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Casper Academy of Ghost Hunting

Cross-posted from FF.net:

Summary: AU. After citizens evacuated and ghost hunters gathered in the First Invasion, the recently formed Ghost Hunting Agency of Amity Park founded Casper Academy of Ghost Hunting (CAGH) – a high school with an aim to train a new generation of ghost hunters and researchers. Tucker Foley, an incoming freshman, is unsure of his position on ghosts. He does know that CAGH has a lot to offer him, but, first, he has to survive his roommate, basic training class, and ghosts themselves.

"Ha-nd-shake, Ha-nd-shake,

Hand-shake makes a good frie-nd."

- Handshake song (Chinese children's song)

Initiation

Tucker would never admit that seeing sights in real life could really invoke more emotion than seeing sights on a screen. But he couldn't help but stare at the looming structure in front of him. Beyond the already intimidating building, tall walls stretched for most of his vision; he knew they eventually turned and turned again to form an enclosure big enough to confine any ghost army. He couldn't help but feel like an inconsequential speck in comparison, like one electron in a sea of current. Standing so close made him almost reconsider his decision to attend.

Almost. He, Tucker Foley, was not one to doubt himself.

He hefted the last, most vital bundle of his possessions – a duffel full of his beloved technological partners – to sit more securely on his shoulder. The rest of his packed belongings had already been moved to his new room, courtesy of help from his parents. While he appreciated their love and support – he wouldn't do any excess physical labor unless his life called for it, he was very glad his roommate wasn't in the room. Their excess displays of physical endearment really showed they would miss their only child.

He turned to give his parents a final wave as they started their drive back home.

Home. Casper Academy of Ghost Hunting, known as CAGH, would be his new home for the next four years. The idea seemed foreign in his head. When he could no longer see his parents' car, he turned back to regard the unfamiliarity of the reinforced sidings and windows, the defense and rigidness that seemed so contrary to his family's warm and inviting home and hearth.

A fog of loneliness suddenly crept over him, but he reminded himself that all of his friends were already at his side – literally. He took a deep breath and plastered a winning, swoon-inducing smile on his face as he stepped through the doors. Tucker Foley took things in stride.

After flashing his new ID card to the secretary and passing through a few scanners – would he really have to go through this every time he came in? – Tucker navigated the maze of hallways to enter the school and then the dorm.

As awesome that it was to live next to the world's leading research center in his field of interest, he felt that he might get a little annoyed with all the security within a few weeks.

He wasn't sure how he felt about what the amount of surveillance meant. Should he feel comforted by the protection? Or worried that the ghosts were powerful enough to warrant such defensive measures? He hadn't seen a ghost in real life since years ago in the First Invasion. They'd been terrifying then – especially since everyone had known so little about them.

Tucker shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories. Noticing that he had reached his door was a good distraction. He stopped and crossed his fingers, hoping that his roommate had not returned yet – he hadn't missed the athletic jacket hanging off his roommate's chair when he had been moving in his belongings. Nor had he failed to see the implicating football on his roommate's desk.

He would be content if his roommate wandered off the face of the planet and never showed up, or at least got spooked by a ghost and never returned. Tucker did not want a repeat of his junior high status as the "human dumbbell," a.k.a. the unwilling exercise tool for the jocks.

A key turn and door swing later, he found that luck hadn't smiled upon him. Tucker shot his roommate a quick glance before inching towards his chair on his side of the room. Blond hair, stocky build.

"Oh, hi, I'm Dash Baxter." The other boy looked up from what seemed to be sports news on his laptop. He grinned and jerked his hand in a cool greeting "What's up?"

Tucker stopped himself from raising an eyebrow at his friendliness and smiled instead. "Nothing but awesomeness. Tucker Foley. 'T.F.' as in 'too fab' for the ladies."

He inwardly berated himself for letting his mouth run. He felt his breath catch in anticipation. Can I please not have to live with this guy for a whole year?

Dash furrowed his eyebrows briefly before his expression shifted to one of excitement. "Can you believe that classes start tomorrow? I've been dreaming of becoming a ghost hunter ever since CAGH opened. We can be real-live superheroes!"

Tucker glanced to the side, his embarrassment changing into some sort of shame, and began unpacking one of his bags. He responded dispassionately, "Yeah."

"I'm gonna be the best in the school when I'm a senior, like the Masters' Blasters. You've heard of them, right?" Dash continued in his excitement, raising a fist as he spoke.

"Right." Tucker continued placing clothes into drawers.

The Masters' Blasters were the highest ranking team of seniors. He'd read online that CAGH had a ranking system for each grade, so as to help increase competition between students for the few employers who wanted ghost hunters. Upperclassmen often worked in self-formed teams, and the top team was given that name because they were slated to be hired by the billionaire Vlad Masters. What was impressive was that they also held the top three individual ranks.

"They're so awesome! Thrash's strength, Vid's moves, and Download's aim. I'm gonna train so I'll be just like them!" Dash had an awed look in his eyes. "Training is first thing in the morning tomorrow! Hey, do we have the same classes?"

Tucker sighed, predicting that the dynamic would change drastically. "No, I'm actually in the research track. We have a few classes different from the ghost-hunter track, although we do all have the same basic training class in the morning."

Dash frowned and made a face. "Wait, really? So you're one of those geeky freaks? Ew!"

"And you're a hero-wanna-be? I want to be alive instead, thank you very much." Tucker couldn't help but retort.

"I'm going to go and find some cool people. Keep your nerdiness away from me!"

Tucker shook his head as Dash left the room. Sure he had guessed what would happen, but did Dash really have to be such a jock about it?

He then shrugged and booted up Rosalina, his newest PDA. His unpopularity might be the same as it was in junior high, but he would prove that he was not a foe to mess with. I will show him up and prove to him that I, Tucker Foley, am someone awesomely cool.

He would finish unpacking later, he told himself.

The top-notch gym gleamed and smelled new. Various pieces of equipment dotted the entire room, separating the enormous space into more understandable foci – separate stations for exercises.

Tucker groaned.

His resolution to outperform Dash was easier said than done. There was no hope for him even getting close to Dash's level in the physical aspect. He decided maybe he'd find another way to oppose him.

He barely completed his third push-up with shaking arms and then collapsed onto the ground as he began his fourth. Seventeen more to go.

At this rate, he wouldn't even be able to pass the class.

"Foley! Stop hugging the ground and get moving!" Mrs. Tetslaff had moved to stand over him. "And you had enough sass to argue about fairness. It seems to me that you're just trying to be lazy. Lucky for you, we don't underperform here at CAGH, else you'd be ghost grub in seconds. Move!"

A shiver slid down his back at the close proximity of the voice and he found himself attempting another push-up. Somehow, his arms and shoulder muscles followed through, despite how much they shook.

Tucker would forever regret raising his voice during the first minutes of class. Mrs. Tetslaff was scary.

He'd argued that the requirement for passing the class was unfair and illogical. Really, passing a class should be based on being able to perform at the permissible standards. The current policy of passing only when you were not ranked in the lowest 10% of the year was unjust – what if the students in his year were just freakishly talented?

He lay his head down after his arms refused to function again. Fourteen more push-ups . . . Thankfully, Mrs. Tetslaff had moved to another area of the gym to torment another poor victim.

From a look around, he saw that only a few of his yearmates struggled with these foundational fitness exercises. And with around 50 students in his year, he knew he was definitely in the bottom 10% in terms of physical ability. Everyone else seemed to be extremely fit. Catching up to the others would be difficult.

Having rested for a few seconds – and admittedly because he glimpsed Mrs. Tetslaff glance over – Tucker began attempting another push-up. He would soon approach the time limit for the exercise and would have to forego the corresponding points for his grade in the class.

Most of these exercises didn't quite matter, however, as long as he didn't care about grades. The ranks were based solely on skills directly related to ghost hunting. Matches within the class that actually dealt with ghosts as well as evaluations of performance during attacks, or so he had heard.

"Time's up! Move to the next station!" Mrs. Tetslaff yelled with a volume that could fill a whole stadium.

