#Character Autopsies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liketolaugh-writes · 29 days ago

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Thinking about a full ghost Danny AU where he just straight-up dies in the portal. I think there should be more of those. <3

Character death, obviously.

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The drive back to Fentonworks was a blur in Maddie's memory, keeping Tucker on the line while he sobbed and stammered, trying and failing to keep himself together and explain what happened.

"-doesn't h-have a heartbeat and he's f-freaking out-"

"It just turned on, we don't know w-what happened, he, he said it didn't work-"

"-trying to keep Danny c-calm-"

"Please come home."

Jack's driving was even worse than usual, veering through the streets in an undisguised panic. Maddie hadn't been able to discern much from Tucker's ramble; the portal had finally turned on, but the kids had been messing around with it and Danny had gotten hurt. How hurt? Tucker didn't seem to be sure, but all three of them were in a state.

Jack pulled into their driveway and flung himself out, half the GAV still sprawled across the sidewalk. Maddie was right behind him, hanging up on Tucker with a quick assurance that they'd be right there.

"DANNY!" Jack yelled.

"In here!" Sam called back, from the open lab door. Of course.

Maddie slipped past Jack and got there first, almost falling down the stairs in her haste. What she saw there made her heart stop.

Danny wasn't there. There were three teens crumpled on the ground in front of the activated portal (a part of her sang, it worked, it worked) but Danny wasn't one of them. There was Tucker, staring blankly at the floor, and Sam, with her arm around a strange, glowing white-haired boy that was in tears - a ghost. A ghost? A ghost!

"GHOST!" Jack yelled in delight. The teen sobbed harder.

"Where's Danny?" Maddie demanded. Sam looked up sharply, her eyes wide like Maddie had never seen, her face dead pale under her makeup.

"I'm sorry!" Sam blurted out, looking nearly in tears herself. "I just, I, I thought it would be cool, it was just a picture, I, I didn't think-"

Maddie's heart skipped a beat. "Sam. Where is Danny?"

Sam looked at the crying boy next to her, huddled under her arm as if for comfort. The boy looked up, radioactive eyes swimming with tears and the water on his skin sparkling prismatically, and met Maddie's eyes.

"Mom," he croaked, his voice tripled and echoing with itself like a movie memory. "What happened to me?"

Maddie's knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, unable to take her eyes from the ghost in front of her. In a moment, she understood.

That was Danny. His colors had partially inverted, his hair turning white, the colors of his haz-mat suit - God, that was his haz-mat suit, the one they'd made for him and that he never used - reversing to white-on-black. He'd huddled into Sam, shaking and gasping, but now was pulling away, looking at Maddie like- like he thought she could fix this.

"I think something's wrong," Danny said, his voice trembling somewhere underneath all the alien reverberation. "Should we go to the hospital or, or something?"

"I don't think the hospital can fix this, man," Tucker said weakly, lifting his head just to stare at Danny.

The portal powered down with a whine. Maddie jerked her head up with a gasp, and found Jack at the control box, backing up silently. Jack stared into the portal. Maddie followed his gaze.

She couldn't stop the scream that tore itself from her throat. Jack yelled too, running inside, tripping over the bundled cables, and collapsing unceremoniously short of the body inside. Careless of that, Jack crawled forward the last few feet, scooped up the body, and then started to sob, cradling Danny's burnt and blistered corpse against him.

"...Do we call 911?" Danny asked, voice cracking. Maddie's head snapped back to him from the corpse, watching him stare in bleak, lost confusion at his father and the body he was hugging.

Danny didn't even believe in ghosts. Neither of their kids hid it, treating their profession with a lighthearted exasperation at home and plain embarrassment outside. Somehow, the fact made all of this worse.

"What's happening?" Danny asked helplessly. Shock, the stable part of Maddie's brain told her. He sees what's going on but his mind won't comprehend it. (He wasn't expecting to die today.)

"Y-yes," Maddie said at last, and then forced her voice to stabilize. "I'll... I'll call 911."

