As crazy as it sounds, based both on what Frostbite said and mom's research it makes sense. The implications of that are making me lose my mind, though, so I need to sit down and sort this out.
If humans can manipulate ectoplasm, then it would make sense if humans also had access to ghost powers—to a much smaller extent, it must be emphasized. Obviously our lack of awareness of this ability works against us, and really the amount of ectoplasm in our nervous systems is too small to actually do much.
But what if we could change that? What if we could introduce a person's nervous system to a greater amount of ectoplasm, that they would then have complete control over in the same way that a ghost controls their own ectoplasm?
What if we've already been exposed to that amount of ectoplasm?
We were all pulled into the Ghost Zone when Pariah Dark attacked, right? And there's been an active portal leaking ectoplasm into Amity Park for literal years—into my basement. Not only that, but I've been eating ectoplasm-contaminated food since I was a toddler. I've been splashed, sprayed, and shot with ectoplasm more times than I can count, and mom and dad haven't been much better off despite the hazmat suits. Danny's a whole other issue, but even before the accident he must have been as contaminated as I was—as I am. And now Tucker and Sam are using the portal, and all our classmates are getting overshadowed every other week, and ghosts like Undergrowth and Nocturne overshadowed the entire town…
No one in Amity Park has a "normal" amount of ectoplasm in their body.
So, what does that mean? Do we all have latent ghost powers just waiting to be unlocked? Are we all guaranteed to become ghosts, regardless of how we die? Can we… Have we be changing in subtle ways? Are our subconscious self-perceptions enough to make our ectoplasm affect our biology without us even realizing it?
Are we becoming
We're still regular
At the very least we don't have any obvious powers, not in same way Danny does—and we're definitely not ghosts, or even halfas. But we're not exactly normal, either.
…
I don't think I should tell anyone about this.
I don't think anyone would believe me even if I told them—except for mom and dad, who would try to "cure" us, and I don't want to think about what would happen to Danny in that scenario. Regardless, I'd need to prove it by actually, visibly manipulating ectoplasm, and that's…
Hm. I feel like Danny would have a problem with that.
I'll need to unpack that later.
Anyway, doing it in public would probably get me the wrong kind of attention. Someone's bound to catch me on camera, and the next thing you know the GIW will be knocking on our door asking to investigate, and the last time that happened it nearly destroyed both our worlds. Even conducting experiments in private would feel risky.
Just as well, I guess. This whole rabbit hole of a topic has been distracting me when I should be focusing on my future. I can share the advice about shapeshifting with Danny, but beyond that…
I think I'm done.
…
I'm going to hide this journal. Mom and dad shouldn't know about any of this yet.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
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A/N: This is the Ectoplasm Exposition Extravaganza. If you need a refresher on fanon ectoplasm headcanons, look no further, because tbh a lot of this lines up with generally accepted fanon about cores, Obsessions, haunts, liminals, etc. However, I also raise to you the possibility that Pariah Dark was at one point a halfa, and Jazz has a bit of an existential crisis. So that's... fun?
Saturday, April 25th
Notes:
Confirmed: a ghost's self-perception affects their appearance, meaning if a ghost can intentionally alter their self-perception (i.e. sufficiently imagine themselves as something/someone else) they can shapeshift at will
Tell Danny! this may be why he struggles with duplication
Due to above, ghosts with strong imaginations are more powerful (generally)
Raw power levels, however, come from the strength of a ghost's "core"
A core is made of concentrated ectoplasm
It's the center of a ghost's consciousness/neurological impulses
The whole their-body-is-their-brain thing still stands insofar as it is constant electrical impulses originating from the core that keep a ghost's ectoplasmic body together and allow it to change its shape on a whim
Cores are what allow a ghost to generate new ectoplasm
They function kind of like hearts, too, pumping ectoplasm where it needs to go
Cores are able to manipulate ectoplasm in a variety of ways, including the basic ghost skill set of:
Invisibility
Intangibility
Gravity manipulation (flight)
Ectoplasmic attacks
There are different types of cores, each of which give a ghost specialized powers
Example: Danny has an ice core, which gives him ice powers
Complete list of core types TBC
Cores are created at the moment of death, given there is ectoplasm present and…
"What do you mean, strong emotion?" Jazz asked, looking up from her journal. She and Frostbite had the medical center to themselves; Tucker had bailed at the first opportunity, preferring to pester the mechanics about the intricacies of hover technology.