Tucker got up shakily and moved to the closest exercise station. He deliberated, wondering whether he should wait or just get it over with, but Mrs. Tetslaff had already hollered to start.

Ghost Blaster Aim. He frowned as he stood in front of one of the only basic exercises that could be counted towards the ranking.

Of course, the only spot left was the one next to his roommate, of all people.

He approached the spot and picked up the ghost blaster. He positioned the back of the blaster on his right shoulder, used his left hand for support, and slipped his right hand into a position that could operate the trigger. The position felt awkward, but it was what he remembered from Mrs. Tetslaff's quick demonstration.

He aimed and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened.

Tucker pressed again, and there was still no result. He held the blaster at a slight distance from himself and checked for anything that appeared abnormal. The battery meter indicated that the blaster still had battery, the power meter displayed that the next shot was charged to full power, and no connecting joints seemed off, as far as he knew.

He aimed and tried again, but to no avail.

Tucker frowned and glanced around to see if the others shooting were doing anything differently.

"Hey Dash," he tried. "Can you show me what I'm doing wrong?"

Dash glanced at him and then resumed his focus on his own aiming.

"Please? As your fellow roommate? I'll do something for you in return." Tucker considered giving him puppy-dog eyes but decided he wanted to salvage his remaining pride.

This time, Dash didn't even make any indication that he had heard him.

Tucker sighed. It wasn't like Dash would really hurt his own score if he stopped for a few seconds. The ranking used the best score over one minute out of the five minutes allotted.

He stared at his blaster.

It took him another minute before he realized that he just forgot to turn off the safety, which he had somehow missed even though it was near his thumb. He excused himself for the mistake; Mrs. Tetslaff had hurled a torrent of information at them in the first few minutes of class, and he was bound to have missed a few things.

His score wouldn't excuse him, however.

Tucker squared himself to focus on his aim.

If anyone asked, he would attribute his semi-decent score to his practice on the computer. His hand-eye coordination was levels ahead of his physical strength. Nothing else benefited, however. He felt like he could barely move when, stations later, Mrs. Tetslaff finally blew the whistle for the class to change.

He barely made it to the locker room.

Fortunately, his fears of bullying did not come true – there were no incidents inside. Tucker stepped out with relief. Upon exiting, he saw a cluster of people staring up at the wall. His curiosity overcame him and he joined. Year rankings.

Number one in freshman year was someone named Danny Fenton, and number two was Valerie Grey. Surprisingly, Dash only made third place. Tucker decided he would avoid all of them. First step in the program of smooth living: avoidance.

He groaned again when he found his name near the bottom.

Tucker wouldn't admit to anyone that he was scared. His thoughts were fleeting and his hands were shaking.

That didn't stop him from trying to hack the cameras, however.

The noise of complaint from around fifty crowded teenagers filtered around him. The bunker was safe, but apparently most of his classmates wanted to go and participate. Tucker wanted to know why he was the only sane one in the room.

"Why can't we help out? It'd be good hands-on experience."

"I bet you I can catch ten of those ghosts. I'll be the top performer in invasions in no time."

"They should at least let the experienced students get a chance to fight. Some of us do have more than one month of combat training."

That last voice had been Valerie. Her arms were crossed and she tapped her foot impatiently. Tucker's avoid-potential-bullies plan was going splendidly – he could identify and evade from 50 feet.

"It's just a policy to make sure we're all safe. Everyone can have a month to train properly before their first fight. Safety first."

He wished he had caught who had said that last bit. We can be sane together.

Tucker's focus centered on Rosalina as he finally broke through security. His screen streamed a video of the center area of the Inner Shield, under which older students of the school and members of the adjoining Ghost Hunting Agency of Amity Park dealt with a wave of ghosts. The gap fluctuations had reached a peak again.

He winced as he saw someone slam into the pavement. Around half of the people he could see were using hoverboards of some sort. Tucker wanted to get his hands on that tech.

"Hey Sucker Foley, could you do that for me?" A voice that rang alarm bells in his head distracted Tucker.

He looked up to see his roommate watching his PDA's screen over his shoulder. Tucker hesitated, remembering his own earlier request that had been rejected. "My name is Tucker."

"Fine. Tucker." Dash stepped closer.

Tucker still didn't say anything.

"Oh look! This kid over here has a way to watch the fighting," Dash spoke, intentionally louder than what was typical for normal conversation. "Wouldn't it be helpful if he could share it with all of us? I hope he's not too mean to keep it to himself."

Tucker wished his glare could somehow make Dash's hair turn pink or do something else that was humiliating, but he didn't have superpowers. Instead, he just responded, "I'm sorry, but I only have a small screen. It's too small for us."

"Hey, I have my laptop. Could you somehow link your device?" Someone from the crowd raised a fairly large laptop into the air, but it was still only a laptop.

"It's too small for everyone." Tucker frowned, realizing that the sudden attention was kind of nice but also terrifying.

"Well, it's better than crowding over your tiny screen." Dash smirked, obviously smug that he could order Tucker around.

Only for the crowd. I'll so get you back for this. He already had some ammo from being his roommate, namely the pink and purple, fluffy collection not-so-well-hidden in Dash's closet. He was just waiting for enough marks against him so that he wouldn't have any remorse for letting a man's guilty secrets out.

"Okay, I'll do it."

A short time later, thanks to his mad skills, all of the freshmen were crowded around the small laptop screen.

Tucker watched as the hunters performed agile maneuvers that he could only hope to do. He watched as ghosts were smoothly eradicated. He watched as the hunters sucked the remaining stragglers into containment devices.

He marveled at how far humans had come from since the First Invasion. Maybe ghosts aren't too much of a threat after all. And then there was that incident one year ago on the computer . . .

Apparently, someone held the same views, except to the extreme. After returning to his ecto-sciences class and finishing another day of school, he spotted a girl holding a protest sign in the hall. "Ghosts are people too" was written in large letters on the handmade placard.

Tucker checked his files on the PDA. He knew that girl, since she was fifth in the freshmen rankings. Samantha Manson. Black hair, purple eyes. Somehow, she gave the vibe that she would be wearing black if not for the uniform.

He wondered at her statement. He thought of the monsters that had been so inhumanly awful in their encroachment and terrorizing of helpless civilians. And then he thought of the strange boy that he had glimpsed and the decent-but-wanting-to-take-over-the-world ghost that he'd unknowingly helped last year in the MMORPG that was Doomed.

For once, he, Tucker Foley, was confused.

He returned to his dorm. Dash did not even acknowledge his existence.

Tucker still felt torn a week later.

Samantha Manson, or Sam as everyone seemed to call her, had managed to gain the attention from some people with influence.

In the same location where she had been protesting, Sam now sat at a table with flyers placed upon it. Beside Sam was an orange-haired upperclassman that Tucker saw often in the research library. She introduced herself as Jazz Fenton, the vice president of the Ecto-equality Club. Sam was the president and Mr. Lancer was the faculty sponsor.

The flyers, which sported the motto "People fear the unknown, so make it known," announced that their first meeting was in a week. Tucker took an obligatory slip, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn't attend. He wasn't a social person. He had more important, less confusing things to do.

Why can't life be more like programming? It would be so much easier if life was more clear-cut. Like an if-else statement. The flow would either move to execute one statement if true or the other if false. No kind-of true or kind-of false. Ghosts were either evil-and-should-be-terminated or decent-and-should-be-tolerated.

He sighed and continued towards the classrooms.

Class passed as usual, and Tucker found himself entering the library in his typical routine. Going to his dorm room would mean seeing Dash.

As he sat down, his classmate Mikey approached and sat next to him.

"Tucker, I'm going to tell you something really serious." Mikey wasn't his usual, exuberant self. His face looked grave, and he was staring intently across the library.

Tucker followed his line of sight to the seated Jazz Fenton.

Mikey didn't seem to blink as he stared. "I think I like a girl."

"Jazz Fenton?" Tucker confirmed.

Mikey nodded. "She's so pretty."

