Recruiting a magical entity into a tech-heavy protocols requires a delicate touch—and a significant amount of New York-style pizza.
"Sheila," I said, leaning against a graffiti-covered brick wall just three blocks from the Canal Street skirmish. "Status on the 'after-action' report?"
["The NYPD has classified the incident as a 'unexplained atmospheric combustion event,'"] Sheila replied, her voice hummed through my earbuds. ["The Huntsclan have retreated to their sub-level bunkers. And our four heroes are currently sitting on a rooftop overlooking the Hudson, arguing about who gets the last slice of pepperoni."]
"Good. Establish a localized blackout for any satellite surveillance in a fifty-yard radius around them. I want this conversation off the grid."
I climbed the fire escape of an adjacent building, staying in the shadows. From my vantage point, I could see them: Kim, sitting on the ledge with her legs swinging; Ben, back in human form and currently picking a piece of pineapple off his pizza with a look of pure disgust; Danny Phantom, hovering cross-legged in the air; and Jake Long, who was looking at the trio like they were a high-def hallucination.
"So let me get this straight," Jake said, gesturing toward Ben. "You've got a watch from space. You," he pointed at Danny, "are a half-ghost. And you," he looked at Kim, "are... what, a ninja cheerleader?"
"I'm a basic average girl who happens to save the world," Kim corrected, though she smiled. "And apparently, we all work for a guy who sounds like a computer glitch."
"The Producer," Danny added, his expression turning serious. "He's the one who sent us here to help you, Jake. He's been... tracking things. Things that are getting too big for any of us to handle alone."
Jake scoffed, though his eyes were wary. "Look, yo, I'm the American Dragon. I've got the Magical Council, I've got my Grandpa, and I've got enough problems with the Huntsclan without joining some 'Super Secret Boy Band'—no offense, ghost-dude."
"None taken," Danny said. "But the Huntsclan had Plumber tech today, Jake. Aliens and Magic? That's not supposed to happen. The rules are changing."
This was the moment. The "Campbell" in me knew that Jake was the heart of this team—the bridge to the mystical side of the world that Kim's science and Ben's tech couldn't touch. But he was also a fifteen-year-old kid with a massive ego and a fear of being "controlled."
I tapped my watch, projecting the 'Producer' avatar onto the brick chimney behind them. The geometric glitch flickered to life, casting a distorted purple glow over the rooftop.
"Jake Long," my modulated voice boomed.
Jake jumped, his hands briefly flashing into red scales. "Whoa! Glitch-Face! Give a guy a warning!"
"The Huntsclan didn't find that technology by accident," I said, my voice steady and cold. "They were supplied by a benefactor who wants to strip the magic from this city and sell it to the highest bidder. You are the Guardian of New York, Jake. But even a Dragon can be caged if he doesn't see the bars being built around him."
I flicked a digital file onto Jake's phone—a series of intercepted shipping manifests I'd 'found' earlier.
"Look at the signatures, Jake," I commanded. "That tech was funded by a shell company called 'V-Plas Enterprises.' Does that name mean anything to you, Danny?"
Danny Fenton went pale. "Vlad Plasmius. He's... he's a billionaire ghost. If he's working with the Huntsclan..."
"Then the 'Magical Council' is already behind the curve," I finished. "The Possible Protocol isn't a 'Boy Band,' Jake. It's an insurance policy. For the world, and for you."
Jake looked at the file on his phone, then at Kim, Ben, and Danny. He saw the same look of realization on their faces. They weren't just kids with powers anymore. They were the frontline.
"Alright," Jake said, his voice dropping the 'cool guy' act. "I'm in. But if this 'Protocol' involves me wearing a uniform with spandex, I'm out. Dragons don't do spandex."
"No spandex," I promised, the glitch flickering as if in a smirk. "Just results."
I cut the feed, the purple glow vanishing.
"Sheila," I said, descending the fire escape as the sun began to set over the New York skyline. "The roster is growing. We have the Tactician, the Powerhouse, the Wraith, and now the Guardian."
["And what are you, Danny?"]
"I'm the one who pays the premiums, Sheila," I said, stepping out onto the sidewalk and blending into the crowd. "And right now, the world's 'risk profile' is through the roof. It's time we moved from defense to offense. Let's see what Vlad and Drakken are planning in that 'Research Facility' in the Rockies."
I checked my watch. I had a bus to catch, a sister to 'accidentally' meet at the airport, and a very long list of villains to bankrupt.
The team was formed. Now, I just had to make sure they survived the first real test.