Ghost Batman Novels & Stories

The possessive way he fucked me like he both hated and needed me. I forced a grin. “You’re crazy, man. You watch too many movies.” He stepped aside but whispered as I passed, “Run while you still can. He’ll ruin you.” Later that day, I overheard two employees gossiping near the cafeteria. “Did you hear about The Ghost? Some billionaire who shows up masked at underground parties. Pays good money, fucks like a demon, then vanishes. Nobody ever sees his face.” I laughed it off again. But deep inside of me, i was worried for myself.

Adam lamented. “I’m just wondering if maybe we should get him inside and bolt the door. This might not be the safest place for him after all. She’s getting a might closer and some of those zombie spirits look like they’re coming back to life in a not too friendly way.” He studied the spirits who were once so animated but were now acting dazed and confused. A few of them were losing that dazed look. It was being replaced by one of intelligence and… Anger? Hate? He couldn’t tell.

HIBARA THAT INSIGNIA OF a ghost winking and with a laughing smile holding out a high-five was something I’d seen in my dearest father’s case files before. It seems that this internationally famous thief, Ghost Hand, was someone that the Greatest Consulting Detective of the Century can’t even capture. Of course, Mom has no access to the police files of the Theft-Robbery-Burglary Division since she’s in the CID. “Why are there a lot of kids here?” A voice that could make me roll my eyes sounded from behind.

For some time, there were screams and sounds of endless gunshots. Initially, they thought that these tomb robbers were of mediocre skill. However, when Grayson and the others fought with them, they were surprised to find that whether it was the opponents’ speed or their shooting accuracy, they were a level beyond their reach. Soon enough, all of the Ghost members were tranquilized to the ground. “Who on earth are these people?” Storm looked at the tomb robbers in disbelief. Levi grinned. “You guys are really over your head. They’re not people you can easily deal with unless you’re able to activate the supernatural power within.”

The other two… Those were where the fun happened. I dropped into my chair, set the plate beside the keyboard, and cracked my knuckles. “All right, Ghost.” My fingers danced across the keys. “Where are you?” A dozen command windows sprang to life. Lines of code streamed down the screens faster than most people could read them. Numbers, IP addresses, encrypted tunnels, relay nodes… Beautiful. Most people looked at this and saw gibberish. I saw fingerprints. Ghost was good. Better than good. They managed to stay invisible while making half the underground think they knew where they was. That alone was impressive.

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

When I turned back around, I noticed a new note pinned to the table. It was the same familiar handwriting, but the strokes seemed to carry a hint of chill this time. "Squanderer." I froze, then started laughing out loud. So this ghost couldn't just cook—she was also a thrifty, budget-conscious woman. I liked that. I immediately grabbed a pen and wrote back, "Sorry, Ivy. I was just joking. From now on, let's stick to regular dishes. I won't bring up such ridiculous things anymore." I made sure to apologize sincerely.

"I’m with the Resistance. Your mother sent a signal before the submarine blew." "Who are you?" Bryan asked, stepping in front of me. "Names don't matter anymore," the man said. "But you can call me Ghost. I was your father’s head of security before I realized he was a monster. Now, I’m the only one who knows how to get into the White House without being turned into a puppet." We climbed into the boat. Ghost hit a switch, and the boat dived beneath the surface. It was a mini-sub. We sat in the cramped, red-lit cabin, listening to the hum of the engine.

She put down the picture and ran to the sofa, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Mommy, you’re being lazy again! I’m going back to our old home to get the music box. Then, I can wake you up!” Seeing her determined to leave, I instinctively reached out for an umbrella, wanting to remind her that it was raining outside. Alas, my hand passed right through her body! In that instant, I suddenly remembered—I was dead. I could never protect her like before.

Then—a low, dry voice echoed from the shadows. “You look older.” Liam’s hand went to his sidearm. “That’s rich coming from a ghost.” A man emerged from the shadows behind the altar. Gaunt. Pale. Wrapped in layers of torn clothing and an old military coat, his face mostly hidden beneath a hood. His eyes—icy blue—gleamed with feral intelligence. “You brought company,” Ghost said, stepping forward slowly. “That’s new. I thought you preferred to work alone. Or are you finally in over your head?”