He continued, almost starting to drool. "She's so smart, top of the junior class. And she's also athletic, third in the rankings despite being in the research track . . ."

"That's impressive."

Mikey acted as if he hadn't heard him and carried on. "Did you know that her parents are two of the founders of GHAAP? They were the brains behind the gap centralizer. The Fentons also design a lot of the weapons that we use."

Mikey liked to shorten "Ghost Hunting Agency of Amity Park" to "GHAAP," which he pronounced like the word "gap." Everyone else called it the Agency, to avoid confusion. It was just one of his quirks.

"Wow." Tucker whistled in admiration. The gap centralizer somehow focused all the portals from the ghost world into one area – the enclosed one behind the school and agency – so defense could be feasible. The portals also opened in groups more often, allowing for ghosts to be dealt with in waves. "So, are you going to ask her out?"

The question seemed to knock Mikey out of his daze and he shook his head sadly. "No way. I estimate that I'll have a 7% chance that she'll accept."

"Come on, you're selling yourself short." Tucker gave Mikey a manly slap on the back. "You're one of the smartest freshmen in the research track. You should go introduce yourself to her at least."

"Thanks, but I think I need to strategize more." As Mikey said this, he resumed his ogling and his voice faded out.

Tucker gave him a sympathic look and then dragged Mikey behind a bookshelf. "I think she'd be bothered if she saw you staring so much, unless you introduced yourself."

Mikey blinked slowly and seemed to come back to himself again. "Right, thanks."

"So how was your day?" Tucker moved on to normal conversation, hoping it would be enough of a distraction.

Mikey frowned. "Same as usual. Basic training sucked; classes were a mix of boring and fascinating."

"Yeah, basic training was bad." Tucker winced, stretching his sore muscles. "I feel you – I saw Dash being very vicious in his sparring with you. Maybe even worse than how Valerie was with me. I don't get why Mrs. Tetslaff thinks the poor performers should pair with the top. 'Learning by example' doesn't quite work when you're just getting pummeled."

Mikey grimaced while rotating his shoulders. "And the Ghost Blaster Aim. Now that you have to run while shooting moving objects, my score is so much worse."

Suddenly, he froze and then buried his face in his hands. "See, I'm not even close to Jazz's level. I'm so far below it. How can I even think of being with her?"

Tucker patted Mikey on the back, inwardly berating himself for reminding Mikey of his insecurities. "Come on, I don't think she thinks that way. Intelligence is far superior, and you're one of the brightest. What's the use of muscles if you can't think well enough to use them?"

"But she has both!"

Tucker could spot that tears had started to gather in Mikey's eyes.

"Why don't you go and impress her with your smarts? But, tell her your low rank. She's smart enough to decide whether or not she likes you herself, don't you think?" Tucker kept his voice level and calming. Tuck the relationship doctor is on and rolling.

Mikey sniffled and stopped. "That makes sense. She won't accept me, but at least I'll have a chance. Thanks, Tucker! I'll go plan out the conversation now."

Mikey darted away, and Tucker marveled at how changeable and hyper his accidental friend was. They sat next to each other in their ecto-sciences class, and Mikey had a tendency of chatting.

Within seconds, Tucker had learned that Mikey was excited to be at CAGH but had no idea what subject he wanted to focus his research on, although it was probably the application of the quantum theory of ghosts or something similar. Tucker kept listening, and now he was probably his only human friend.

He sat back down at his table with a library book on "ecto-aura effects on electronics" and took out his PDA. Time for his own research.

This time, his entire body was shaking. He felt like he could drop his ghost blaster at any second. Somehow, he managed to order his legs to move and have them move when he drifted away from the door to let other classmates come in.

With an electric buzz, the glimmering green ghost shield activated over the door as the last person entered. They were now encased in an emerald dome within the walls. The uncomfortable chill in the air and undulating atmospheric feeling signified a new wave of ghost portals.

Tucker took in a deep breath. Two months is not enough training before being thrown into such a situation.

He felt his mental processing slow as he watched ghost portals form and the bright, grotesque blobs of ghosts emerge. He was so nervous that he already couldn't recall some of the details of the scene.

Abruptly, he realized that they'd separated into groups, each to face a portal and the ghosts that came from the portal.

Blasts started to fire, and a cacophony of yells and ghostly shrieks sounded in the air.

He hated how little control he felt like he had.

There were too many things going around him. Flashes from blasts. Multiple possible targets. No control.

He raised his blaster at the nearest ghost and fired. The radioactive blob seemed to dim slightly.

Tucker waited for the next blast to charge and pressed again, but the amorphous ghost seemed to have been distracted by a different member in his group.

Instead, his shot hit a newly emerging ghost. The vague feeling of triumph for hitting twice in a row disappeared as the ghost turned and set its hellfire eyes on him.

Tucker comprehended his doom in an instant.

The ghost tensed itself. Before Tucker could even perceive time passing, the ghost was in front of him. He could feel the coldness of its flames.

Suddenly, Tucker felt a thud of minor pain from impact and his vision tilted. There was a mumbled apology of someone on top of him.

Tucker could only stare as the terrifying ghost stood inches from running him over. In its path was a glowing green shield.

The person who had knocked him down seemed to be straining as the shield flickered.

"Level 8 ghost!" A red flare nearby went up.

Another mixture of light filled the area, with accompanying yells. The ghost backed up.

"You're not hurt, are you?" Glowing green eyes looked at him intensely.

The owner dragged him away from the powerful ghost. Tucker shook his head.

Right. Amateurs weren't supposed to be near Level 5 ghosts or above.

"Don't get near, and stay safe." The glowing green eyes seemed to dim into a light blue.

The protector dashed off.

Fighting went on around him, but Tucker felt his legs buckle beneath him like a puppet without strings.

By the time Tucker overcame his shock of his near-certain death and could even begin to understand what had happened, all portals had been closed and the hunters were cleaning up the last remnants of the wave.

That face. Tucker had faintly recognized the person who had saved him. He took out Rosalina and flipped to his list. Danny Fenton, number one in the freshman rankings. Except he had looked a bit different. His memory was a blur, however, so he dropped the thought.

Tucker turned to look for him. He isn't that bad, actually. He had to thank him, at least.

When his eyes found Danny in the mess of people, Tucker made a move towards him. He slowed when he saw the commotion, however. A few officials from the Agency were standing defensively around him. It didn't make any sense, but their blasters weren't pointing outward against any possible threat. They were pointed at Danny.

Tucker felt himself freeze in confusion. He watched a higher-ranked official walk towards Danny and cuff his proffered wrists. From his distance, Tucker could still manage to see Danny's annoyed but resigned expression. He wasn't in any serious danger, then. Hopefully.

Tucker liked to think he was proficient at reading people.

Part of him – a nanoscopic one – wanted to charge through and demand what the situation was. The other argued that a commotion would create unsafe chaos. Or, that's what he told himself. He watched as Danny was led away.

What just happened?

The stats from the attack had dropped Dash a place in the rankings, so Tucker tried even harder to evade his wrath. He'd practically lived in the library the past couple of days, stopping at his dorm room only to change and switch out his belongings when he knew that Dash was in class or practice.

When they had briefly bumped into each other, Dash had continually put him down. It was worse than before. While he, Tucker Foley, had a resilient, impervious soul, it did hurt a guy to keep harping on the things he wasn't as perfect at.

He was typing a few lines for his homework when he heard someone approaching him. He looked up from his laptop and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

It was a good thing Mikey wasn't here, or else the situation would've gotten awkward quickly.

"Hi, you're Tucker Foley, right? Can I ask you a few questions?" Jazz Fenton gestured to the seat next to him. Her teal eyes looked calculating. "It's for my ghost psychology research."

Tucker nodded carefully. Her disposition seemed friendly, but why was she asking him? Maybe she needed to ask a lot of people. He shut his laptop screen.

"This is anonymous, so please tell me what you honestly think." Jazz set herself down and gestured while she talked. Her palms faced upward, with her hands and fingers spread. "How do you feel about ghosts?"