But first, she held out her arms, and Danny all but scrambled across the room to throw himself into her arms, still shaking. He was cold as ice, freezing through her haz-mat suit, and that was before he slipped forward with a yelp and tumbled through her. He scrambled back with a cry and tried again, and this time fell solidly against her, hiccupping. She wrapped an arm around him, shushing him softly, and groped for her phone with the other hand. She couldn't take her eyes off Jack, now carrying Danny out of the portal and staring from his corpse to his ghost, looking shattered.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My son is dead," Maddie heard herself say. Danny hiccupped and clutched at her tighter. There was a brief pause.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. Where are you? Have you checked his pulse?"

"We're at the Fentonworks building, 18701 northwest..." She rattled off the address mindlessly, and reached down to fumble for Danny's wrist. He let her have it without complaint, too terrified to put up any resistance. She shuddered as she felt nothing, not even the tendons or bone that should be there. Then she looked up at the corpse in Jack's arms and swallowed. "Jack, h-his... his pulse."

Jack nodded mutely and fumbled for Danny's wrist, gingerly running his fingers down the burnt skin until he found the right spot.

"What do you mean, his pulse, his ghost is literally in your lap!" Sam half-shrieked, her mascara running and her fists clenched against her cheeks, her breath coming in short gasps.

"No pulse," Jack croaked hollowly, staring at Danny's ghost.

"Maybe they could..." No, it was a foolish thought, and she wouldn't put false hopes into Danny's head just to put off her own grief. She cradled him closer again, feeling him shudder. She spoke to the operator. "N-no pulse, ma'am."

"Ambulance and police are on their way," the operator said, calm and reassuring. "Can you stay on the line with me?"

"Yes." Maddie felt numb, her own hands trembling as she held Danny close.

"Thank you. Can you tell me your name? Is there anyone else with you?"

"Maddie Fenton," she said. "My husband is with me, and my son's two friends, and... and my son's ghost."

There was another brief pause.

"Alright, Maddie." Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought the operator sounded gentler there. They thought she was crazy, of course. Maddie shut her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I, I don't know. My son Danny was home with his friends, and they called and..." Deep breath. She started over. "There was an accident in our lab. Danny was electrocuted by one of our in-progress projects."

"Is the device still on?"

"No, ma'am. We had to turn it off to remove the, the body."

Maddie continued answering questions on autopilot, most of her attention on her son, her husband, and the body. Danny had stopped crying, but remained glued to her side, shivering and sniffling. Jack continued to cradle Danny's body, but his eyes were now fixed on Danny, grief spread across his face. Sam and Tucker had both quieted, watching them with fearful, guilt-stricken looks.

It seemed to take forever for the police and ambulance to arrive. Sam got up to show them inside without being asked, staggering up to steps on obviously shaky legs. Maddie was too grateful to insist on her or Jack doing it; with Danny's ghost cradled against her and his corpse in Jack's arms, well...

The paramedics arrived first, sharp-eyed and professional, but the first almost immediately faltered as he laid eyes on the scene. But Jack held up Danny's body beseechingly, his eyes wet and miserable, and they jolted into action.

"Thank you, ma'am," Maddie said to the woman on the line. "They're here now. May I hang up?"

"Yes. The paramedics will take it from here. Take care, Maddie."

Maddie hung up, and looked at the two paramedics as they filed down. They looked at each other, one inclined his head toward Danny, and they split up, one heading for Jack and the body, the other toward Maddie and the ghost. Both of them knelt beside their chosen patient, and Maddie fixed her attention on the one with her.

"Are you Danny?" the paramedic asked, unexpectedly gentle. Danny peeked up and nodded uncertainly, and the paramedic glanced at the body before seeming to make a decision. "Okay, Danny. My coworker June is going to check your body for signs of life to see if you can still be revived. Are you okay with that?" Danny hiccupped and nodded, though a new wave of tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Danny hiccupped again, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "M-my friends wanted to see the p-portal," he managed, voice wavering. Maddie squeezed him, her own eyes welling up while the paramedic listened patiently. "A-and it didn't work so I t-thought it would be f-fine. I went inside a-and I d-didn't check if it was plugged in or anything, a-and then I tripped and fell and I think I hit a button and it turned on!" His voice rose until he was almost wailing. Maddie's throat tightened, and she hugged him closer. Her poor baby.