Frostbite's claw stilled over the latest slide in his presentation. "I'd thought that would be obvious," he said. "Tell me, Jazz, where do human emotions come from?"
"The brain."
"Exactly. And you also feel them throughout your entire body, do you not?"
Tension in her shoulders, when her calculus teacher hit the class with a pop quiz. Heat in her eyes that when Danny first rejected her help as a ghost hunter. A fullness in her chest whenever her family sat down together for dinner. "Yes."
"Then it follows that if a human is feeling a strong emotion at the time of their death, more of their nervous system is aroused, which results in a clearer, more defined ectoplasmic imprint. That imprint then folds in on itself until a core is created, and from the core, the ghost."
He swiped to the next slide, a detailed image of a core. The grey, furrowed exterior was not unlike the wrinkled surface of a brain.
"Wait, so is that why different cores have different strengths? Not everyone dies with the same level of emotion?" Her eyes widened. "Is that why vengeful spirits are so powerful?"
Frostbite gave her a toothy smile. "You're a quick study. But remember, while ghosts may have a base power level determined by the strength of their core, true power comes from how that strength is applied. I know of several ghosts who, although they do not have particularly strong cores, can still warp reality."
"How?"
"Well, it depends in large part on their Obsession."
Notes (cont.):
Strong emotions are almost always prompted by something, so when someone dies, their ghost is usually Obsessed (Frostbite capitalizes it?) with that something
This is why stronger ghosts have distinct gimmicks; they probably died thinking about the thing they're now Obsessed with
Box Ghost::boxes
Skulker::hunting
Technus::technology
Ember::music
TBC
Obsessions are intrinsic to a ghost's being
they will never not be Obsessed, though they may briefly engage in activities unrelated to their Obsession
"What about Danny?"
"The Great One? What about him?"
"Does he have an Obsession? You told me he has a core, but his personality doesn't seem like it revolves around one singular thing. At least, not in way that ghosts' do."
Frostbite scratched the back of his head. "No, the Great One currently does not have an Obsession."
She arched an eyebrow. "But?"
"But… he is a halfa." He lifted his furry shoulders in a mountainous shrug. "Frankly, halfas are the exception to almost every rule. Yes, he currently has an ice core with a base power level, but his core is malleable in a way a full ghost's cannot be. His nervous system is still imprinting onto it, and will continue to imprint onto it until the moment of his full death."
Jazz's pen twirled in her fingers. "So his core will change over time."
"Not just change. The more emotional Danny is while alive, the more powers he stands to unlock—powers he will keep upon his full death. You must understand, it is much easier for the living to change than the dead, to shift their focus and truly become something else. We ghosts are locked into our Obsessions, for all we may change our shapes. Thus, the more diverse Danny's skill set becomes, the more equipped he will be to defeat any kind of enemy—and that's without taking into account the raw strength his core will gain when he fully dies."
Jazz's pen dropped to the floor. "What exactly are you implying?"
"That we do not call him the Great One out of simple gratitude. Young Daniel could one day become the most powerful ghost in the Infinite Realms."
Right.
Okay.
Sure.
"But he's not ready for that."
"And I am inclined to agree," Frostbite said, matter-of-fact. "But I do believe that the Great One will become worthy of the power he stands to inherit."
That he was completely sincere did much to calm Jazz's pounding heart—but even so, it was impossible to shake the chill that came with the thought of her sometimes selfish, self-isolating brother as an all-powerful, other-worldly being. His heart was generally in the right place, of course she knew that, but hero or not he still had a lot of growing up to do.
Doesn't he?
"He is certainly a better candidate than Vlad Plasmius, not to mention Pariah Dark," Frostbite added casually.
Jazz blinked, uncertain futures blurring into the background for the moment. "Pariah Dark was a halfa?"
"Emphasis on was, though in truth it's only speculation. That tyrant's power was augmented by the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire; it's difficult to say how much of it was his own. Many ghosts seek to increase their power through the use of such objects, imbued with ectoplasmic energy."
He swiped to the next slide, and Jazz scrambled for her notes.