Tucker frowned, considering for several seconds before responding. "They're fine, I guess. Some are terrifying, but we can take care of them easily. Mostly, I think they're interesting."

Should he really be honest? Jazz was the vice-president of the Ecto-equality Club, so she should be open-minded.

Keep it to things you're sure of. Not the opinions you're still debugging.

Jazz nodded encouragingly. "Can you explain what you mean by interesting?"

"They're different from what is normal. The laws of physics don't always seem to apply to them. I can't even imagine how technology can be advanced if we understood why these laws don't apply in those situations." Tucker gestured vaguely into the air in an effort to describe the potentials in research.

Jazz smiled. "Yes, it's amazing what can happen, in such a broad range of fields as well. How do you feel about the Agency's methods of researching and dealing with ghosts?"

"You mean how they destroy most of them and keep the others for research?" Tucker replied. "Ghosts can be really dangerous, so I think that's logical. And with this caution, I don't see another way to perform some of that research."

"That's a reasonable way of thinking." Jazz commented. Her face then shifted to a slightly more serious expression. "You mentioned that 'some' ghosts are terrifying. What do you mean by 'some'?"

"Well, not all ghosts are the same. Some are more powerful than others. Some seem to have more desire for destruction." Tucker let his eyes roam over the massive shelves of texts as he replied. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if any of them were more tolerant. Most didn't seem to care about differences among ghosts.

That – the variety of ghosts – was something he was sure of, after what he had seen. What he wasn't sure about was how he felt about whether the ghosts should all be eradicated.

"If someone told you that a benevolent ghost exists, what would you say?" Jazz narrowed her eyes, seeming to consider her words carefully.

Tucker took a deep breath of the climate-controlled air, an image from the computer screen – so fleeting he questioned if he had imagined it – of glowing green eyes on a young face as well as a much clearer black-and-white blur emerging from his memory. "I'd say that's possible."

"How would you feel if the Agency acted on that benevolent ghost as they usually do with ghosts?"

Tucker frowned as he realized that the question encroached what he was unsure about. That ghost – the one that had fought so hard to stop the machinations of the other . . . it wouldn't be right if he was ended and used for research. But how did you know if a ghost was good? "I don't know. That doesn't feel right, if you can tell what I mean."

Jazz seemed to watch him carefully. She then grinned brightly. "You passed my test. I'll admit I wasn't being entirely truthful with you. While I will use your results for my study, I was mainly just assessing your agreeability with a favor I want to ask of you."

Tucker blinked.

Offhandedly, he wondered whether she had influenced CAGH's three pillars through connections from her parents. Apprehend. Innovate. Maintain. The "A" wasn't "Annihilate" or something similar. Does that mean the Fentons are more tolerant? He shook his head, returning his thoughts to the task at hand as he berated himself for considering something without much basis.

"I don't have much to offer, but I'll be in debt to you if you help me." Jazz stood up abruptly. "I'll need to ask you this somewhere else. Can you pack your things and come with me?"

"Sure." Tucker placed his belongings into his backpack slowly. His mind ran through various explanations ranging from Jazz-wants-people-to-join-her-club to Jazz-is-part-of-a-ghost-resistance-and-wants-appropriate-vessels-for-her-ghost-friends.

Jazz led him to a custodial closet. She glanced surreptitiously around the hall before taking a step towards the door handle. Surprisingly, she had keys and adeptly unlocked the door.

It wasn't a custodial closet. The room beyond was fairly massive and didn't have a mop in sight.

Tucker gulped as he followed Jazz into the room.

She shut the door quickly and spun around with her arms akimbo. "Don't tell anyone about this place. If you do . . ."

Tucker nodded vigorously. Jazz's expression just screamed "don't mess with me." Girls were scary.

"Well, just don't." Jazz relaxed her stance slightly and gestured to the high, bare ceiling. "This place is one of the only places that aren't under surveillance by the Agency. Recently, the Agency acquired enough money to buy security cameras and ecto-cameras for practically every corner of the school, meaning that this will be the only place without surveillance in a few months."

The dim lighting of the room cast shadows on what seemed to be a small quantity of ghost-hunting weapons. Tucker shivered.

Jazz's expression grew even more serious. "That's a problem for us. I work with a couple others to capture some of the more sentient ghosts. Because the Inner Shield is under so much stress, there are quite a few of the more powerful ghosts who sneak through. Because more powerful ghosts have a tendency to be more sentient, we feel that it isn't ethically proper if they are obliterated by the Agency.

"So we catch them ourselves, after tracking them down in the building and leading them here." She pointed to the ghost weapons.

Jazz continued. "However, the new addition of ghost sensors and cameras means that the Agency will find those ghosts first instead. This is where you come in. I've heard that you're the tech guy. If you can hack into their surveillance, you can keep our work secret.

"So, what do you say?"

After starting to help Jazz, Tucker had found out that the others she worked with were her brother and Sam Manson. She hadn't given him any other information, so his curiosity remained piqued and he kept a closer eye on the two during basic training.

Bright light flashed in his peripheral vision and Tucker turned his attention over from Sam's impressive athletic form to Danny's Ghost Blaster Aim test. Tucker gaped as he saw his accuracy score. Ninety-five percent, even with all that maneuvering.

No wonder Danny was ranked first. With those skills, it also made sense that he had been able to save him.

He still hadn't thanked him for saving him. The first day after the attack, Danny hadn't been there. The next, Danny had returned seemingly without harm but seemed to vanish right after class. The rest of the week, Tucker just hadn't mustered the courage to talk to him in time. His excuse was the fact that Danny disappeared so easily. But, really, that was an excuse . . . he was just preparing an epic speech of gratitude.

"Foley! Get your mind out of the clouds and move! I called a station change fifteen seconds ago and you haven't budged an inch." Mrs. Tetslaff boomed from across the gym. "I am five seconds away from signing your name down as one of the students who will fail the class."

Tucker stopped himself from retorting about fairness – was it even allowed to decide preemptively that a student would fail? – and scrambled up from where he was laying on the ground. Despite over two months of training, he still exhausted himself before he could finish any of the basic training skill sets.

He groaned as he lay down to start sit-ups. At least now they didn't do strengthening exercises the whole time. Mrs. Tetslaff would teach them a few techniques such as how to dodge into a roll or how to lead with a blaster. While he was still horrible at those, they at least didn't make him as sore.

His high-quality olfactory sense alerted him to some sort of substance in the air. It smelled like plants, of what particular type he was uncertain because, well, plants weren't his specialty.

The air was starting to appear slightly red.

Then, Tucker blinked, confused. He'd been watching Danny; one moment Danny had been skillfully maneuvering around ping pong balls from the Projectile Dodge test and the next he was on his knees clenching a fist over his chest.

"Danny!" Sam rushed to him from an adjacent station. She had probably been keeping an eye on him as well. "Mrs. Tetslaff, can I take him to the infirmary?"

With the way she was worried, Tucker had an inkling to the reason why she had been watching him.

Danny groaned. From his distance, Tucker could see that he was shaking pretty badly.

Did the air around him seem to be glowing red?

"Manson! No, help Fenton up! Everyone, stop gaping; we're going to the bunker! Someone's experiment probably got into the air system, but we can't take any chances." Mrs. Tetslaff did not even seem fazed about the situation.

Some students were, however, and Tucker found himself being dragged out to the hallway and over to the closest bunker. Brief scans and a quick decontamination procedure later, he found himself in a loud room of worried teenagers.

"What's going to happen to us? Are we all contaminated by malicious ectoplasm?" Mikey apparently had done the dragging.

Tucker gave him a manly pat on the shoulder. "Dude, chill. Mrs. Tetslaff didn't seem to be worried, so we're fine. Remember your relaxation technique?"

Mikey nodded and then started to close his eyes and breathe in deeply.

Tucker shifted his attention over to the largest source of commotion. By the way he was crouched over and the way his facial expression seemed strained, Danny still seemed to be in pain. Mrs. Tetslaff was on the phone beside him.