"You were electrocuted?" the paramedic checked softly.

"I guess," Danny sniffled. "I dunno. It just hurt. And then I felt really cold, and then I..." He looked down at himself and sniffled again, tears slipping nonstop down his cheeks. "Am I dead?"

The paramedic looked at his coworker, who met his eyes and shook her head. Maddie had to swallow a hiccup of her own, trying to be brave for her terrified son. The paramedic did a much better job at it, looking back at Danny and speaking gently.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "There's nothing we can do. June is going to call a coroner and explain the situation-" He caught the other paramedic's eye, and she gave him a nod. "-and we'll have your body taken somewhere it can be prepared for burial or cremation, whichever you prefer." Danny started crying again, and the paramedic exhaled and looked up to meet Maddie's eyes. "Obviously, there's no protocols for this situation. But, as his mother, I think it would still be appropriate for you to make a decision if he doesn't feel able to."

#911 transcripts freak me the Fuck out so i didn't read any for this #sorry if anything seems off #the 911 operator works in a dispatch that serves a large rural area and is not from amity park #so she doesn't know who the fentons are #the paramedics on the other hand ARE from amity park and know them by reputation #hence rolling with the ghost thing better #no identity shenanigans here only Your Awful Lab Safety Killed Your Son And Now He's Crying In Your Lap Because He's Fucking Dead #character death tw #my writing #danny fenton #danny phantom #maddie fenton #jack fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #not pictured: danny begging them not to do an autopsy just leave his body alone please please #he ends up choosing burial because he wants to know where his body is

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ghostlyglimmer · 5 months ago

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Lockjaw

Summary:

Missing for three weeks, Danny finally escapes, only to be found dead and taken to a funeral home. But death isn’t the end—Danny awakens on the embalming table with his jaw wired shut and terrifying new powers. Disoriented and desperate, he must find his way home, knowing nothing will ever be the same again. CW: Gore

Chapter 1: Bring me to Life

By GhostlyGlimmer

Anita Grayves stretched her back, each vertebra popping with a satisfying crack as she exhaled a long sigh. The dim, sterile light of the embalming room cast a clinical glow over her as she donned her PPE, the familiar rustle of the fabric and snap of the gloves a ritual she knew too well. Her technician, Dalton, rolled in the gurney with the next client, the wheels creaking slightly on the cold tile floor. With deliberate care, he unzipped the black body bag, revealing the still form inside.

Danny Fenton, just seventeen years old, lay before her. His once vibrant eyes, now milky white and clouded, stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The raven-black hair that had probably once been meticulously styled was now disheveled, a sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. He was small for his age, almost fragile-looking, and Anita couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow as she gazed down at him.

But it was the Y-shaped scar on his chest that made her pause. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. She had seen countless autopsy scars in her career, but this was different. The coroner’s report had mentioned it wasn’t a typical dissection; it was a vivisection. The word sent a chill down her spine. She had heard stories, whispers of unsanctioned procedures, but she never thought she’d be the one to witness the aftermath.

Taking a deep breath, Anita began the embalming process. The familiar hum of the pump filled the room as she attached the trocar to his abdomen, starting the slow, methodical draining of blood from the body. The crimson fluid seeped out, replaced with embalming chemicals that would preserve what remained, ensuring the semblance of life for his final viewing.

With the embalming fluids circulating, she moved on to setting his face. It was important that he looked peaceful, almost as if he were merely sleeping. She began with his mouth, loading the needle injector with a barbed-tipped wire. The tool clicked as she pressed it against the maxilla, the wire piercing through the bone with precision. She repeated the process with the mandible, then twisted the wires together, securing his jaw in place. There would be no risk of it coming loose during the funeral, sparing his family the distress of seeing him slack-jawed in the casket.