Notes (cont.):
Each ghost has a unique ectoplasmic signature (ectosignature)
They have a natural ability to manipulate the ectoplasm around them to also have that ectosignature
In the GZ, ghosts can claim a "lair" by spreading ectoplasm with their ectosignature over an area
If a ghost does this in the human world, it's called a "haunt"
Ghosts can also place their ectosignature on objects with ectoplasm in them/put ectoplasm with their ectosignature into an object
A ghost can feel/control anything connected to their ectosignature; it's like a remote control that's also a motion sensor connected to your brain?
Sometimes the effect of the ectoplasm will only trigger under specific conditions, as outlined by the ghost that put it there
Humans can also—
"You're joking."
Frostbite turned to her in surprise. "Humans can be affected by ghost's ectosignature on a neurological level. That is how Overshadowing works. Is it so surprising that a human's nervous system would be able to affect the ectosignature of ectoplasm in turn?"
"To the same extent?" she asked incredulously.
"Oh, certainly not—but the living must be able to affect the ectosignature of ectoplasm to some degree. If people couldn't form a neurological connection to ectoplasm before death, the entire theory of core formation would fall apart."
The screen went dark with his next swipe. Jazz caught her own eyes in the sudden reflection.
"Unfortunately, there is a lack of research on that particular subject. As you can imagine, it is difficult for us ghosts to run experiments on the living. If you wish, however, I can show you my research on…"
His voice faded out of Jazz's awareness, gaze still fixed on the screen, and the slight glow in her eyes that might not be her imagination.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
I don't… I don't even have the words! It's so weird; I know Danny described it as "infinite", but I still didn't expect it to look so BIG! It really looks like it goes on forever in every direction! And there's so much stuff in here, it's– Is all of it made of ectoplasm? Or did those islands get sucked in from our world? How many other portals are there? Do they appear across the whole universe? Was my alien theory right?!
Okay, I need to stop freaking out.
Still, I have to wonder what exactly we're flying through. Is there oxygen here? Or is it all ectoplasm? How is that going to affect our bodies once we exit the Speeder? How does being submerged in raw ectoplasm affect physical objects in general? I know raw ectoplasm is stable, but-
"Whatcha writing?" Tucker asked, startling Jazz mid-scribble. She looked up and saw his finger tapping a quick, staccato rhythm against the Speeder's steering wheel.
"Is everything okay?"
He shrugged. "Eh, I'm just kinda bored."
She looked out the windshield. In the distance, what looked like a tornado of swirling blood lifted an island and sent it hurtling out of sight. A cloud of screaming mouths, meanwhile, drifted past them on the passenger side, and on the other, a swarm of green, bat-like creatures descended upon… Was that a purple giraffe with an eyeball for a head?
Bored. Right.
"So, is that your diary or something?"
"Notes," she corrected, too distracted with the view to hear his smirk. "This is my first time seeing the Ghost Zone."
"Too scared to poke your head in before, or just too lame?"
"Too busy."
"Lame."
Jazz rolled her eyes, finally recognizing that he was trying to rile her up; she'd same tone from Danny enough to know. "What do you know about the Ghost Zone?" she asked, rather than rise to the bait.
"It's big, green, and full of ghosts," he listed off. "What's there to know?"
A couple of women with green skin and white dresses floated into view, noses upturned at the sight of their inelegant vehicle. "Can we breathe out there?"
She felt more than saw him shrug. "Sure."
"But I thought everything in the Ghost Zone was made of ectoplasm. How can there be oxygen, especially this far from the portal?"
"There's a million portals."
"But if the Ghost Zone is infinite—"
"Then there's an infinite amount of portals. Fermi's Paradox."
She turned to look at him. "What do you mean, Fermi's Paradox? That still doesn't explain—"
"Jazz, you have to accept that everything in the Ghost Zone is a paradox, so—"
Two hours later, they landed in the Far Frozen.
Snow crunched under Jazz's boots as she hopped out of the Speeder. "I understand that some objects have ghostly powers, but that doesn't necessarily mean they got that way from being in the Ghost Zone!"
