Danny dies every night.
So! Danny's secret Ghost Powers remained a secret for about 6 Hours.
After turning back into a Human, he had immediately gone back to his room and tried to fall asleep, pretending none of it was even real, that it was just a dream. The idea that he had just died was understandably hard to swallow, not to mention the fact he had somehow come back.
All he wanted to do was rest and figure it out later. It was a problem for Future Danny.
Except when he woke up, something was wrong.
He felt Cold, Colder than he had ever been before. It was as if he had a chunk of pure Ice stuck in his Chest, the cold spreading across every part of his body. With a start he realized that his chest wasn't moving at all, either from the beating of his heart or the breaths he was supposed to be taking.
He wasn't breathing. His heart wasn't pumping. The Ice in his chest was the feeling of his heart not pumping, still and unnaturally cold. At that realization, he felt his Heart begin beating again.
He ran downstairs, hoping to get his parents help. He didn't know what was going on exactly, but they must be able to help him right?! They were the leading experts on Undead Biology, they must know how to help him!
When he reached the kitchen, he saw his parents and Jazz huddled together at the table, crying together for some reason.
"Mom! Dad! Jazz! Somethings wrong! I don't know what happened, but last night I-"
He stopped when he saw their faces. Their cheeks were tear-streaked, eyes bloodshot, but the thing he noticed first was the grief and absolutely confusion in their eyes. They were staring at him as if they had seen a Ghost, figuratively of course, and they seemed to he trying to connect the dots in their heads.
"Danny?" Jazz asked in a shaky voice. "Is that you?"
"Jazz?" He asked in return, "What do you mean, of course it's me?"
She looked hopeful for a moment, before his mom stood up.
"No." She said, her voice held a hard edge. "It's not."
Danny almost fell over when she said that. "W-what?" He asked, "What are you talking about Mo-"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" She yelled. She gripped the Blaster in her hand tighter, aiming it at him. "I checked everything when we found Danny's body! He had no Pulse, no Brain Activity, and his Ecto Levels were far higher than normal! Danny is Dead! And you killed him!"
"What?!" Danny yelled in shock, "I didn't kill hi-I mean, I didn't kill me-I mean-What are you talking about!?"
This time his dad answered, getting up from the table himself. In his hand was another Blaster. "Danny's Ecto Levels could only have been that high if killed by something with a large amount of Ectoplasm, enough to leave such a mark. The Portal was open for hours last night before we found it and sealed it up, and that's when you got through isn't it!?"
His Dad leveled the Blaster to him.
"No! I'm not a Ghost, it's me! It's Danny!?" He pleaded, "Mom, I always baked you a cake on mother's day! Dad, I helped you clean up the lab the last time you blew it up! It's me!"
"Nice try." His mother said, "Die again, Ecto Scum."
That day, Danny ran away from home.
...
Ever since that day, Danny had been running as far as he could from Amity Park.
After he got out of the house, he tried to find any place he could hide as he figured everything out. His first try was Tucker, but his parents had anticipated that and beat him to the Punch. The same happened when he tried to go to Sam's, he barely escaped that situation alive(?).
At first he tried to stay in Amity, hoping he would eventually find a way to convince his parents of his true identity, so everything could go back to normal.
He abandoned that hope about a week later, when his parents got the local authorities on their side and issued a public service announcement stating he was a Murderer who killed their son, and to contact the Police if anybody saw him. The mindless Ghost they captured and presented on the Local News cemented the publics view on him.
So he ran from Amity.
The first few weeks on the Run were the worst. He wasn't used to surviving on the street, much less evading the Law Enforcement that seemed to keep finding him. He had to constantly stay on the move to keep away from the pursuit of his Parents, the Police, and the weird guys in white suits who had shown up once he passed the State Border.
His new Ghost Powers were the only thing that had let him get away most of those times. He could turn into a Full Ghost whenever he wanted, unlocking all of his powers for the time being, but also seemingly sending up a Beacon to whoever was looking for him. He found it was much easier to use their weakened versions in his Human Form.
As for his Undead-ness, he had mostly figured it out. His body was lying to him. He was Dead, but his Body was just pretending to be alive for his own sake. He didn't need to breath anymore, and his heart didn't need to pump, but they did because he felt that they needed to. He probably didn't even need to eat anymore.
The problem was that it couldn't keep it up when he was asleep. No matter what, every time he fell asleep his Body would die again, and when he woke up he would have to make it Live again.
One of the main reasons he kept getting caught recently was because well-meaning civilians would report to the Police that there was a Dead Teenager under a Bridge, or on a Park Bench, or on one memorable occasion in a Ditch. He would wake up in a Body Bag, escape, and be reported to his Pursuers.
At least his pattern of movement was untraceable so far.
Turns out, the Portal's opening had much more of an effect than his parents had anticipated. The Shockwave in the fabric of Reality when they punched a hole through it (and him), had caused dozens of Natural Portals to form across the Country, opening and closing in random places, soaking the area of Ectoplasm.
