This story goes beyond when our hero lost his parents and had to live with the enemy.
Years later, Samantha Manson is a young adult who along with her best friend Tucker Foley and Valerie Gray continue to hunt ghosts; but things start to get complic...
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That little piece was somewhat battered. The cables exposed as whiskers of a very used broom.
Nothing that could not be fixed.
He had told that boy to be careful with those pieces however, how to scold him for a good job like that?
His assistants, those ghostly raptors, stepped aside as the major stepped back to admire his work.
"Formidable." He commented with great satisfaction. A few adjustments and that machine would be functional in a week.
"This has complicated me too much but the effort has to be worth it." He took a small handkerchief to dry the small drops of sweat that had been on his forehead.
He took the key, the most accurate for the following.
He would rest at the moment when his work was finished, for now he would give himself up as he usually did.
The grinding of the nuts to be adjusted to leave the door tightly closed. With this, he now had a power generator powerful enough not to pinpoint that bunch of ectoplasmic beings who had decided to flee and hide from him. Now, it would be totally irrelevan.
Started the machine. Although he turned it on, he was disconcerted to hear a little buzz coming from her.
He examined it superficially but no damage in sight and only minor details that required a small adjustment.
However, that minor detail ended up exploding in his face, staining it with something similar to ectoplasm. It was still somewhat unstable, and its use was not recommended as such.
The distrustful vultures that they had as helpers looked with some grace even. He had been questioned again and again about using his adopted son as his right hand in this.
They could never trust Daniel and yet they began to understand that they had to keep quiet and not touch that topic. Vlad used to react very badly when they questioned the loyalty or ability of the young ghost.
He fully trusted the youngest of his children, as well as the girl who turned out to be a genius like his parents. Seeing them he could almost swear to see the image of his college friends, especially the memory of his beloved Maddie kept beating fervently.
Why should he be sad?
Now he had to put his hands to work.
Finish that machine as soon as possible which could not allow his son to beat him and finish before him as in the last mission.
He had overcome and was surpassing him day by day.
The squeaky sound of a nut being squeezed accompanied his thoughts without interrupting them at some point.
He stopped just to look at the portrait on the side of his desk, he felt the sharp look of his former college colleagues portrayed there, fixed on him.
He released the key when he got up and when he got there, he took the portrait to look at it more closely.
When I lowered it, I look at the portrait on its side. He, along with his grown children, Or rather, the children of the deceased Jack and Maddie Fenton, whom he now cared for.
They had grown a lot. He lamented deep down that his parents were not there to see them, as he did.
It had been difficult, especially with the boy who constantly rejected him but his wandering behavior was understandable up to a point.
He remembered like if it was yesterday how the child began to assimilate it until he saw it for what it was.
The only thing he had in life now.
And the hatred that Danny overflowed with his eyes every time he met those eyes that reminded him of those of his old best friends.
He happened to look at him differently. He could never replace his parents in his life that was well known.
But, he was sure that he had come to see him as a father.
And although he still called him by his name, he had also come to hear the word "dad" of the boy towards him as well as Jazz.
I smiled remembering.
Until he was interrupted by a peculiar melody from his phone. That little ringtone had been chosen precisely by his daughter, Jazz, as a small joke to his brother, so that every time he called, a rather infantile melody would sound from a children's show.
The words the child told him after he greeted him made him smile the smile on his face. Changing all traces of melancholy that those memories had left him.