"Well how else would they get that way, Jazz? Leaving them in an attic for fifty years? Dunking them three times in a river?" Tucker shot back. He closed the hatch behind them and tucked the keys into his pocket. "If you want to say that everything ghostly is connected to ectoplasm, and if ectoplasm comes from the Ghost Zone, then it only makes sense—"
She threw her hands in the air. "But you yourself said that most of the ectoplasm is the Ghost Zone is inert! It's doesn't do anything on its own! Just being in the Ghost Zone theoretically shouldn't have any more effect on an object than covering it in dust or dunking it in water. Less effect, even!"
"It's only inert until it comes into contact with something, literally anything else!"
"But—!"
"Am I interrupting?" a deep voice interjected.
Jazz spun on her heels.
White.
For a wild moment, she thought a pile of snow that had somehow gained sentience. Then the white shifted in a way some primal instinct within her recognized as animal, so her next, slightly more rational thought was polar bear. As she craned her craned her head up, and up, to meet the ice-blue eyes of a Yeti, however, she was reminded exactly how relative rationality was in the Ghost Zone.
Not that she'd ever admit that to Tucker.
Then it—he—the Yeti's head tilted, and anything else Jazz might have been about to say died in her throat.
"Is… You are friends of the Great One, yes?"
An awkward pause. Jazz couldn't stop staring.
Tucker thankfully stepped forward. "Yes, we are. I'm Tucker, and this is Jazz, Danny's sister. You could say she's the Greatly Annoying One. So if she offends you, don't take it personally."
The Yeti's eyes widened. He(?) took a knee in what was clearly meant to be a bow, though he still towered over her and Tucker. "Apologies! We were not expecting…" He cleared his throat. "My name is Hoarfrost. How may I assist you?"
Another awkward pause.
Tucker, none too gently, elbowed Jazz in the side.
"I'm, uh, here to see Frostbite," she coughed, but the pain was grounding. This was happening. She was talking to a Yeti, and the Yeti was talking back.
This is fine.
"Yes, of course!" Hoarfrost stood and brushed the snow from their fur. "Come, allow me to escort you to the city."
The hover-vehicle Hoarfrost led them to was somehow the least impossible thing Jazz had seen that day. She climbed aboard after Tucker, and when Hoarfrost reached out to help her, she did her best not to flinch at how small her hand looked in his paw.
The cold wind stung Jazz's eyes as the ice cliffs swept past them. Next to her, Tucker all but salivated over the dashboard of their vehicle, firing off question after question that Hoarfrost did his best to answer. She was slightly concerned Tucker would start pressing random buttons just to see what they did, but for the most part, her own attention was on the landscape. The wasteland was striking; the snow seemed to glow a faint green that reflected the swirling not-sky above them, and spires of ice and rock jutting up in sharp, twisted angles, as if reaching for something in the deep green beyond.
Eventually, the ice cliffs gave way to a plain, and Hoarfrost picked up their speed. Jazz latched on to the safety rail, tightening her grip further when she saw that they were heading for a looming mountain dotted with caves. Hoarfrost carefully, expertly navigated them up the steep slope, but Jazz only relaxed after they stopped next to a cave entrance marked with a sign she couldn't read.
"Here we are," Hoarfrost said.
"Huh?" Tucker had been fiddling with his PDA, seemingly trying to connect it with the Yeti's technology. "Oh, right. Thanks for the ride!"
"It is an honor." Hoarfrost pressed a button, and stairs unfolded from the side of the vehicle. Jazz couldn't hold back her sigh of relief. "Anyone dear to the Great One is dear to us."
"Thank you," Jazz said—and she swore the Yeti literally sparkled with pride. He bowed with a sweeping gesture.
"You are quite welcome."
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
"Okay, that's my coat, a change of clothes, my grappling hook… Boots, I still need boots," Jazz muttered to herself, as she finished stuffing her winter jacket in to her duffel. "And my toothbrush."
Plus her diary for notes, a few weapons for protection, maybe some snacks if she got hungry…
The creak of the floorboard outside her room interrupted her train of thought. She didn't have to look to know who it was.
"You can't stop me, Danny."
"Yeah, I can," he answered matter-of-factly. She immediately bristled, and turned to see him standing just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets with an annoyingly neutral expression. "So tell me why I shouldn't."
She raised her chin. "I don't have to tell you anything."
"That so? Then start unpacking."
"You're being overprotective."