As an apparent Ghost, Danny was somehow drawn to these places. Whenever he got to one he felt rejuvenated, as if the stress of the past few days had never happened to him. He could only assume that he was Absorbing the Ectoplasm in the area to feed himself, based on a few of the things he remembered from his parents constant ramblings.
Whenever he would go to one of these places, he would find a bunch of Ghosts. Some were friendly, defying all of his expectations, while others were...less so.
They seemed to resent the fact that he was still half-alive, some simply jabbing insults at him, others straight up attacking him. It seemed that Life was a sore subject among those guys. Or maybe it was him stopping them whenever they attacked humans...that was probably more accurate.
Sometimes the Ghosts he would meet were in the middle of attacking humans to fulfill what they called their "Obsessions". He learned that all Undead, and basically all Immortal Beings, have Obsessions. They are their Sole Purpose in existence, a built in defense mechanism against insanity by giving them something to dedicate Eternity to.
He didn't know if he had an Obsession, but if he did he hoped it was easier to manage than theirs seemed to be. One of them was obsessed with attention, but got it by hypnotizing humans into adoring her. She chilled out after a while. Another loved the thrill of the Hunt, but only wanted rare game. He chased after Danny a lot in pursuit of his "One of a Kind Pelt".
He fought then off and saved people whenever he could, although sometimes it was risky. Many of them were older and more experienced than him, so he was forced to use his Ghost Form against some of them, sacrificing his hiding spot to save the people being terrorized.
He sort of enjoyed it. Whenever he helped people, saved them from danger, he felt better about his situation. As if he was making the best out of the horrible situation his life had turned into by helping as many people as he could. He always felt a bit more motivated to keep going every time he helped anybody.
Maybe that was his Obsession? Helping others? He didn't really think so, he was nowhere near altruistic enough to consider that a possibility. Maybe it was Space? He always felt that same relief when he would camp out away from the Cities. Eh, he'll probably never know.
This cycle of finding a new hiding spot, getting discovered, and running away again continued for a while. Years even.
Danny had Died at 14. He was now 17, and had been homeless for 3 years.
He hoped this next hiding spot would last a bit longer than the previous ones. This one felt different, the Ectoplasm he was wandering towards felt older than the other places he had gone. His previous hiding spots had always been the site of a recent Natural Portal, and the Ectoplasm in the atmosphere would feel Fresh and Wild.
But the Ectoplasm where he was going tasted Older, Stronger, more Set in Stone than the others had. Wherever he wad headed to next, it had been soaking in Ectoplasm for far longer than any other place he had ever been, even in Amity.
He walked up the the Sign at the side of the road, introducing the City to newcomers.
"Welcome to Gotham City" it said.
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thinking about john's multitude of short-lived, often quickly-abandoned apartments for some reason, so a couple details:
although you might expect to find a very wizard-y interior to any place he's currently living at — you know, grimoires, skulls, dust, clutter, etc. — his flats actually tend to be fairly spartan in terms of decor; they've even been accused of looking modern, here and there. he just moves too frequently to really settle in & accrue Things, and has so often had to simply up & leave everything he currently owned behind (with very little chance of getting any of it back) that he no longer attaches much meaning to household objects.
besides the consistent presence of at least one bookshelf with at least 12 books on it, and a sad sprig of garden sage that miraculously hasn't died yet, the one exception to his lack of personal touch is his extensive collection of records + tapes, all of which he has repeatedly & methodically tracked down and bought / bid / traded / stolen / threatened for / blackmailed for / simply taken back whenever an enterprising landlord or new tenant left him the opportunity to do so. his record player itself has never needed to be taken back, since it has always mysteriously vanished from whatever flat he's leaving and mysteriously appeared wherever he's staying; it's convenient like that. his 10th anniversary walkman, however, frequently goes missing, only to turn up again later in a place he KNOWS he checked when he's least expecting it.
lack of home decor isn't to say he doesn't own much, mind: the bulk of his personal possessions — assorted occult paraphernalia, blackmail documentation, miscellaneous crap from his mucous membrane days, and anything he is able to take with him from past flats — are usually stored off-site, in a secure location that can't easily be tied back to him. this guy's been accused of being a satanic killer on multiple occasions, he knows better than to keep all the real shit out where anyone can just swan in and see it.
currently, this storage location (which i lovingly call occult shit central) is an abandoned inner london storefront + adjoining flat that was formerly his old friend ray monde's shop and home, called brick-a-brac antiques. it's decidedly cozier than the last place, (in that there are chairs, plural,) and has fewer bear traps laid out in anticipation of unlucky thieves; in fact, if a person were to visit without already knowing where constantine actually lives, it'd be easy to mistake it as his expectedly-wizardy flat. it's not an ideal location for an occult shit central, too close to the heart of the city and too close to people to avoid drumming up suspicion should constantine attempt any sort of ritual inside, but until chas finally quits ducking the paperwork and signs over his storage lot (which he may or may not be dragging his feet on out of pure resentment for having to do it at all) ray's place is the best option there is.
