The battle for Middleton High's culinary integrity was unfolding exactly as the "Possible" part of my brain expected, and the "Campbell" part found hilarious.
I stood at the edge of the cafeteria, leaning against a vending machine with a look of casual indifference that masked the fact that I was currently running a real-time tactical overlay on my retinas.
The Lunch Lady Ghost was currently hovering over the salad bar, her translucent form glowing a sickly neon green. She was screeching about the lack of "balanced nutrition" while telekinetically hurling industrial-sized cans of creamed corn at the cowering student body.
"Sheila," I whispered, tapping my watch. "Status on Fenton?"
["He's currently stuck in a bathroom stall in the North Wing, Danny,"] Sheila's voice hummed in my ear. ["He's having... difficulty. It seems his 'going ghost' transformation is being interfered with by the school's high-frequency Wi-Fi. It's creating a feedback loop in his ecto-signature."]
"I knew I should have throttled the routers," I muttered. "Boost the signal in the North Wing bathrooms. Give him a 'clean' channel to transform. And Sheila? Lock the cafeteria doors. We don't need Kim's 'saving the world' intuition kicking in while she's in the middle of a pep talk with the squad."
["On it. Door locks engaged. Digital camouflage active."]
At that moment, the double doors at the far end of the cafeteria burst open. A streak of white and black light blurred into the room. Danny Phantom had arrived. He looked slightly disheveled, his white hair standing up even more than usual, but he struck a pose that was 100% superhero.
"Give it up, Lunch Lady!" Fenton—now Phantom—shouted, his voice echoing with that weird, ghostly reverb. "The only thing getting served today is... justice!"
He winced. "Actually, that was terrible. I'm still working on the one-liners."
The Lunch Lady didn't care about his branding. She roared, a vortex of mashed potatoes swirling around her like a starch-based hurricane. "MEATLOAF! YOU WILL ALL EAT THE MEATLOAF!"
Across the room, I saw Kim. She was sitting with Monique and Ron, her Kimmunicator already out. She was squinting at the chaos with a look of intense, clinical confusion. To her, thanks to the 'perception filters' I'd slipped into the school's lighting system, the Lunch Lady just looked like a very angry, very blurry disgruntled employee with a high-tech hologram projector.
"Wade?" Kim was saying into the device. "We've got a situation in the cafeteria. Some kind of... projection-based riot? It looks like Drakken's tech, but the theme is... school lunches?"
"Stay back, Kim!" I called out, moving toward her while keeping one eye on the ghost-fight. "It looks like a gas leak hallucination! I read about this in a medical journal! High-concentration methane from the kitchen can cause collective visual disturbances!"
"Danny, that's not a hallucination, that's a flying spatula!" Kim argued, ducking as a piece of silverware whistled past her head.
"High-velocity methane!" I countered.
I saw Fenton take a direct hit from a tray of Salisbury steak, sending him spiraling toward the ceiling. He was struggling. In Amity Park, he had the home-field advantage. Here, the "physics" of the Middleton universe—mostly governed by slapstick and teen drama—were tripping him up.
"Sheila," I commanded, "activate the 'Possible Protocol' Alpha-Six. If he can't hit her, we'll bring the 'science' to him."
I 'stumbled' toward the kitchen supply closet, pulling out a high-powered industrial floor polisher. With a few quick taps on my watch, I rewrote the polisher's engine code, turning it into a localized vacuum generator.
"Fenton!" I yelled, throwing the machine toward the center of the room. "The 'hallucination' is susceptible to centrifugal force! Use the vortex!"
Phantom looked at me, confused for a split second, then saw the polisher glowing with a faint blue light—my signature tech hidden in plain sight. He caught on. He dove for the machine, grabbing the handle and spinning it with ghostly strength.
The vacuum didn't just suck up air; I'd tuned it to the specific frequency of the Lunch Lady's ectoplasm. The ghost began to stretch, her green form being pulled into the polisher like taffy.
"NO! NOT THE POLISHER! IT'S NOT... SANITARY!" she screamed, before being completely inhaled into the machine's dust bag.
The cafeteria went silent. The mashed potato hurricane collapsed into a sad, soggy pile on the floor.
Danny Phantom hovered for a second, looking at the floor polisher in his hands with awe. He looked toward me, and I gave him a subtle, two-finger salute.
"Whoa," Ron said, popping up from under a table with a Naco in his hand. "That was the most intense janitorial work I've ever seen. Is the new kid a ghost or just really into hygiene?"
Before Kim could investigate, Fenton turned invisible and vanished, the 'clean' Wi-Fi channel I'd provided giving him a perfect exit.
Kim stood up, brushing potato flakes off her shoulder. She looked at the floor polisher, then at me. "Danny? Did you just... weaponize a cleaning appliance?"
"It's a 'Possible' trait, Kim," I said, leaning back against the wall as the student body began to cheer. "We're just naturally gifted at tidying up. Besides, I think the 'gas leak' is over."
I checked my watch. The Lunch Lady was securely contained in a digital 'holding cell' I'd routed to my lab.
"Sheila," I whispered. "Add 'Ecto-Containment' to the lab's weekly tasks. And send an anonymous tip to the school board about the kitchen's ventilation. I don't want to have to use a floor polisher every time Danny Fenton gets hungry."
["Your 'high-velocity methane' excuse was the most 'mediocre' memory you've used yet. I'm proud of you."] Sheila replied.
I smiled, watching my sister try to explain to Wade why a ghost-boy just saved the cafeteria with a vacuum cleaner. This was definitely better than insurance.