"No." He pulled a hand out to point at her, eyes suddenly angry. "No, you don't get to turn this on me. Ghost Zone is as dangerous as it gets, Jazz; I'm not letting you or anyone else in there without a good reason."
"What do you want me to say?" Jazz asked calmly, doing her dogged best to ignore the thrum of anger behind her sternum. "What reason would be good enough for you?"
His jaw clenched, staring her down in silent answer.
"You don't trust me," she accused.
"I trust you, Jazz, it's just not safe—"
The hold on her anger snapped. "It's never going to be safe, Danny! Especially if you won't even let me see what I'm up against!"
"What, you want to go to the Ghost Zone for an educational tour? Risk your life?"
Jazz pressed her lips as she wrenched the anger down again. "Frostbite knows more about ectoplasm than mom and dad can even dream. It's in all of our best interests to start a conversation with—"
"He's on the other side of the Zone, Jazz!"
"Which is why you'll be covering for me," Jazz spoke over him. She walked, footfalls muffled by the carpet, to her bedside table and pulled a brochure from the drawer. Danny nearly dropped it when she shoved it at him. "I already told mom and dad I'm going on a last-minute college visit."
He glared, even as he opened the pamphlet. "Backupsmore? Really?"
"It's good to be prepared."
"I thought you already got into Yale."
"I did, but it's not official yet. Stanford might offer me a better scholarship."
Danny sighed. The pamphlet disappeared into his back pocket. "You're assuming I won't just lock you out of the portal."
"I'm trusting you not to lock me out of the portal," she corrected.
"Whatever. Even if I let you in, you know can't get to the Far Frozen without a map, right?"
She frowned. "Don't you have one?"
"Yeah, but only in Tucker's PDA. Good luck getting your hands on that."
"I don't need it. Tucker's coming with me."
A pause. Jazz took advantage of it and headed for her closet.
"What?"
"Come on, Danny, it makes sense. He's been there before, he has the map, and he knows how to drive the Spectre Speeder better than I do," Jazz said, like she'd thought of this two days ago instead of two seconds. "Plus, this way I won't be going alone. You and Sam can handle things while we're gone, right?"
"Ok, temporarily ignoring the fact that you're apparently planning joyrides with my best friend behind my back—which, seriously, what the hell—you want to leave two people to defend all of Amity Park while you—"
"Three if you count Valerie," she couldn't help but point out. Whatever Danny said in response was muffled as she dug through a pile of sweaters, but he was glaring at her again when she emerged from the closet, boots triumphantly in hand.
"You're not going."
The boots landed in front of her with a thud. "Yes, I am."
They stared each other down. Danny's eyes searching hers, and she caught the moment his expression shifted. "Why do you want to do this?" he asked—and this time Jazz knew he actually wanted to hear the answer.
"Because I won't have time to hunt ghosts in college," she said, and it carried none of the relief and smugness it would have a just a couple of years ago. "I'm moving out, away from all this, and I'm not coming back except for the holidays. This is my last chance to see the Ghost Zone, to study ectoplasm from someone who actually knows what they're talking about. And I can't—" She took a breath, chest tight with conviction. "I can't leave you here without knowing I did everything I could to help you. So I need this, Danny. I need you to let me do this."
I need to know you can let me go.
He held her gaze for a long moment, frowning. Jazz matched his silence, simply waiting and watching as tension rose and fell like arctic waves off her little brother's care-heavy shoulders.
An eternal minute or so later, he pulled out his phone.
"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered.
Jazz hid her relief behind a smile.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
It's the middle of the school day (I'm currently at lunch) but it's been nagging at me again. I can't shake this feeling that something's off with mom and dad's theories—besides the fact that they're working from a flawed premise, I mean. The idea that ghosts are just ecto-electrical "copies" of humans doesn't feel right make sense—not completely, anyway. Obviously some ghosts are
I think what I'm trying to say is that lately we've even been dealing with ghosts that barely seem human, in that they don't seem to have ever been human. Nocturne, for example, apparently introduced himself as "the ghost of sleep". He spoke like he wasn't from our dimension to begin with, and from what Danny's told me he's not the only one. The Observants, Clockwork, and the inhabitants of the Far Frozen all apparently talk like that.