Next were his eyes. Anita carefully pulled back his eyelids, reaching for the eye caps—small, clear discs with barbed spikes on the inside. They would help his eyes maintain a natural, slightly closed appearance, preventing the sunken look that so often accompanied death. She was inches away from placing them on his clouded eyes when her stomach let out a loud grumble.

“Damn it,” she muttered, the sudden urge reminding her of the coffee she had downed earlier.

Reluctantly, she pushed back her rolling chair, the casters scraping against the tile. She stripped off her PPE, each piece coming off with a practiced flick, and headed for the bathroom. The small, clinical space echoed with the sound of her footsteps as she entered, the door clicking shut behind her. She hurried through her business, then paused at the sink, methodically scrubbing her hands. As she looked up into the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—haggard, with dark circles etched under her tired eyes. She grimaced, making a mental note to try and get some sleep tonight.

Just as she turned off the faucet, the lights flickered, followed by a low, otherworldly groan that seemed to reverberate through the walls. Anita froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound unlike anything she had heard before—something between a wail and a whisper, as if the air itself was being torn apart. A chill ran down her spine, and she stood there, paralyzed, staring at her own reflection, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥̹̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌��̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀̔̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼��̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

Anita jolted at the horrific sound, the air around her vibrating with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance. Her hands flew to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise, but it was too late. A searing pain shot through her head, her vision darkening as her eyes rolled back. She crumpled to the cold, sterile floor, her body limp, blood trickling from her ears and pooling beneath her head in a dark, crimson stain.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton’s eyes shot open in terror. His pupils contracted painfully against the blinding fluorescence of the room, his breath catching in his throat. His mind, sluggish and disoriented, struggled to make sense of what was happening. His hands moved instinctively to his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase a bad dream.

But this was no dream.

As his vision cleared, he looked around, taking in the stark white walls and the cold steel surfaces of the embalming room. The air was thick with the acrid scent of formaldehyde, stinging his nose and making him gag. Panic surged through him as he realized he was completely naked, save for a thin cloth draped haphazardly over his waist.

But it was when his gaze fell on his chest that the true horror set in.

There, etched into his skin, was a large, brutal Y-shaped scar, stretching from his shoulders to his pubic bone. The sight of it made his stomach churn. His face contorted in terror, a scream tearing from his throat, raw and primal. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one more desperate than the last, as he clutched his head in his hands, trying to comprehend the impossible. The room seemed to close in around him, the sterile environment suffocating, the silence after his scream deafening.

Danny was alive—but something was horribly, irrevocably wrong.

