Broken Ghost (A Danny Phantom, Young Justice, and Batman Crossover)

~4~

           The hooded teen was back on the streets of Gotham in his human form a few days after his little expedition. So far, he had remained alive and free of the GIW and Batman. 

           Now, Danny was looking for a cheap food stand. He had made a lucky snatch and had about fifty dollars in his pockets. The fifteen-year-old ducked between the many people as he headed to his destination, his raven hair dangling over his hard, icy blue eyes.

           Finally, the boy had stopped before a small stand with a red and yellow striped canopy and a wooden counter. A buff man with greying hair stepped up from behind the counter, a bored expression on his face.

          "What can I get ya, kid?" he dully asked.

          "One hot dog please," Danny replied, his cold eyes never meeting contact with the man's brown ones.

          "That'll be two-fifty," the man stated, leaning on the counter.

          The hooded teen soundlessly placed the money before him, the man taking it after. 

          "It'll be ready in a few minutes," said the man before turning around and lumbering over to the grill.

          As the man worked, Danny relished in the smell of cooking hot dogs, hamburgers, and other meats. Oh, how Sam would hate all this meat. She'd probably start another revolt, the raven-haired boy thought with a small smile, but it quickly vanished when he recalled what the GIW had done to her. It was a day or two into his capture . . . 

          The ghost boy was dragged by several GIW agents decked with anti-ghost weapons and armory. He was then lead into a white room with a white table, chairs, and a black TV. The agents holding him shoved him down in one of the white chairs, cuffing every part of his body to the chair or table in front of him.

         Two other agents strode into the room after him, one holding the remote. The men then sat in the white chairs across the table, evil smirks on their faces.

        "Hello, Phantom," one greeted, saying his name with pure remorse. "Today, we decided to grace you with a gift you'll never get again in your stay here."

        The man with the remote snickered darkly, raising the small device to the TV.

        "Whatever you're going to show me," the white-haired teen snarled, "it won't break me. You can't hold me forever, and I will escape!"

        The two agents cackled madly at Phantom's little show of resistance. "Oh Phantom! You're hysterical! We don't expect to break you so soon, this is just an update for you to see your friends."

       The young ghost visibly paled, small beads of sweat trickling down from his brow. "Oh no . . .," he whispered, his toxic green eyes wide in realization.

       The second agent smiled wide. "Oh yes!" he said, clicking several buttons on the remote.

       Phantom watched in dread as the screen blinked to life, showing a picture of a white room from a surveillance camera.

       Suddenly, two muscular agents in white coats tossed a skinny girl dressed in a black crop top, a black skirt with neon green plaid, and black combat boots. The girl had jet black hair, cut short just above her shoulders and part of it pulled up in a high ponytail. She had beautiful violet eyes and deep purple lips, but that was not all that caught Phantom's attention.

       The teen on the screen was sporting multiple scrapes and bruises, her ankle was twisted, and one of her eyeliner-heavy eyes was swollen shut.

       "Sam," Phantom whispered sadly. Then he stared at the agents, a cold fire burning in his eyes, which glowed a dangerous toxic green. "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" he shouted, his fists clenched.

       The first agent chuckled deeply. "Phantom, what you see is pre-recorded. Meaning this has already happened, if your dull brain can process that."

       The video clip continued, showing as another pair of agents dumped another skinny teen in with the first. The dark-skinned boy wore black thick-rimmed glasses, a red barrette, a yellow long-sleeve shirt, dark green cargo pants, and brown combat boots. Like the girl, Sam, the teen was injured to an equal degree.

       "Tucker!" Sam called joyfully, her voice raspy. 

       The boy, Tucker, turned to Sam, a small smile displayed on his face. "Good to see you too, Sam," he replied in a similar raspy voice.

       "Alright, you two. Enough with the small talk," demanded one of the muscular men, back handing them both, resulting in pained yelps.

       "Now, both of you are obviously close 'buddies' with that ghost scum known as Phantom. You're going to tell me where he is, or we will force the information from your brains," he stated in a serious tone, eyeing them both from behind his thick shades.

       "No way! You'll have to kill me to get me to talk!" Sam shouted defiantly.

       "Yeah!" Tucker agreed. "He's our friend! And friends don't snitch."

       Phantom smiled proudly at his best friends.    

       "Alright then," the man said, walking over to Sam. "I'll make you." He then snatched her hand and broke her finger.

       The poor goth screamed in agony as the man proceeded to break the rest of her fingers.

       "Sam!" Tucker yelled, struggling to get closer to the pained girl.    

       "SAM!" screamed Phantom, struggling in his binds. The agent with the remote promptly pressed another button on his remote. The white-haired ghost screamed out as several volts of electricity jolted through his system through his binds. When it stopped, the boy panted heavily, despite not needing to breath, and stared at the second agent with a death glare.

       For hours, he was forced to watch his best friends be tortured in ways he thought never existed. With every jab and snap, the young ghost would cringe, a piece of his heart crumbling away.

       Then, after several hours, came the worst part.

       One of the agent on the screen turned to the muscular one. "Agent B, I really don't think they're going to talk. Besides, we've got guy who would gladly exploit the ghost scum's other weaknesses."

       "Very well, Agent E," the man, Agent B, agreed. "However, we cannot leave witnesses."

       Agent B and another man approached Sam and Tucker, who laid in broken and bloody heaps. Then they both pulled out identical guns, aiming for the two teens' heads.

       "No . . . no, no, no!" Phantom muttered, his voice rising. "NO! STOP! PLEASE STOP!"

       Two shots rang out, followed by a still silence as the clip ended.

       "NOOOOOOO!" the young ghost screamed, hot tears streaking down his scraped and bruised cheeks. Phantom wept heavily for his friends, his weak frame shaking violently. Only to be shocked once more, over and over . . .

       "Kid, are you okay?" the food stand man asked, snapping Danny out of his memories.

       The raven-haired teen stared up in the man's brown eyes, shocking him as the man saw indescribable pain filled in the cold icy blue.

        "No," the hooded boy answered coolly, showing no sign of emotion as he gently snatched his hot dog off the counter and melted back into the crowd.