But the fundamental understanding of ghosts is that they were once human (or animal, I guess, but those ghosts clearly have limited intelligence) and therefore sapient.
I wonder... Can aliens become ghosts?
Or did the Ghost Zone somehow develop indigenous life?
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
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Jazz closed her eyes—just for a moment—and kept her grip tight on the plate as she pulled it from the cabinet. Waking up in the middle of the night had left her feeling slightly oddly off-center. "Danny, can't this wait until after breakfast?"
Breakfast meant food. Food meant glucose. Glucose meant brainpower. Therefore, breakfast meant brainpower, and she'd happily conduct an experiment to prove that theory.
"No, I don't think it can."
Her toast popped up with a ding, golden brown and steaming. Jazz sighed and moved the bread to her plate, quickly. "Sam was watching my back," she said as she reached for the jam jar.
"She said you didn't notice a building about to fall on you."
"Which is exactly why Sam was there, to notice things I didn't. That's what the buddy system is for." She grabbed a butter knife from the silverware drawer and waved it a little in the air. "Hooray, it works."
"Jazz, I'm serious!"
"And I'm fine, Danny," she countered with a too-fast scrape of strawberry jam across her toast. "I'm fine."
"This time."
"And next time, because now I'll be sure to watch for falling concrete."
He sighed. Jazz felt the thrill of victory.
"Besides," she added, starting on slice number two, "even if I'd died, I would've come back as a ghost."
"Wait, you… What?"
"I just mean—"
"Ghosts aren't supposed to come back, Jazz! That's why we hunt them in the first place!"
The genuine note in his anger made her pause. "We hunt ghosts to stop them from causing trouble," she said, with more confidence than she felt as she turned to meet the icy glare that matched Danny's tone. "And I know, that's most of ghosts that come through the portal, but aren't they the exception? Ghosts as a whole aren't inherently evil."
"Oh yeah? How would you know?"
Jazz frowned. "Because you're not evil."
Danny's expression went tight, in a way that made Jazz's heart clench in kind. "You still can't just assume you'd come back, evil or not. That's not how it works."
"How do you know?" she parroted.
"Because if it was that easy, everyone would do it," he answered, deadpan—and, okay, that was a pretty good point. "It's not called the Infinite Realms for nothing, Jazz. You could end up actual, literal lightyears from the portal, or get trapped in a vortex of nightmares for a thousand years, or fall in a magical river and get your memory wiped, or—whatever. Point is, no one is guaranteed to come back."
Jazz had to remind herself to stay focused; the wonders of the Ghost Zone weren't as important as Danny's peace of mind right now. There would be time for questions later. "Okay," she said, and for good measure added, "I'll be more careful."
"Great. Thank you."
He slouched back over his cereal. Jazz returned to her toast, now gone cold, and dipped her knife into the jam. She hesitated. "Danny."
"What."
"You know you're not evil, right?"
For a moment, only the hum of the refrigerator filled the air between them.
"Yeah. I know, Jazz."
"Right. Just checking."
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
I know it's 1:43 AM and I've already written a lot today but I don't think I can go back to sleep without adding one more thing:
Ghosts aren't dead.
I need to remember that, going forward, because it's easy to stop thinking of people as people if you think they're dead, because dead things are things, and if you're a thing, you're not a person. Does that make sense?
Anyway, mom and dad's research assumes that ghosts are things, so while I'm studying it I need to be careful not to get used to that thinking. Thankfully the evidence itself—even mom and dad's own evidence—suggests that ghosts are, for lack of a better term, alive. Ghosts are self-reflective, can be reasoned with to some extent, and psychologically appear to be very similar to humans—which makes sense considering that ghosts were once biologically human. Ghosts are also demonstrably able to form new neurological electrical screw it I'm using neurological, you know what I mean. Ghost can form new neurological connections, which is to say that ghosts can learn and change over time. "Things" that are "dead" can't do that.
Also, I see no evidence that ghosts exist in a state of decay. They're not like us humans, whose bodies after a certain age stop growing and start dying; ectoplasm doesn't (seem to) break down over time. It's an incredibly stable substance unless actively manipulated to be otherwise. It should be able to preserve a ghost's electrical impulses indefinitely.
So, if ghosts can't decay, they can't die, and therefore they literally can't be dead.