With the unobtuse way Mrs. Tetslaff was dealing with him, Tucker had the feeling that Danny's situation was unique.

A few minutes later, the speakers went on.

"This is Dr. Richet from the Weapon Development Department, and I am announcing that the concern over the appearance of red gas throughout the building need not be intensified. The appearance of red in the air is only the result of an accidental spread of blood blossom powder into the air control system during a test of the effectiveness of its range. My lab workers will be taking advantage of this mistake and will be around with ectoplasm samples, so the cleanup will take longer. The current estimation is three hours. However, blood blossoms have been proven to have no effects on humans, so normal activity may be resumed. Thank you for your cooperation."

As the speakers turned off, a few students voiced their worries that Dr. Richet had been overshadowed and that this was a trap, but Mrs. Tetslaff reassured them that the situation seemed legit.

"You cannot use the microphone if you have ectoplasmic contamination." Mrs. Tetslaff's voice, tone unmovable yet somehow teacherly, was much too loud for their cramped room. "Also, I have clearance from all of the authorities. If there is a situation anywhere, a light would be unlit, yellow, or red."

She raised a communicator in her hand. All of the lights were green.

The overall volume in the room seemed to quiet, and Tucker realized that his stance had relaxed slightly.

A doorbell – one of the room designers had a sense of humor, it seemed – chimed clearly above the silence. Mrs. Tetslaff went over to the peephole and promptly opened the door.

"No need to fear, young'uns, the Fentons are here!" A stout man sauntered in, wielding a voice that challenged Mrs. Tetslaff's in booming capability and a massive ectogun on his shoulder.

Tucker flinched from the overenthusiasm and noticed that many other students visibly winced as well. Was it safe to wave that weapon around?

Mrs. Fenton seemed to be more observant than her husband and had her weapons powered down and pointing to the ground, but her goggles were still intimidating. "Now, Jack, don't scare the children. Are all of you alright?"

There was a general movement as students either nodded hesitantly or glanced at Danny.

Mrs. Tetslaff translated for everyone. "No one but your son has been affected, as far as we know."

"Good. We have some serum that should work to counter the effects." Mrs. Fenton moved over to her son, who at this point had curled up on the floor.

Something about the way Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had subtly started to move towards their son before they had even said anything as well as how unsurprised they were that he was the only one affected made Tucker suspicious. But it was natural that they would be worried about their son and maybe they weren't surprised because Mrs. Tetslaff had told them.

"Excuse me Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, why is Danny the only one ill?" Valerie Grey asked suddenly. Apparently, he wasn't the only one feeling like something was off.

"Well, Danny has been around ectoplasm since he was born, and he wasn't always protected as you are now, with ectoplasmic-retardant jumpsuit uniforms. He usually has residual ectoplasm in his body, which is why ghost detectors sometimes go off around him. This may just be another side effect of his exposure to ectoplasm." Mrs. Fenton explained. If she was masking anything, she was really good at it.

After Mrs. Fenton had injected her son with the serum, she motioned for her husband to pick him up. He did so with ease, considering Danny's more slight size. Danny still managed to look embarrassed in his hold.

"We'll be keeping an eye on him, kids." Mr. Fenton exclaimed as he ambled over to the door. As he spoke, his tone of voice increasingly made it seem like he'd forgotten that he was actually talking. "Make sure to keep your heads attached to your shoulders and your appendages safe! Ghost hunting is a very dangerous profession. I hear beginners are the most likely to be maimed. Although, I've never met someone who has. Ghosts tend to like killing people instead, it seems."

Mrs. Fenton was pushing him out the door. "Don't listen to him; he's just trying to scare you. There have only been two accidents in the past three years. You're all quite protected and well-trained. Stay safe!"

As they left, the room was near silent. Only a few whispers could be heard.

One of the sources was close enough for him to hear. Tucker heard Dash call Danny a freak.

He felt his anger flare as his class vacated the bunker, but he managed to keep it in control. Was Dash stupid? Obviously. Putting down the highest-ranked freshman would lower your popularity. You just didn't do that.

"So, how's it going with Jazz?" Tucker asked Mikey as they walked back. A distraction could be helpful.

Somehow, the bare walls and bright white lights of the hallway didn't seem too uncomfortable anymore.

Mikey started to cry. "It was horrible."

"Hey, what happened? It couldn't have been that bad." Tucker frowned. Jazz was nice, in the caring-but-you're-not-getting-away-with-anything kind of way. Unless he was wrong? Nope, I, Tucker Foley, am an expert at reading people.

"She- She said she didn't want to go out with me." Mikey stopped in the hallway, despite the fact that their classmates were still moving.

Tucker stood by him. "Did she say why?"

"She said she was busy."

"That's not a rejection." Tucker gave him another manly pat. "That just means she has other priorities than being social."

Like hunting ghosts to save said ghosts from annihilation.

Mikey nodded halfheartedly.

"You still have a chance." Tucker encouraged. "Ask her again later."

Sometimes, Tucker felt like dealing with people was difficult. That's why computers are superior.

Tucker couldn't stand it anymore. Dash was an annoying jerk, he was increasingly getting worse, and Tucker would be betraying his morals if he let him harass others so freely anymore.

The empty hallway outside the cafeteria felt slightly eerie, with its dim lights and silence. It was logical, however. He was there when it was 1 a.m., after all.

The quiet magnified the approaching steps. Tucker asked himself what he was even doing for the last time as he waited.

"What did you do to my computer?" Dash yelled as he came near enough.

Tucker backed up for a second before he took a deep breath and widened his stance. "You don't like it? I figured since you liked your collection so much, you'd like seeing it so often."

He had given Dash's computer a virus that made his wallpaper a picture of his teddy bear collection – complete with hearts and a caption. As well, the same picture would take over the screen for a few seconds every fifteen minutes. With the use of laptops in class, it was guaranteed someone would see it.

Dash growled and menacingly stalked towards him.

"I won't fix it if you hurt me. I just want you to listen to me." Tucker somehow managed to stand still, except for some minor shaking in his legs.

Dash stopped. "You better fix it! I'll . . . I'll tell everyone about your weird thing going on between you and your electronics!"

Tucker shrugged. "I don't really keep it a secret, and I'm not that popular anyways."

Dash scrunched up his face as he thought for a few seconds. "Fine. What do you have to say?"

Had someone caught on to his disregard of the first-ranked freshman? If someone had and Dash had noticed that he wasn't all-powerful and all-correct in his popularity, hopefully this would be easier.

"You know what you told me when I first met you? You wanted to be a hero." Tucker somehow felt his tone increase in power. "You know what heroes don't do? Hurt others."

Dash frowned. "Hurt others? I haven't hurt anyone."

"Taunting people, putting people down. These hurt people, Dash." Tucker crossed his arms. "I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I insulted you."

"I'm not hitting you around, am I? You're just a wuss, then." Dash started to smile. "That's not my problem."

Tucker took out his PDA. "Look, I can easily go online and show you how talking people down is considered bullying. People have killed themselves because of it. It does hurt."

There was a brief moment of silence as Tucker flipped through a few websites, searching for probably-useless-but-worth-a-try proof and Dash stood there in what surprisingly appeared to be contemplation.

Dash opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden chill in the air froze the two of them.

Mist was starting to condense around them, a telltale sign of a ghost present. They glanced at each other for a second.

"We should run." Dash reached at his holster but then paused and then started to run. Maybe he hadn't charged his blaster yet since his practice that evening.

Tucker backed away in the opposite direction, the shaking in his legs increasing.

A blast brightened the corridor and Dash yelped. Tucker turned back to see him dodge a blast from a translucent ghost.

"That was a nice speech back there, but it's missing something important. Bullies need to pay for what they have done. My fellow nerd over there is too nice." The ghost had charged another ectoplasmic blast in his hand.

For a moment, Tucker was struck by how unique – human-like – the ghost was. His nasally voice, wire-frame glasses, and bow-tie struck Tucker as the result of a personality quirk, if not maybe a little cliché.

