Written By: Bo HolbrookNightsquad - The Beginning

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Written by Bo Holbrook and Adam Bestler

Inspired by:
“Extreme Ghostbusters: Back in the Saddle, part two”
Written by Brooks Wachtel

In an instant the air grew chill, and in that same moment all eyes in Manhattan became fixed towards the sky. The westward sun dwindled, casting the buildings of the great city in a golden twilight. Just as it is said that it's always darkest before dawn, some might say later that it is always brightest before the darkness, but it is no bad thing.
To the sea, off the shores of the Island, there was a gathering darkness in the clouds. Unlike any storm cloud seen before, it accumulated from a single point, and spread from there like a rash. As it grew fuller with each moment it sent wind to all corners of the city, and sapped away the spirits of all therein.
Night would have fallen as usual that day, though it seemed to happen much sooner than anticipated. Within an hour the dark storm had consumed all the skies on the Long Island coastline, and it was continuing its way in every direction. Then lo, in the distance, where the storm first began, great cracks of thunder were heard, loud as an armada of gun ships in a heated fray. Great braids of lightning hued in purple light sped downward from the spreading haze of black. A deep malice glowed faintly at the heart of the storm, brooding over its evil chores.
Lightning spread, and soon it began claiming victims. People who came out to pass or gaze at the bolts of purple were struck down, and left as naught but air. In regards to the first who fell, his disappearance was deemed an isolated misfortune; until many others were claimed by the same fate thereafter. Growing wary of the lightning and the threat it posed, people fled indoors, where they were safe.
It was not before long that it was decided that something needed to be done. The mayor of New York picked up his phone, and he called the only group that he knew could set things right. . . .

Upon the roof of a small apartment complex there was a pair of young men observing the phenomenon from afar. They paid little heed to the rumors that the lighting was consuming people, though they did not dismiss it as a farce.
One went by the name of Jeff MacPherson, though he preferred to be called Shades, after the pair of distinct eyewear he never removed from his brow. His shirt bore the insignia of the famed Ghostbusters, whom he and his companion standing beside him were very fond of.
The other beside Shades went by the name Ernie Slaughter, and was a long-time friend of him. His head carried a long array of blonde tresses, and it signified his personality forthwith, which was that of an egocentric lady’s man -- he was not in any way ashamed of that, and instead it filled him with undue pride.
Together they watched the darkness, killing all light, and even managing to shade MacPherson’s sunglasses. He frowned at the spectacle, wondering if his heroes, the Ghostbusters, whom were tasked in overcoming this phenomenon, would come through.
“You think they’re gonna make it this time?” asked Shades as a roll of thunder sounded in the distance.
“I don’t care,” said Ernie stubbornly, “Let me remind you I have a date tonight, and I’ll be damned if I let some clouds ruin that for me!”
Shades smirked, “the apocalypse is coming, and all you can think about is getting laid?” he asked. “There’s more to life than sex, you know.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Ernie with a grin.
The jubilance they shared quickly faded as they watched the storm grow.
“Still . . . it makes you wonder,” said Shades. “I don’t know how they’ll manage to lick this one.”
“You’re one of them ‘the glass is half empty’ kind of guys, ain’t you?” Ernie remarked.
“If you say so,” said Shades, and the two continued to watch the storm spread. Though they didn’t tell each other, it nearly filled both their hearts completely with dread and doubt. . . .

Naturally, the media was swiftly (and intimately) involved with the strange storm, which was now spreading over Liberty Island. News helicopters hovered beneath the dark haze, hazarding whatever doom it had in store for them. They reported their speculations, opinions, and observations to the people they supposedly served, which were none too informative, to say the least.

In a bar called The Bleeding Brain there sat a man named Bo Holbrook. Always he was alone, and was known to all the barflies as a sociopath of sorts. Night after night he could be seen sitting at the corner of the bar, identified only as reversed green hat tucked between a pair of massive forearms. The hat covered a wild tangle of long, brown locks. Some called it wild, anyways, he just called it long, and suitably long in his own exclusive opinion.
He was reaching the middle-years of his life, and it was beginning to show, though it didn’t bother him much.
For a great length of the evening he sat at the far end of the bar near the television as he always did, his head tucked away, and as far as anyone could tell (or care) he was fast asleep.
The television was showing the news report concerning the strange storm. Though it was sending the entire city into a panic, it seemed nobody inside The Brain were paying much attention to it, judging by the fact that the newscaster’s voice could hardly be heard over the inebriated clamor of the barflies. No one cared, save Bo.
One of the barflies took a seat beside Bo. “Change the channel, I need to see the Yankees,” he said to the bartender, who quickly obliged.
Just as the station was turned Bo was roused and sat up.
“I was watching that, brother,” he coolly said in protest.
“You were asleep, asshole!” snapped the Barfly, “and besides, we all know there’s some freaky cloud gathering over Manhattan. If you just walk outside you can see it for yourself.”
“Maybe I just want to hear about it on the TV?” suggested Bo.
“Who cares? We all came in here to forget about that weird shit. So if you came in here to be reminded of it, then you came to the wrong place!”
“I’m sorry, dude,” said Bo cordially. “What do you say I buy you a drink and we’ll call the whole thing square?” He grinned.
“Make it a scotch on the rocks,” he immediately said to the bartender, who turned about quickly to prepare it. Just as the tender’s back was turned Bo took hold of the barfly by his skull, and before he could react he felt his cranium slam down upon the countertop. The bartender reached over idly to hand him the drink, but then looked on in perplexity as he found him slumped over and unconscious.
Bo shrugged. “The guy must’ve passed out,” he said, “I’ll take that drink. Oh! Turn it back to the news, please.”
The barkeep gave him a sidelong glance and hit the remote.
“Frank Wilson here with Channel Six news,” said the caster on the television. There loomed over him a faint purple light in the clouds as he spoke loudly into a microphone. Lightning bolts shimmered distantly, striking against the sea like numberless whips of light.
“Here we have a close-up view of the action at Liberty Island. The black storm overhead moves almost as if with a life of its own.”
Bo grew more drawn in by the broadcast; he brought his drink to his lips, but took none of it in his mouth.
“The Ghostbusters arrived just moments ago, and they’ve already began to fight it out with the strange black fog. You can see here that they have four men on the ground, and are now being attacked by what appear to be tentacles of some sort. This is truly a sight to behold, Tom. In all my years of broadcasting I have never seen anything so bizarre! Wait . . . what’s going on? Oh my God!”
The camera began to jerk violently. The chopper was being drawn towards the chaos being fought against by the Ghostbusters. There was a swift flash of light, and the screen went to naught but snowy chaos. Bo spat his drink all over the bar in surprise. Like a frog on a hot plate he sprung from his stool and made a sprint for the door.
“Hey, what about your tab?” demanded the bartender.
“Oh! That gent next to me agreed to pick it up,” called Bo as he exited.