Ȃ̵̢̡͕̲͍̺̬̩̪̯͖̝̤̱̖̮̼̝͎̭͇̖̥̫̒̈́̔̃̎̄̌̿̍͘̕͝A̵̡̨̙͇͚̥̦͚͙̘̝̤͎͙͒̽̃̒́́͛̉̂͋͝ͅÄ̶̧̨̢̛̛͖̭̠̤͈͈̘͔̣͔̱͇̱̜̯͎͚͍̩͚̺̦̜͑̑̓͂͋͌̄͜͠͠͝Ą̴̧̢̢̧̢̝̱̻̥̹̖͕̦̠̬͙̭̜̣̱͓͚̗̗̬̮̙̤̲͇̟͚̣̜̜̼̹̻̮͇̟̤̹̩̬͕͖̖͙̤́̈́̓́̾ͅͅA̷̧̡̢̨̧̩͙̥̥̘̘͚̞̣̮̣̯̮͔͚͈̤͙̦͈͕͙̣̳̝͈̩͙͇̲̳͈͈͖͙̦̥͈̗̠̖̣̐̇̇̆͒͂͗̃̾̀̆̈́̽͆̆̕̚Ą̷̧̨̥̠̦͙͍̘̬̥̘͕̦͚̫̣̱̤͎̹̰̣̥̰̥̟̘̜̗̪̫̘̤̱̈́́͐̌͛̄̀͆́̓͂͛̈́̇̉͜͝͠Ą̸̢̡̞̻̪͎͔͕̠̗̖͈̲̯͓̜̝̭̼͎̟͕̀̌̀̈́̑̏̑͐́̋̄͌̏́̈́͋̈́̊̋̓̓̀̏̏̀͝͝ͅA̷̧̡̧̧̛̛̠̘̻̮̱̦̠̦̣̫̩̬͚̦̳̮͙͎̞̞̗̮̩̩̪͓̩̻̪̱̰͉̼̮̞͖̒͋͐́͒͗̒̋̑͂̅̎̾̀̓̔̋̇̈́͑̆͐̌͌̑̌̋̅̔͘̕̚͝ͅA̴̛̛̛͙̮͌̌̅̀̊̅́̉̈́͆̅͑̐̏̄͆̈͗̒͐̓́̀͊̆̔̅̄͂͊̃̍̽̈́̊͌̀̿͛̓̈́͗̆̓͋̈̑̚̚͝͠͝͝À̷̢̧̡̢̙̪̰̮̼͙̣̜̭̦̞͓̩̝̣̙͕̞͙̳͇̦͉̼̜̠͈͔̰̺̟̜̳͍͚̥̺̫̈́͛̾̌̊́̿͊̈́̑̓͌̕̕͝ͅA̷̧̨̧̧̧͍̦̖̖̭̪̭̞̦̹͎͈͕̖̮̙͇̪̥̣͕̪̫͓͙̖̜̙͍͉̭̺̘̰̞̰̯͓̔̐̂͋͋̀̓̍̓̉͑̇͊̊̃̈́̌̅͑͆̍̑̋͑̍̔̂̒̀͗͌̇̂̆̈́̂́̈́̉̀͗́̐͛̇͆̂̀͂̔͐͛́̈́̉̃̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅĄ̷̥̗͕̙͍̭̠̮́̈̀͗̈̏̅̓̓̄̈͆̄̈́̃̌͒̓͑͐̉̔̉́͗̌̍͆́̍̆̕̚͘͜͝A̷̧̙͓̫͚͐͐̉̈́̾̍̇́͋̎̆͒̆͒̋̌̕Ą̵̨̡̧̧̢̢͓̯̤̹͙̘͈̹̭̥̪̬͕̜̦̠̻͓̫̤͈̜̣̲͙̬̦̣̺̖̞̗͎̙̙̩̯͍̱̥̝̖̅̀̋͊̇̉̔̈́̈́͗̇͗̈́͋̇̆͐͌̽̓̾̀̀̀̏͒̑̉̔͂̚͜͜͜ͅͅA̸̧̡̨̡̢̻̜͓͚͖̞͚̜̞̙̻̥̠̞̰͔̠̗͎̝̖͇̳̎̀̄̌̒̓͒̐̎̚͠Ạ̴̧̢̫̣̻̬̮̙̫̯̪̙̻͈̟̪̳̅͆͗̌̓̒̍͗̅͊́̏̃͐͑̃́͆̒̍̓̍̈̔͑̾̽̽̐͗̂̑̋́͌̚̕͝͠͠͠Å̵̧̨̢̡̛̯̻̬̻͈̩̹̜͓͎̣̜̥͔̜̩̟̞͓͓̠̬̬̟̜͓͓̲̻͚̟̦͇͓̰͕̲̝̳̺͕̝̭̣͕͈̥̲̪͎͎̻̟͚̖̋͋̀̋́́̊̎̐̀͊̑̊̾̓̈͛͒̄̊̀̕̚͜͠͝ͅͅA̶̛̛͕͈̻̺̲̤̳̖̋̓̀͋́͗̀͒̃̈́̉̅̉̉͑͑̋̅̃͒̎͋̎̏́̓͌̆͋ͅȦ̵͖̪̘͛̋͒͠͝ͅĄ̴̧̨̢̛̦̱̦̺̩̞̟̲̻̬͈̪̖̬̯̝̝̲̰̣̩̯̫͈̫̪̜̳͇̮͖̪̱̠̹̤̰͓̭͕̥̹̣̀̅̉̒̃̽͊̆̊̈́̄̐͌́̓̾̓̍̌͑̓͌͊̾̊̂͒͌̀̔͒̕͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅÄ̶̢̢̱̯̰̟̙͇͔̰̗̜̦̤̪̟̞̪͍̞̟̠̰̗̬̖͎͓̰̫́̈́̊̈́̒A̷̧̢̢̛̹͇̩͎͎̥̱͔͉̞͍͕̠̮͔̭̪͔̜̜̘̰̞͇̱̙͖̮̞̖͉͚̯̟͙̞̫̭͔̰̞͙̗̱̹̺̰͖̭̮͚̪̩͒͑̽̉̋̔͗͗̃̊̀̽̾̿̒̍͗͑̇̅̒͛̈́́̍̿̒̾̊͋́̃̃̈́͂̔̀͐̿̆͌̑̐̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅA̴̡̢̢̧̡̧̛̯͔̭̝̪̰