Dash dodged the next ectoplasmic blast and turned to sprint away. His speed was impressive. But the ghost didn't have any trouble following.

"How do you like this turnaround? How do you like being the weak one now?" The ghost taunted. "I, Sidney Poindexter, champion the bullied and punish the bullies. Such as you."

Dash yelped as he barely dodged another ectoplasmic blast.

What can I do? Tucker followed behind the two ghosts. He felt like he had to do something. But his brain didn't seem to be functioning too well.

Should I call the emergency line? Take out my ghost blaster?

He took out his phone.

A black-and-white figure suddenly breezed past him. Sidney Poindexter was shoved to the ground.

"Careful with the ectoplasmic blasts. They can land people in casts." The newcomer grinned. "Get it? Nevermind. What's going on?"

This ghost's voice and facial structures somehow felt familiar. Tucker felt like he'd seen those eyes before. Except he was certain he would've noticed glowing green ones.

"Let me go! That's a bully over there and I need to teach him a lesson!" Poindexter struggled under the new ghost's white gloves.

The ghost frowned. "Well, isn't that like bullying him back? Anyways, it's dangerous for ghosts to be here. The Agency likes to decimate those they find, so I need to take you back to the Ghost Zone."

"No! I am finally out and able to help bully victims. I'm not going back!" Poindexter charged ectoplasm in his eyes.

The other ghost started to glow blue. Ice formed from his hands. Poindexter was trapped on the ground.

"Sorry, it's really better for you." The ghost floated upward and removed a device from his back. It looked like a thermos, but there was a Fentonworks symbol on it. He removed the cap and flicked a switch.

Why would a ghost have weapons by the Fentons? Had his initial guess somehow been correct?

Blue light emerged. Poindexter was pulled toward it. He started to shout but was cut off. He had disappeared into the thermos.

The other ghost capped the device. He looked up quickly. "Are you two alright?"

Dash, who Tucker guessed had probably stood and stared the whole time as he had, just blinked. "Ghosts can be good?"

"Um, yeah. There are good ghosts too. Most people just don't have much interaction with them, since the ones who come through usually have bad intentions." The ghost rubbed the back of his neck.

Dash continued to gape. "Who are you?"

"Oh, right. I'm Phantom." The ghost grinned. "I take some of the ghosts who escape the Inner Shield and release them into the Ghost Zone."

Tucker frowned. Wasn't that what Jazz was doing? She never mentioned that she was working with a ghost. He was missing something, which could be excused because of the shocking events.

Phantom placed a hand at his ear, where another device seemed to be located. "Sorry, I gotta go. Citizens, uh, always be aware of your surroundings. Stay safe!"

He disappeared, leaving Tucker and Dash behind to deal with the confusing aftermath.

In the quiet of the library, Tucker closed his eyes. Puzzle pieces spread in his mind.

Why would a ghost look so familiar? Unless it was the one . . .

No. He didn't get a clear-enough glimpse of the ghost that time in Doomed. Back then, it was a flash of a face and mainly a similar black-and-white blur, but, well, many things could probably look like black-and-white blurs. Even Poindexter probably would've appeared that way if he'd moved fast enough.

Any other contact with ghosts would be during his time at CAGH. But he was fairly certain that he would remember anyone he saw that recently.

Jazz had asked him to hack into and give her control of the cameras in the school and agency. With that control, it was improbable that she was unaware of Phantom's presence. The questions about his view on ghosts would have a more sensible reason if she did know him.

She hadn't told him about working with Phantom, but that would make sense. It was dangerous for him.

So, Jazz, Sam, Danny, and Phantom secretly work together to return ghosts to the Ghost Zone. Jazz gives Phantom equipment and messes with the cameras to make this possible. That made sense, but why did he feel like he was missing something?

Was it the blood-blossom incident the other day? He still hadn't figured out why Danny was the only one in pain to a substance that only hurt ghosts. He hadn't heard that anything had happened to Jazz that day, and the two siblings grew up together.

Only hurt ghosts. Was Danny a ghost? That was preposterous. It was much more likely that he was randomly allergic to the plant, or maybe all the exposure with ghosts somehow affected people differently.

Wouldn't the Agency be against him if he was a ghost or had ghost-like characteristics? The Fentons were so significant to the Agency that it might be possible that they excused him . . . But why was he even considering that as a possibility? It was pretty much impossible for ghosts to hide as humans, and he'd read no records of humans adopting ghost characteristics.

"Hey, Tucker." Jazz had crept up in front of him, and he hadn't noticed in his concentration. "Can I ask another favor from you?"

Tucker jolted, somehow feeling guilty that a person he was questioning in his thoughts was now talking to him. "Sure?"

She motioned for him to follow and he did. They entered the disguised room again. It didn't seem as menacing somehow.

"Phantom told me you saw him, so I'm going to assume that you already know that we work with him?" Jazz looked at him intently as he nodded. She continued, "Well, for around a week we've been struggling with catching a ghost, even with Phantom's help. This ghost uses some kind of computer in his suit, so I was hoping that you could maybe help us by hacking into it. He uses the computer to communicate with his weapons, so you can potentially have access through his signal."

Tucker fidgeted, pushing up his glasses on his nose. "You do know that I'm one of the worst ranked freshmen? I'll probably hinder more than help. I panic when I see ghosts."

"I'm sure we can all keep you protected. You just need some more experience to deal with the panic, so I'm sure you can help if we keep trying." Jazz nodded thoughtfully. "You know what? How about if you help us, my favor to you would be to help train you with special Fenton techniques? If you work hard enough, I will personally guarantee you a pass for basic training. After all, you should technically get points for catching ghosts with us."

Tucker stared at the floor, considering for a while before responding. "That doesn't sound too bad, I guess. But I still don't think I can really help."

"Hey, you helped with the cameras, so I know you're very capable." Jazz began encouragingly. She then suddenly put her hands on her hips and glared at him sternly. "Speaking of security, you better not tell anyone about Phantom."

Tucker raised his hands innocently. "Hey, I promise I won't."

Could he really keep refusing to help? One look at Jazz and he knew she was the type of skillful person who got what she wanted. He didn't want to get on her bad side.

And, plus, their task seemed heroic, even though he knew he wasn't slated out to be a hero. His brain flashed back to a computer screen and the feeling of hopelessness.

"Good." Jazz smiled brightly.

Something started to buzz, and Jazz pulled out her phone. She glanced at the screen. "Ah, sorry, you might need to go. Phantom sighted the ghost we're having trouble with and will bring him over. If you're fine with making a rash decision, you can stay. If not, I'll see you later."

"I'll stay." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

There was something about their mission that seemed noble. Since they were fighting in this room, the fight would hopefully be more controlled.

Could he really be a hero of some sort?

Who am I kidding? He should leave before he panicked and endangered someone. This was why he wasn't training to be a hunter. He was on the research track. "Actually-"

A sudden yell interrupted him. Two figures flew in through the wall.

"Tucker, stay over here, and we'll distract him. I know you can do it." Jazz had collected a mass of weapons during his distraction. She dashed to the other side of the room.

Obediently, Tucker's hands took out Rosalina. But his commands stopped there. What program should he use? What was he even doing?

He stood there with his PDA suddenly seeming foreign to him. The part of his brain not panicking or grasping for logic seemed to be watching the fight.

"Your pelt shall be mine, whelp!" A flash of light and the sound of a net whizzing by.

"Nice aim, Skulker! If you're trying to miss me, that is." A quick, moving blur of color.

Some sort of explosion.

Another blast of light. "Don't forget about me, Ghost X!"

Tucker found himself trying to break through a firewall.

"Jazz! Watch out!"

Bright blasts of green and enraged yelling. "What did you shoot into her?!"

"Be honored, whelp. Your persistence has ranked you as one of my harder specimens, and it is necessary for me to use my arsenal of higher caliber."

An exchange of blasts. The sound of an even stronger projectile charging. An explosion and a yell of pain.

The sound of William Tell Overture suddenly interrupted the scene. The enemy ghost's glow seemed to power down.