constantine's previous (and future) storage location was a lock-up in streatham that chas had been letting him use (see: all but surrendered to him entirely) since he got out of ravenscar, but after constantine's sister died, john decided he was done with magic and, in a spontaneous fit of rage, burnt the place down with everything but a few necessities still inside. he regretted this later, when he inevitably returned to the occult scene after just over a year away, and spent a lot of time calling in favors / hypnotizing arson inspectors to try and put together an inventory of everything he'd lost.
in the nearly 20 years since the fire, he's managed to replace or find substitutes for about 2/3 of what he had (occult-wise), and gather enough fresh dirt / do enough favors / orchestrate enough compromising situations to accumulate a little over 1/4 of the political / interpersonal power he once maintained. ( the lack of success in the latter being, in part, because people now in power aren't as familiar with his name & reputation as they once were; in part because people just don't believe in magic as much as they used to, or were otherwise bought by hell / heaven / other parties a LONG time ago; and in part because he's come to absolutely fucking despise most politicians / people in power more than he is willing to work with them, or more than he is able to plausibly believe they won't try to drop him at the first opportunity. )
you would be hard-pressed to find a landlady/landlord that speaks kindly of this man. if he wasn't kicked out for suspicious smells / disturbing noises / sudden infestations / suspected satanic activity, then it's likely that he abruptly up and disappeared in the middle of the night, with no warning and no rent. (on a few occasions, this vanishing act also coincided conspicuously with a gruesome death on the premises, sometimes of the landlady/landlord themselves, although no one's ever been able to prove anything.) frankly it's . . . magic, that people still rent to him.
due to these aforementioned bad ends, he's incredibly lucky if he gets enough time or leeway to take any sort of furniture with him from one place to the next. however, there is one incredibly comfy, wing-backed, sapphire-blue armchair that's miraculously managed to survive every move in the last ten or so years without being reported stolen — even though it has survived every move because it has, in fact, been stolen in the dead of night nearly every single time, by john and at least one of his buddies.
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Take this as permission to ramble about an oc <3
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY CASSIE TIME
every1 look @ her outfits........ if u dont want to read th worlds longest oc lore dump u can go in #party rat, #cassie, or #boss cass and learn literally everything u need 2 know abt her frm context clues
SO THATS CASSIEEE my mgs oc ✨
aka cassandra aka cass aka party rat aka my baby
looong story short she was your classic mgs child soldier with a streak of bad luck until she tried to KILL big boss in the late 1960s. she was one of the first poor bastards he took under his wing and following the dubiously canon events of the san hieronymo incident she became one of the original members of the foxhound unit: solitary shrike.
obviously that code name sucks ASS and honestly so did she; she was moody, rude, violent and didnt work well with others. absolutely no joy or whimsy until she met some british asshole named lance hewitt, codename bengal tiger, and got paired up with him. they proceeded to survive a catastrophic near death mission that changed the trajectories of their lives FOREVER on account of they emerged from it so ride or die for each other that they began matching each others freak to an inadvisable degree.
she changed her name (surprise her given name isnt cassandra. only 3 people in the whole world know what it used to be and im not one of those people) and her code name to reflect the "new her" she wanted to cultivate after facing death, branding herself "party rat." the goal? fill whatever life she had left with as much joy, love & fun as she possibly could. she was going to sing as loud as she wanted, dance as wild as she felt like, and finally stop holding herself back from fully connecting with the people around her. to solidify this, as well as to show her complete and utter over the top devotion to him, she took on lances last name, finally becoming the cassandra hewitt we all know + love
now a member of the MSF cass works as an engineer sergeant, chief mechanic, & generally invents a bunch of highly questionable weapons and machines. she also operates on the field as a demolitions expert for her squad, which grows to include an absolute dickhead named joaquin gutierrez, or mangey jackal. though she tries to embrace her new party spirit and the "peace and love" vibes of the time, he singles out bengal for some intensive one on one training and eventually pushes him to the point of breaking, making cass snap and quite literally bite his ear off. but like. he was fine. and everyone got better. and she taught him how to do the hustle as a peace offering. nothing a little disco cant fix.
back to the Plot: she eventually gets wrapped up in the creation of metal gear zeke, and was one of the weak points exploited by paz that allowed her to hijack it later on. she meets her canonical end during the ground zeroes incident, dying alone in the lower levels after sending her squadmates ahead to buy time. she blowed up </3
in alternate timelines where she survives she loses her left arm and occasionally her leg below the knee as well. as a sole survivor she becomes tangled in a web between big boss, zero, and cipher, creating a PMC of her own in order to pick up the pieces and continue the legacy left to her. she also begins raising the clone sons of her late best friend as her own but THATS neither here nor there <- dont even worry about it
if the others survive she manages to slip from the attention of the higher ups and settles on creating a relief network with amanda valenciano libre, an old friend from her time in the msf. no matter what, cass maintains a stubborn belief that unless shes seen the bodies of her friends theyre still alive, which means she cant rest until shes found them. even if it takes Nine Years
ANYWAYS LIKE.
tldr: shes like if pinkie pie had a party cannon that killed people for realsies
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