened. He looked into her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose you're right," he admitted quietly. "He could use a little warmth after everything he's been through."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Penelope leaned her head gently on his shoulder, and together they watched the fire burn low in the hearth. The flickering light painted their faces in hues of amber and gold, the steady rhythm of the flames filling the empty spaces their words couldn't.

After a long pause, Penelope spoke again, her voice low, almost hesitant. "Vlad... do you ever regret it?" she asked softly. "Staying here in Amity. Becoming a teacher. Letting go of everything else you could've been?"

Vlad didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the fire, the glow reflecting in their tired depths. For a heartbeat, the question hung heavy in the air.

Then, finally, he shook his head. "No," he said simply, his voice low but resolute.

Penelope lifted her head slightly, looking at him in surprise. "Really? Not even a little?"

Vlad leaned back into the couch, his gaze distant but his voice soft, touched by the quiet melancholy of memory. "After we caught Clockwork, I was elated. I thought I'd reached the pinnacle of everything I'd worked for. Jack and I, our theories are true. The existence of the afterlife, the mechanics of ectoplasmic energy, the bridge between life and death... everything we had dreamed of was real," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He let out a small, bitter laugh. "For a while, I felt invincible. I was helping build Fenton Corp from the ground up, shaping history alongside my two best friends. How could I not be proud?"

His expression darkened slightly, eyes flickering toward the fire.

"But then Jasmine was born,  and suddenly, everything changed. I saw the way Jack looked at Maddie, the way they looked at their daughter. There was love, joy, a life that existed beyond science and discovery. And I realized..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "I'd been so obsessed with the afterlife that I'd forgotten to live my own."

Penelope stayed quiet, her eyes softening as he continued.

"And then, you came along—you, this brilliant, passionate woman who cared about people more than prestige. You had drive, purpose, but you also had heart. You didn't chase ghosts or theories. You lived unapologetically, beautifully." Vlad said, turning to her with a faint, wistful smile, "And through you, I saw the world differently. You made me want to help people, not for recognition, but because it mattered. Because they mattered."

He smiled faintly, his tone quiet and sincere.

"You gave me something Jack and Maddie never could — a reason to stop chasing what was dead and start cherishing what was alive. You gave me more than money, more than success ever could."

Penelope's face flushed a deep pink. She looked away for a moment, hiding her smile behind her hand. "I forget how much of a sweet talker you can be sometimes," she teased, though her voice wavered with emotion.

Vlad chuckled warmly, setting his drink aside. "I'm simply stating the truth, my dear," he said with that familiar smirk of his. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added, "Besides, it might be good to have Daniel around, gives us a bit of practice for when our little one reaches his age."

The room fell silent for half a beat.

Penelope blinked, her head snapping toward him in surprise. "Wait—" Her brows furrowed, a spark of mock irritation flashing across her face. "How did you know?" she demanded, folding her arms.

Vlad's grin widened into a mischievous smirk. "That, my dear, is my little secret," he said smoothly, leaning back with the satisfaction of a magician who refuses to reveal his trick.

Penelope lightly smacked his arm. "Vladimir Masters, you tell me right now! How did you find out?"

Vlad laughed, his voice rich and amused. "Well," he said, feigning innocence, "let's just say a certain blonde intern at your clinic has... loose lips."

Penelope scoffed, though a playful smile tugged at her lips. "Of course it was Star," she said, exhaling in mock annoyance. "That girl couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it."

Vlad chuckled, swirling the last of his drink. "Now, now, don't be too hard on her. She thought you'd already told me when you found out. She just... connected a few too many dots and let it slip."

Penelope leaned back, crossing her arms with a faux pout. "I was going to tell you," she said pointedly. "In fact, tonight was supposed to be my big, romantic reveal. But no, now Star gets to ruin it before I could even light the candles."

"Candles?" Vlad asked, lifting an amused brow. "I had no idea I was in for such an elaborate confession."

She gave him a look that was half amusement, half exasperation. "Well, you're not getting it now," she said. "I'll just have to find another way to get back at her for spilling the beans."

Vlad shook his head, though he couldn't stop the smile forming on his face. "You are not punishing one of my students over a harmless mistake," he said, voice firm but gentle. "Poor girl already looked like she wanted to sink through the floor when she realized she'd let it slip."

Penelope sighed, dramatically throwing her hands up. "Alright, fine," she said, pretending to concede. Then a sly smirk curved her lips. "I won't punish her... but I'll let her think I will~."

Vlad laughed, a genuine, rich sound that filled the room. "You know," he said between chuckles, "for a brilliant, compassionate psychiatrist, you take an awful lot of joy in psychological torment."

Penelope pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. "Oh, I wouldn't call it torment," she said sweetly. "Just a little... playful suspense. Keeps life interesting."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Vlad teased, finishing his drink with a small smirk.

Penelope grinned. "Too late for that, dear. You married me."

That made him laugh even harder, his shoulders shaking as he set his glass aside. Penelope joined him, their laughter mingling with the soft crackle of the fire — the sound warm and intimate, a brief reminder of peace in a world that had long forgotten it.

When the laughter finally faded, the two sat quietly for a moment, basking in the comfort of each other's company. The firelight painted their faces in gold, flickering like the memory of better days.

"Come on," Vlad said softly, rising from the couch and offering her his hand. "We'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be... eventful."

Penelope nodded, slipping her hand into his. "Especially now that we'll have a teenager — and a baby — under one roof."

Vlad smiled faintly as he led her toward the stairs. "Yes," he said quietly. "I imagine life's about to get very... interesting."

Together, they ascended the stairs, their laughter fading into the warm silence of the house — unaware of the storm that would soon find its way to their doorstep.

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Author's Note:

So, if you haven't figured it out completely, this story is based on DC's Absolute Universe.

I know I'm setting up a lot of questions and mysteries, but trust me, they will all be answered soon.

Also... If you think I'm only having Danny be a part of this Universe, you're in for a surprise~! I'm gonna have plenty of other Nickelodeon cartoons referenced or appear in this story, who will also have their own "Absolution" story going on in the background.

I have plans for Jenny from My Life as a Teenage Robot, Jimmy Neutron, Fairly Odd Parents, and El Tigre.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter because we'll finally see this "Manson Family" in the next one~!