̳̭͚̗̣̼͕̗̟͈͔̩͖̪̖̪͈̝͉̭̭̝̳̘̠̬̩̰̳̳͍̘̫̪̓̀̾̉́̿͂̓̾̎́͐͑̄̉̿̈̍̅̎̏̈́̓͘͝͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅA̶̙͇͎̤̓̿͗́̄̔̆͋̋͆̒̔͐́̽̄͒̎̏͛̂̅̒̋̽̈̋͂͐͐̎̅̌̋̾͑͌͋͐͘̕̕͝͝Ḁ̶̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̰̫̰͓͍̥̝̤̤͕̟̬͕̺͔̻̯̗̠̺̯̬̲̠̳̗͇͇̖̳̙͈͖͕͚͖̖̟̻͉̼̈̈͆̉͊̃̐́̎̊̌́̆̓͆̈̉́̅̆͌͐̽͌̀͒̽̌̿͐̀̽̈́́͋̑̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠ͅA̷̡̨̢̛͕̟̜̰̼͔̠͉͈̼̫͚̟͈̻̖͛̍̍̇̑̐̓̓̀͠Ą̷̱̲̱̳̦͔̥̼̠͕̠̟͎̣̘̮͉̖̗̙̗̞̣̟̈́̾̽̿̍͌̚͘͜͠A̴̡̛̹̗̥̯͇̥̙̣̙̜̰̪̰̘͈͐̌̃̓̌̾̿̃̈͒͋̃̐͒̔̍̈́̓͑̓́̔̔̒͂̐̉̀͋͆͌͂̾͘͘͝͝͠͠Ā̶̡̛̛̖̳̟͕͖̻̲͓̦͈͓͚͈̺͍͙̲̗̒̐̍̂̆͋̈̃͑̽̉̓̃̇͘Ą̴̨̛̣͓̞̪̱̰̜͂̏̀̆͒̀̿͆̑͊̿̈́̑͋̀̌̾̀̈́̾̽̈̈́͐͊̀̒̈́̇͒̈́̀̐̌͒͋͌͊̉̂͒̄̒̇̇̐̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝Ā̷̛̛̬͙̠͉̰̼̼̦͉͕̤͈͙̯̈́̿̅̊̋̽̈́̓͌̈́̏͋̍͌͑̆́̄̂̍̿̉̑̈́͊̀͐̈́͋́͆̌̉̀̔̂̍̍̾́̔̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝A̷̡̧̡̢̨̡̡̢̢̘͉̭̠̖͈̠̭̖̞̭̞͎̤͚͕͔͖͚͇͇̯̟̝̪̖̦͙͙͇̳̪̼̮̫̥̲̲̙͔̟̭͈̺̺͚̬̱͓̠͒̎́̒͐͋͒͂̍̈́̅̐̇͜͜͠Ą̷̢̡̢̢̛̲̝͉͓̺͉̣͇͖̺̜̝̗̹̥̩͎͔͕̦͉͍̜͉͔̫̟̥͓̯̬̖̣͙͍̭͇͔̱̺͈͈̱͗̓̽̒̐͂̓̿͒͊̓̌̅̈́̉̅̓̎̈́̎͗̈́̍̌̒̂̈́̋̐͋̓̆́́̈̇̂͐̔͘̕͝͝A̴̢̡̛̭͈̺̥͇͓̟̻͔̪͇̝̰̱̮͇̦͕̞͙̘̤̻̺̐̎̇̉̓́̐͂́̀͌̽̋̒̀̋͊̀̾͒̓̇̽̂́͛̓̀̓̄̉́̅̀̾͒͌̈́̐͐̑̈́͒́̌̈́̿̽̾̃̽̀͋͛͘͜À̶̡̧̧̨̨̛̛̮̹͓̥̠̱̱̯̪̹̹̮̳͔̞̫̗̹̘͙͙̝̘̳̠̠̳̱̺̗̳̬̰̤̩̖͙̬̥͔̬͈̭̳̬̻̼̐̎͌͆̎̈́̀͆͌̒̅̾͂̋̍̏̈́͛͆̓̊͐͊̄̀̂͐̽̓̍͊͆̚̚̕͜͠͠͝͝Ą̷̧̛̛̛̛͈͖̞͓̱̦̬̣̭̗͍̤̣̦̯̪̹̘̟̙͈̼̬͑̿͊̈͑͛͒͗̑̀͆̏̒̓̃̊̏̐̉̿̄͒̂͛̈̀̂̈͋̀͗̃̆̏̾̏͐̂͂̊̈́̏̐̉͆̂̍̓̚͘̚͘̕͝͝͝͝ͅͅÁ̴̡̢̧̢̩̰͔̰͈͖̬̯̱̙̱̣̭̟͇͙̦̭̣̱͉͇͚̗͌͋͘͜Ä̵̧̛̝̘̼͇̬̭̼̬̠̞̩̩̜̤̰͙͔̼̬̟̟̫͓̥͇̱͕̦̜͙͚̪͚̩̱̟̗̥͙͇̩̞̬̞̗̥̻̘͓̹̻̰̫̙̯̗̹̹́̐͐̎̇̿͗̊͂̏́̂̋̀͆̆̾̄͑͑̽̌̈́̄͋͋̈̂̆̐̀́͌́̎̋̅͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅA̷̧̢̡͇̣͈̥̻̗͓͈͖͔̭̩̪͎͍̻̥̝͈̝̭̤͍̘̺̥̲͉̰̦͓̫͇͓͙͙̣̼̫͇͛̋͒͐̄́̔̓͐̅͒͆̏̅̎̇́̚̚͜͜͜ͅ