What an odd choice for a shutdown sound.

A squeaky voice. "I will get you for this!"

The head of the enemy ghost was removed upwards and toppled over, revealing a tiny ghost squeaking for revenge. The same blue light of last night sucked him away.

Tucker blinked up from his PDA. Jazz slumped to the side. Phantom lay with a large wound on his chest.

Was that a tranquilizer dart sticking out of Jazz's neck? Ectoplasm seeped from Phantom.

He stared at the scene. He was not equipped to deal with this. He didn't know any first aid, let alone for ghosts.

What could he do?

Find someone who does know what to do. That would be the most logical decision. If he waited and tried his own measures, he could do something wrong on crunched time.

Who would know what to do? Sam Manson. She helped them too, right? Tucker flipped to his directory of people.

A bluish-white halo suddenly appeared. The green turned to red.

He called her number.

"You did the right thing, you know." Jazz smiled at him from her folding cot. She was waiting for the effects from the tranquilizer dart to wear out.

Tucker looked up from Rosalina. "Sure."

Rosalina had served him well today.

The smell of antiseptic in the air made him want to bolt out of the room, but the environment was different enough from a hospital that he could convince himself to stay. They were situated in a protected area within the custodial-closet-that-was-actually-a-secret-base.

"I agree." Sam Manson sat in a chair nearby. She was organizing some of the first aid supplies. "Call anyone else and you would've doomed our secret. Not call anyone and Danny would have been worse off."

She paused and then glared at Tucker calculatingly. "You better continue keeping this a secret."

Tucker raised his hands in a placating manner. "Yes, I promise I won't tell anyone."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "Especially about Danny."

Tucker nodded quickly.

What were the chances that he would meet two of the most vicious but protective girls in existence? Well, Jazz was Danny's sister. Tucker was an only child, so he probably couldn't fully understand sibling worry. And his relationship sensor was blaring. He could see where Sam was coming from, with how much she was in love with Danny.

"So, are any of you going to explain how this is even possible?" Tucker waved his hand toward Danny.

Jazz and Sam shared a glance.

A groan. "Ow, what hit me?"

Tucker raised an eyebrow.

"He heals fast when we give him ectoplasm." Sam explained as she strode to Danny's side. "According to Tucker, a few really large missiles hit you."

"Tucker?" Danny searched frantically around before seeing Tucker. "Oh, right. You asked him to help with Skulker."

Sam nodded before her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Standard question: How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. My chest hurts a little, but that's expect-" Blue eyes widened as they landed on red color, and they looked up at Tucker in a panic. "Did I?"

"Yes, you did turn back human in front of Tucker. He doesn't seem too unsettled about it, however, and he's cool with helping us out anyways." Jazz explained before Danny became too agitated. "Although, he kind of wants an explanation."

Tucker spoke up. "It's fine. Don't stress it. You need to rest."

Danny shook his head. "I owe you for helping us catch Skulker. Plus, seriously, I heal super quickly when I'm given ectoplasm. I'm almost fine already."

Before anyone could protest, he sat up and made a move to stand up. Sam stopped him with a look.

"No, I owed you for saving me the other day. During the attack." Tucker explained. "Don't feel like you have to say anything if you don't want to."

Danny shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal anyways."

"Am I the only one who doesn't want to carelessly give away vital secrets?" Sam crossed her arms as she interrupted. "Why should we be telling him?"

The Fenton siblings shared a look.

"He helped us twice already, and he saw Danny change," Jazz explained. "We could use more help. Plus, we told you before we knew you that well, and it worked out."

Sam frowned. "That's true, but if we do that with everyone who figures out a little, then we'll come across someone who will tell."

"Tucker has accepted what we've already told him pretty well," Jazz pointed out.

"Um, I'm right here. I promise I won't tell anyone, and Danny doesn't need to tell me anything." Tucker raised his hands once again in a sign of innocence.

Sam sighed. "Your tech skills are an asset, and you don't seem that bad. I guess I'm fine with it if Danny wants you to know. But if you tell anyone else, you'll face the consequences."

Tucker gulped at Sam's look.

"It's really fine. I do want you to know. If something happens, it'll be nice to have another person know," Danny reasoned.

He paused, seeming to organize thoughts in his mind. "After the First Invasion, my parents wanted to figure out how to defend against ghosts. They built the first permanent portal to the Ghost Zone, but it didn't work. I was stupid, so I went inside and messed with it. The portal turned on when I was in it."

Tucker frowned, recalling facts he learned from his ecto-sciences class. He spoke up during Danny's slight hesitation. "A portal is a gap in the Ghost Zone boundary, right? Doesn't that produce a ton of energy? Enough to kill someone, like, ten times over?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "Well, yes, but the thing is, since it was energy from the boundary, it did something weird. My parents actually don't fully understand this yet, but the energy didn't go into killing me, in a sense. Er, it kind of did – but not in a conventional way. The energy went into forming a ghost core."

"It's quite interesting, actually." Jazz butt in, her tone of voice scientific but in awe. "It's as if the Ghost Zone is sentient and tries to make up for a breach in the boundary – by creating an intermediary between the two worlds. We don't have any evidence for this, of course, and there have been no other permanent portals to prove or disprove this, but it's still an interesting idea."

Tucker idly tapped his PDA, thinking through the information. "What about natural portals?"

"They're not permanent gaps in the boundary, so our conjecture doesn't apply." Danny shook his head before smiling sheepishly. "Anyways, I'm human but I have a ghost core, so I'm basically a half-ghost. Some of the ghosts I've fought call me a halfa."

"So do you activate and deactivate your ghost core?" Tucker asked. "To me it looks like you can switch between being a human and a ghost."

"Yeah, pretty much." Danny looked down at his hands. "Although, a part of me is always different. I'll still have remnants of ectoplasm when I'm human, and my core is still there – just muted significantly. When I'm ghost, I keep some of my physiology. It's complicated."

He quieted, fidgeting with his hands. "So that's my explanation."

Tucker sat back from his attentive posture on his chair. "Wow, man, that is quite a secret. I don't think a lot of people would believe that. They'll think you're evil and possessed or something. I think I only believe it because you're here explaining it to me. By the way, who else knows about you?"

Danny shifted, looking to the side. "The other two founders of the Agency know. Mrs. Tetslaff does as well, since I train with her in class, and the medical doctor in the infirmary knows too."

"Isn't that a little nerve-wracking to be, you know, part-ghost in a ghost-hunting facility?" Tucker gestured to Danny and the surrounding air. The blood blossom incident made sense now.

"Very nerve-wracking. But I'm used to it." Danny shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Usually my parents can get me out of things, since they were founders."

Sam snorted.

"You still need to be more careful, though," Jazz admonished. "Mom and Dad can't get you out of everything if there is a general dissent."

There was a brief, awkward silence.

"Did they safely get you out of trouble the other day, when you saved me?" Tucker asked, eyebrows slightly creased in concern. The mess with the glowing ectoplasmic shield made sense now as well. "Thanks again for that, by the way."

"Um, really, there's no need to thank me." Danny smiled, a little awkwardly. "They did – they just said it was a new prototype weapon they were working on."

"That's good." Tucker nodded before continuing excitedly. "Oh, and what type of ghost powers do you have?"

If Danny could make that ectoplasmic shield and the blasts in his fight with Poindexter, what else could he do?

"The normal ones? Like invisibility, flying, intangibility – you saw some of that. I can manipulate ectoplasm into blasts. I can also use ice, although not very well." Danny's fidgeting resumed.

"Hey, why don't you introduce yourself a little, Tucker? Tell us what you like to do." Jazz seemed to have picked up on her brother's discomfort as well as Tucker's eagerness.

Sam spoke up. "Actually, Jazz and I need to talk quickly before our meeting very soon. Club business."

Danny nodded, and Jazz gave Sam a look before she moved to the opposite side of her bed. They began a quiet conversation while Danny and Tucker continued theirs.

"So, about me. Other than playing with code and working with my babes," Tucker patted his PDA, "I like playing video games and watching a few movies."