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"Just a second sweetie, this titration requires… exact… There!" Maddie twisted the stopcock on the burette just as Jazz took the last step into the basement. "I'll be right with you, just give me…"
She trailed off, typing the volume into the nearest computer along with a string of notes.
"Take your time," Jazz said, eyes already wandering around the lab. The Spectre Speeder took up most of it; everything else from surgical equipment to hazardous chemicals had been pushed to the walls and on top of the counters to make space, though of course the area around the portal had been kept clear. From under the Speeder came intermittent clanging, and upon closer inspection Jazz saw the toes of her dad's boots poking out from under it.
"Hi, dad."
"He can't hear you; he's listening to his Walkman. The music helps him focus."
Jazz turned back to Maddie, who pulled her goggles up to reveal her crows feet. Her gloves came off with a squeak of rubber and were deposited next to a row of empty Erlenmeyer flasks on the mearest counter.
"How're you doing, sweetie? What can I help you with?"
Jazz averted her gaze back to the Speeder. It was a weird sort of embarrassment, asking for help despite knowing she needed it. Jazz much preferred doing her own research, her own experiments, coming to her own conclusions and then basking in the approval of her teachers when she was inevitably proven right. But, she reminded herself with a deep breath that smelled like acetone, her mother was an ecto-biologist, and a scientist of a higher caliber than any of her teachers. Asking her for a professional opinion wasn't the same. It was research—the kind she'd be expected to do in college, probably. And there was nothing wrong with a little research.
"I had a question about ghosts."
"Oh, of course!" Maddie lit up, which Jazz too late realized she should have seen coming. "Did you want to know about my current experiment? It's really very interesting; I'm testing the—"
"Some other time," she interrupted quickly. "And just to be clear, I'm not looking to join you and dad in the lab. I just… I'm curious to know how exactly ghosts are formed."
"Oh. Formed?"
"Yes. I know ghosts are made of ectoplasm, but they display intelligence, and so it seems to me that they must have something like a brain, yet it seems impossible that ghosts could possess organs at all given that they can turn intangible and change their shape, not to mention—"
"Jazz, sweetie, slow down a bit."
Jazz blinked. "Right. Sorry."
"Let's start at the beginning," Maddie said placatingly. "What is ectoplasm?"
"An element—no, a compound that's found in the extra-dimensional space known as the Ghost Zone," Jazz answered.
"And to define it any further would be reductive, because it's an extremely versatile substance," her mom agreed. "So versatile, that you might wonder if something made of ectoplasm could possess a highly complex organ like the brain, right?"
"Right."
Maddie leaned against a nearby counter, staring at nothing for a moment as she tapped her fingers against the edge. Jack dropped something heavy and metal in the background. "Ectoplasm is like wet clay," she said at length. "It can be molded into a billion different shapes, but which one it ultimately becomes is determined by the hands of the potter—and the potter, in this case, is the brain. You see, the brain communicates with itself and the rest of the body via electrical impulses, and when someone dies, ectoplasm is able to copy those impulses to such a degree that it creates a facsimile of the person it's based on. Each ghost, in other words, is an electrical copy of a person at the moment of their death, seemingly complete with memories, emotions, and habits."
Jazz's eyes flicked to the Erlenmeyer flask on the titration stand. "Wait, that's what... Ectoplasm can do that?"
"Certainly. It's one of the reasons I was drawn to study it in the first place."
"Okay." Her parents' obsession, admittedly, made a little more sense now. "So, if ectoplasm copies electrical impulses, and a ghost's body is made of ectoplasm… then, their body is their brain?"
"Yes! And we know that ectoplasm takes its shape based on the electrical signals that are copied into it—imperfectly, obviously, otherwise ghosts would look exactly like the once-living—so changes in self-perception would naturally translate to changes in appearance throughout the entire body, which also explains how ghosts are able to change shape on a whim."
"But I thought you didn't—" Jazz caught herself. "I thought ghosts weren't sapient."
"Oh they aren't, but some ghosts do display an animal awareness of their own appearance—like how apes and elephants recognize their reflections in a mirror."
Wrong. But Jazz could see, now, how her parents had come to that conclusion.