As Danny’s scream echoed in the sterile room, he froze, realizing something was terribly wrong with his voice. It wasn’t his voice. It was distorted, hollow, like a death rattle echoing from the depths of a crypt. The sound made his skin crawl, every hair on his body standing on end. It was the kind of voice that belonged to something not of this world—something dead. He slapped his hands over his mouth, horrified, tears welling up in his cloudy white eyes.

He felt something hard under his lips and pulled them open, trembling fingers probing inside his mouth. His breath hitched when he encountered metal wires, woven cruelly through his teeth. Panic surged through him, and he tried to wrench his jaw open, but it wouldn’t budge. A sharp, searing pain shot through his skull, and he winced, the realization of his confinement crashing down on him.

Tears streamed down his face, his entire body quaking with fear and confusion. Sobs wracked his fragile form, the reality of his situation suffocating him. This couldn’t be happening—this had to be a nightmare. What the hell was going on? Why was he connected to this machine? Why was there a grotesque wound carved into his chest? And why, oh God, why was his jaw wired shut?

His mind spiraled, grasping desperately for memories, for anything that could explain this horror. But everything was a blur, a foggy haze that clouded his thoughts. He couldn’t think straight, his head pounding with the effort of trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memory.

But through the chaos, one thought pierced the fog: he needed help. He needed to find his family, his friends. He clung to the memory of them like a lifeline, the only clear images in his fractured mind. Sam and Tucker—they would know what to do. They had always been there for him, through every strange and terrifying moment of his life. If anyone could help him make sense of this nightmare, it was them. He had to find them. He had to get out of here.

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