He was glad they had split into two conversations. He wouldn't have to explain male-stuff to the females.

"What kind of video games and movies?" Danny asked.

"Mixed, I suppose. I've played a few RTS games, a few MMORPGs. My favorite's probably Doomed-" Tucker began.

"Oh! I used to play that. What server are you on?" Danny's face brightened, an excited grin spreading on his face as he interrupted.

"Cyber Central," Tucker answered. If Danny lived in Amity Park and had played locally like he did, then they would be in the same server – the server for the central U.S. "Wait, were you in my server?"

Danny nodded. "Yup. We can play together if we want to."

An image of a laughing, green ghost and a black-and-white blur crossed Tucker's mind. "Hey, would you know about the ghost incident on our server?"

Danny looked sheepish again. "Yes? Actually, I was pretty involved in that."

Tucker's eyes widened. "So you were the one that defeated Technus? The one that I – that I was looking for?"

"Yes?" Danny tilted his head in confusion. "How do you know his name? And, um, why were you looking for me?"

Tucker covered his mouth slightly with his hand, considering how to express his memories and thoughts. "Actually, I helped Technus. Thought he was a newbie player and helped him move up the first few levels. When he revealed himself as a ghost, I– I couldn't do anything. I just – . . . it didn't work. You came in and stopped him . . . Gave me hope. That's when I realized ghosts might be good, and that ghosts can have an interesting effect on electronics.

"That's actually why I came here." He paused, taking a deep breath and staring at Danny before continuing enthusiastically. "You've got to let me see what you do, by the way. It looked like you could enter the game like it was a virtual reality."

"I did enter the game, although it's really hard to explain how it felt." Danny seemed self-conscious again.

"Doomed? You two would be on the Cyber Central server, right?" Sam barged in. She seemed to have finished talking with Jazz. "I can play, too, if we ever have time."

Tucker laughed.

Danny seemed to agree with him as he responded. "What would a girl know about Doomed?"

"Don't be so narrow-minded and sexist." Sam's tone of voice indicated she was offended. "You shouldn't underestimate girls."

"You guys don't have time anyways," Jazz scolded. "Your academic grades are barely satisfactory, with all the time we spend ghost hunting."

Danny pouted. "We're not geniuses like you, and rankings are more important."

"Knowledge is power, Danny. Learning will benefit you greatly." Jazz chided. "Speaking of academics, you need to go do your homework. It's already 5 o'clock."

"But Jazz-"

Jazz ignored his protests. "Also, Sam and I decided to postpone 'Phantom's' meeting with the Ecto-equality Club."

"Really I'm-"

"Even if you feel fine after the ectoplasm, you need to rest." Jazz gave Danny one of her looks.

"What are you going to do for the club tonight, then?" Danny asked.

Jazz answered, "Show footage and share stories that we've collected for our case. That'll still give them more exposure to ghosts, which is our aim. You can meet them next week."

"Tucker, why don't you join the club?" Sam brought the attention back to Tucker, who was starting to feel awkward with what felt like an outsider status. "We could use more members."

They all looked at him intently.

He considered it for a few seconds. He'd only avoided the club because it meant being social – in the way that he'd know no one and have to create connections. But, now, he would sort-of know both the president and vice president.

"Sure."

His preconceptions about so many things had just been proven inaccurate. Trying something new shouldn't be too bad.

Tucker was in the library again, but not because of Dash this time. The shelves of books and relative quiet just felt like home. Having Mikey nearby for collaboration was also useful, as well as Jazz when she wasn't on ghost-hunting duty.

He sighed as his thoughts wandered to his roommate. It was strange. He'd stopped calling him names every time they saw each other, stopped insulting him when they'd been in the same room for more than five minutes.

He still had superiority issues in his tone and posture. But it was tolerable.

Tucker tapped his fingers on Rosalina.

Jazz had offered Dash tutoring if he promised not to tell anyone about Phantom's existence, and he had agreed. He'd even gone to an Ecto-equality Club meeting.

He looked up from his research article to relish the quiet but then froze. He blinked, and then hurriedly looked back down.

What was Dash doing in the library? Yes, Tucker had just been thinking about how he was inexplicably nicer, if he dared to say it. But that didn't mean he wanted him around.

"Hey, Tucker? Can you help me with something?" Dash's tone of voice was hesitant.

Mikey, across the table researching his own topics, seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible.

Tucker eyed Dash warily. "Sure?"

"My laptop is being really stupid and isn't working."

"Computers aren't stupid. We always blame them when things go wrong, but in reality it is the fault of the humans. Computers just do what we tell them to do – if a program you are writing isn't working, it is something you did even if it makes you so frustrated at the computer. Really, they are the most loyal to humans. When a computer is old and malfunctioning, it is still trying its hardest to follow the code we gave it. It's kind of sad." Tucker spoke with lightning-fast speed and then widened his eyes. What in the world was he doing? He cautiously looked up at Dash, expecting an insult.

Dash blinked. "Uh, that's cool. I never thought of it like that."

Tucker just stared before responding. "So what is it doing wrong?"

After a few minutes of troubleshooting, Dash's computer was fine and he was on his way. Mikey relaxed fully and became engrossed in research again, despite the slightly confused expression on his face.

Did Dash really change?

Tucker was waiting for the day a ghost popped out of Dash after possessing him, but he wasn't looking forward to it. I suppose I should just wait to see what will happen.

Thinking of changes made him remember his newest ranking boost. He grinned at the thought. A couple weeks with Fenton hints and training with Team Phantom had already moved him to be ranked sixth from last.

He would pass the class if he could keep it up.

He wasn't so hopeless with ghosts anymore.

It was weird. He wouldn't have called himself unhappy before. But he definitely felt like he was happier now and that something was missing before.

He glanced across the table at Mikey. Now that he had a new circle of fast friends – friends that he somehow felt were destined to be together since they got along so well after the initial introduction, he wondered how he had even lived before his involvement with Team Phantom. Really, he'd only had Mikey before as a friend. Maybe he should thank him for it.

As he was thinking, he saw Jazz enter the library in his peripheral vision.

Thoughts connected, and he grinned. "Mikey, I'm going to talk to someone."

As Mikey hummed in acknowledgement, Tucker stood up and made his way over to Jazz.

"Hey Jazz, can I own up that favor now?"

Jazz looked up at him inquisitively after sitting down with her own stack of books. "Of course."

"Can you go on a date with Mikey?"

. . . "Initiation" END

A/N: Originally started for phanniemay's "AU" prompt.

Handshake Song explanation: I thought it would be interesting to use nursery rhymes as the opening quotes. I couldn't think of an appropriate nursery rhyme so I just used my own translation of a simple Chinese children's song I remembered that fits well, in my opinion. The hyphens indicate where there were extra syllables in Chinese.

Accompanying song: "Casper Chapter: Sentimental School Daze." Recently, I have been putting scenes from stories I write to music I compose. The link will be on my profile (when I get it up, probably later today) for anyone interested. Basically, the general feeling I have of this story is a sweet, sentimental nostalgia – kind of like what I would expect from an ending theme.

Cover picture: Casper Academy of Ghost Hunting school crest

"Aaron 'Dash' Baxter"? Wikipedia states this, but I know Wikipedia can be wrong.

Also, I realized after using rhymezone that Tucker is very unfortunate in the way that his name can rhyme with some really bad insults.

ooo

Of course, after I decide that I want to be involved again school throws me projects and exams. And now the interest waned again and this was very difficult to churn out. I honestly don't know what to do with myself now, but, well, that's life. :)

I have had a lot of ideas for one-shots in this AU world, but, seeing that it's me who's talking, probably none of them will be finished. We'll see.

Tumblr notes:

Unsure if I should use the "phanniemay15" tag with such a late post, but, well, this was inspired because of phanniemay. The accompanying piano piece is amateurish as always but will be up as soon as I have an opportunity. Enjoy the unpolished version for now. (Random note: I copied the HTML over from FF.net for the format - a nice shortcut.)

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