"We still don't understand is why some ghosts have the ability to look almost human while others only manifest as blobs, though. It could be that the electrical impulses deteriorate over time, resulting in an unclear perception of the self, or it might have something to do with how the imprints happen in the first place."
"How do they happen in the first place?"
"Well, since we can't ethically study the dying, we can't really know for sure."
"Oh. That makes sense." It was rather obvious, in hindsight.
"But we've been gathering data from blob ghosts and inert ectoplasm in the hope of finding some clues," Maddie continued. "The more visually distinct ghosts would give us more insights, of course, but naturally it's best to perfect our techniques on something less dangerous first."
Jazz resisted the urge to sigh. It was subtle, this time, but she still recognized the casual threat to Danny's existence for what it was. It was getting uncomfortably easy to ignore those—but she found herself ignoring them nonetheless. Just for now, she promised herself. "Have you found anything?"
Maddie reached over to take the flask and held it up to the light. "Nothing concrete. But, I'm currently testing for pH in blob-ghost ectoplasm, hoping to find a connection to pH balances in the brain during moments of high stress. I should have some results in just a few minutes—but it will take a day or two to verify them."
Jazz nodded. Some resignation must have shown on her face, though, because Maddie smiled sympathetically.
"Good science takes time, sweetie."
"I know, mom."
"Well then, in the meantime why don't you go set the table for dinner? Jack should be finishing up soon, and I'm thinking pizza tonight."
"I already made dinner," Jazz said. She frowned. "It's after eight. Did you lose track of time again?"
Maddie blinked in surprise. "I suppose I must have."
Jazz shrugged. "It happens." She didn't exactly have room to judge, not when she had herself missed a meal or two while deep into a research project. Besides, this way she could be absolutely sure her food hadn't been ecto-contaminated. "Leftovers are in the fridge. I'll check in Danny before I go to bed."
And before she wrote down the day's revelations while they were still fresh in her mind, of course.
"Thank you, Jazz. Good night," she said as Jazz gave her a quick but tight hug. "Love you."
"Love you too," Jazz called, already on her way back up the stairs, her father still clanging away.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Let me preface this by saying that I am in no way suicidal. This is simply in the interest of scientific inquiry, got it? Good.
So hypothetically, if I died today, would I become a ghost?
Honestly I can't believe I'm even asking that question. I mean, if you had asked me three years ago what I thought happened when humans died, I would have simply said that people cease to exist. All physical evidence suggests suggested that what we call consciousness is only a result of neurons firing in the brain; it made all the sense in the world to assume that once the brain ceases to function, any sense of self would cease with it.
But ghosts are real. Danny's even one of them—or, half of one, I guess. And I guess I was too busy with school and ghost hunting to think about the existential implications of that until now.
But now I can't stop thinking about it. Like, what exactly is it that continues after death? I know ghosts are made of ectoplasm, but how does a human consciousness get transferred to that kind of body? Instantaneously? In a completely different dimension?!
The more I think about it the more it doesn't make sense. But it happens, so it has to make sense.
It has to.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
They say that as you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes.
All Jazz sees is the flash of a blaster.
In her defense, she was focused on lining up her shot; Technus's machine was about to explode, firing randomly from the damage Danny had already dealt, and although brick and concrete were raining down around her Danny had Technus on the ropes. One well‑timed shot might end the fight. One shot, and she could get her laptop back, and finally finish the research paper she'd been working on all—
It was a reflex, more than anything else, to fire when Sam suddenly yanked her back. "Jazz, watch out!"
"Wh—?" A slab of concrete crashed onto the street, so close it made her teeth rattle. "Oh."
Sam sighed and let go of her arm. "Are you even paying attention?"
"I…" She trailed off as the size of the debris gradually became clear through the still-settling dust.
"Jazz?"
I almost died.
"Jazz!"
I almost became a—
Sam startled her once again, this time by shaking her shoulder. "Hey." Her annoyed scowl had deepened into a worried frown. "You okay?"
Am I…?
Was she okay?
Jazz sucked in a breath—and only then did she notice her a white-knuckle grip on her ecto-blaster. She inhaled again, deep and dusty, and held it until she started to feel dizzy.
"I'm fine," she said at the end of a long exhale.
Sam glanced her up and down. "You sure?"
She flexed the grip on her blaster and nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
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