In the Dead of Night You Went Dark On Me

I Would Climb Again and Leave You In The Moonlight

The hum of electricity was the only thing he could focus on. The hum of electricity and the pain. So much pain. His skin was prickling with small zaps wherever he got too close to the ectoplasm cage. His shoes were the only thing protecting his feet, though they still felt like they were close to melting. His sweater kept zapping him due to the electricity that was conducted on the absorbent fabric. His hair was standing up all around him. He was trapped.

Trapped. He was stuck in there. He couldn't get out. Neither as human or ghost. He was stuck in this cage. He felt his breathing get erratic but he couldn't control it. His breathing was the least of his worries. He couldn't be in a cage. He couldn't be trapped. He had to get out. He had to get out. Let him out. Let him out. Let him out!

Unthinking, he grasped the two closest bars to him and tried to pull. He smelt burning, but couldn't care less. He began shaking the bars, trying to loosen them, though he knew it was a fruitless effort. The bars were made of pure ectoplasmic energy. There was nothing to bend, nothing to loosen. His hands were warm. That was probably concerning, but he couldn't focus on that. The electric hum was on the forefront of his mind. The hoodie shocked him and shocked him and shocked him.

He ripped the sweater away from his skin, flinging it as far away from him as he could. It went through the cage, landing somewhere else. His shirt was zapping him as well. The cage was too small. The electricity that was conducted through the ectoplasmic cage was too much for the small area. It was going to electrocute him. Again.

He couldn't be electrocuted, couldn't go through that again. He's had his bones snapped, been stabbed countless times, been tortured in both ghost and human form, he's dealt with fractures, blood loss, ectoplasm loss, he's lost his ability to hear, his ability to see for periods of time. None of that was as bad as being electrocuted again. Maybe it wasn't like that for everyone, but he wouldn't be able to handle it if he got electrocuted again. The lichtenberg scars that ran the entirety of his arm up to his neck was proof of that enough. He ripped off the bandage that was on his arm, the static electricity too hot for him.

His arm hadn't healed completely from the battle earlier that day, but the blood had slowed a lot. He would survive without the bandage. He wouldn't survive electrocution. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. This time it would surely kill him.

He was trapped, he was going to die. The electricity was all around him-

capture him-

And he was sure he was going to die. He'd been caught before in a cage-

rip it apart-

And it hadn't gone very well for him. He'd earned a strong fear of-

molecule by molecule-

Being locked up. In a cage-

cut it open-

Or just any tight space. He was afraid-

and see what makes it tick-

Of having no way out.

He had to get out. He could try his ghost form, but there was no way he'd be able to phase out of the cage. He reached again for the energized bars and did whatever he could think of. He began running into the side of the cage, see if it would tip, if it would break, if it would do anything other than shock him and hum. That damn humming. It was taunting him.

The humming of the shackles was the only thing he could hear. His arms and legs were bound by some type of ectoplasm covered chains that were created for just this purpose. To hold a ghost still. To strap him down to the table. To eliminate any possibility of escape.

The lab was clean, not a single drop of ectoplasm or blood in the entire area. The hum of the chains. The hum of the ghost portal. He'd tried to break free, to change back to being himself, but he couldn't. He was unable to use any ghost powers, even the ability to turn back. He was stuck. They'd found a way to cover the radio and mask that allowed him to speak and communicate with people. He was essentially gagged, strapped tightly to the table, and preparing to die. Again.

The steps on the blinding white stairs echoed loudly in the room, and he began pulling wildly at the shackles again. He didn't know how he'd ended up here, and he didn't understand why he was here. He thought he'd had an alliance with the Fenton's, albeit it wasn't that steady of a truce. He heard the two pairs of steps come toward the table he was strapped to along with the sound of a cart being wheeled over to him. One of the wheels was squeaky, he was supposed to fix that last week, but got caught up with other things.

"Ready Maddie?" The booming voice asked. He tried to speak, to plead his case, to beg for mercy, anything, but he couldn't. The only sound that came out was a horrifying mix of gurgling and static that came through the mask.

"Let's rip it apart, molecule by molecule, like we said we always would! It's a shame Danny and Jazz couldn't be here for this incredible scientific discovery we are about to make." Maddie looked at the ghost laying on the table, and smiled a sickly sweet smile at him.

"It will be alright. We can tell them all about it when we're finished. But for now, let's cut it open and see what makes it tick." Jack handed her a large scalpel and a syringe filled with a strange white liquid with red speckles inside it. "This won't hurt a bit."

The needle went straight through the fabric of the hazmat suit, sticking straight into his arm. As soon as his body began reacting to it, he recognized it as blood blossoms. They had diluted it so it wouldn't kill him, at least right away, but he wouldn't be able to get away on his own any time soon. His body convulsed uselessly on the table, and he couldn't think straight. "Well, it won't hurt us at all. And since you can't feel pain, we wanted to see what your body would do to mimic the effects of the ghostly poison. Once the convulsions wear down I'll make the first cut."

He watched with hazy eyes as the woman began scribbling something quickly on a notebook and the man turned to dispose of the syringe. His vision blurred more and more, until he couldn't see anything other than bright white light and a neon green. He couldn't hear anything other than the humming of the chains, portal, and a saw, the gagging and gurgling of his mask, and his own heartbeat slowing down even further.

The cage fell to the floor, effectively pinning him to the floor with it. The humming got louder, but he couldn't tell if it was because he was now lying on the electrifying material, or if the fall did something to him. He heard something at his feet, and the humming shut off. He felt a hand touch him. One minute he was laying on his side wreathing around in pain, the next he was standing on top of someone with their arm bent so far behind their back it was close to snapping.

Another hand touched him. No. Not touched him. This hand grabbed him, hard. He shoved the hand away, before pulling the owner back toward himself, and he kicked them hard into the other person who had touched him. He wasn't going back there. He wasn't going to get electrocuted again. He wasn't going to get cut into again. He wasn't going to let himself get hurt in that way again. He wasn't going to get captured again. Not by Skulker, not by Jack and Maddie, not by the GIW, no one. He was the Ghost Prince, soon to be Ghost King. He was the one who defeated Pariah Dark, he was the one who had the ability to protect the people he cared about, he was not going to let himself be destroyed in the process.