In a very meager apartment building there sat a young woman named Jen Spengler, niece of the famous Egon Spengler, who was one of the founders of the Ghostbusting franchise. Night after night she sat hunched at her desk, her long, blonde hair dangling over lecture notes and textbooks concerning such topics as quantum physics and parapsychology. She wore eyeglasses, abnormally thick ones, and frequently they’d slide off her nose.
To her back was her roommate, Heather, lying upon her obnoxious boyfriend. For the past several hours they had been there. The television was glaring before them, and even though its volume was at its summit they took no notice of it, being much more concerned with each other’s bodies and lips.
Jen groaned, and at length she protested. “Listen up,” she barked as she swung about in her revolving chair, “this apartment is filthy enough without the two of you dribbling your body fluids everywhere!”
Heather poked her head out over the top of the couch. “Sorry, Jen,” she said.
“Your roommate is a little moody, isn’t she?” remarked her boyfriend. Jen rolled her eye.
“Well, I think she has a point,” said Heather, “you could pretend once in a while that you aren’t a walking hard-on.”
The two settled down lightly and turned their attention to the TV as a newscaster came on screen.
“We interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast with a special news update. Reports indicate the Ghostbusters have mobilized on Liberty Island in an effort to stop the ominous dark fog which is heading for Manhattan. We go now live to our field reporter Frank Wilson.”
Footage of the Ghostbusters in a heated fray with the dark cloud was shown then. The camera magnified on Egon Spengler’s image as he was firing his proton stream madly into the fog. Heather’s eyes widened.
“Hey Jen,” said Heather, “your uncle’s on the news.”
“Really?” asked Jen, “It’s been years since he’s gotten media attention.”
“Man, look at that lanky dude go!” said Heather’s boyfriend. He took a look at Jen, “I can see the resemblance, but I didn’t know you Spenglers could move that damn fast.”
“They look like they’re in trouble,” said Heather, “maybe you should go check it out. . . .”
Before she could finish speaking to Jen she had vanished, leaving only a spinning desk chair in her place.
“Man, them Spenglers ARE fast,” said Heather.


Bo Holbrook took pride in driving an irregular vehicle, and that being an immense, jet-black hearse. He drove this as it was in the style of the Ghostbuster’s famed vehicle: the Ecto-1. In honor of the classic vehicle he dubbed his own hearse the Ecto-1X, and it was quite literally a shadow of its predecessor. At the time it didn’t have any of the roof accessories that the Ecto-1 sported so flamboyantly: roller lights, functioning radars, a bullhorn, et cetera. Holbrook longed to apply such features, but he lacked the motivation and necessities to do so; he was no Ghostbuster, and to parade around as one would be somewhat like living a lie, or so his opinion went.
In any case, it got him to where he needed to go with no troubles, and at the present he needed to get to the shores off of Liberty Island. Seeing all of the Ghostbusters in action like that again spurred something in him. He didn’t quite know what it was, but he felt compelled to go to the scene. Something in his blood told him that it was the right thing to do.
The streets were dead – there was neither car nor pedestrian in sight. It was like Manhattan had become a ghost town, though it was not like that wasn’t already true before, only in a different sense.
“Must’ve been scared inside by the lightning,” said Bo as he drew near the shores. Just then, a rogue bolt of lightning came down almost right on top of the Ecto-1X.
“Jesus Christ!” Bo exclaimed. He immediately slammed his foot down on the accelerator, resolving to not heed the speed limits any longer. A few more bolts of lightning came down near the sides of his car; one nearly nailed dead on his hood had he not swerved. Before he knew it he had already came to the docks. Right at the last moment he saw a pair of young men before him. Both were forced to leap out of the vehicle’s path as it came screeching to a halt at the brink of the dock.
Bo took a moment to catch his breath before shutting the engine down. He then stepped out of the vehicle, his hands raised high.
“It’s Death,” shrieked the kid whose hair was blonde, being altogether shocked by the prospect of meeting his end under the wheels of a hearse of all things. “He’s come to claim our lives! And he’s also been driving drunk!”
“Sorry,” Bo yelled. “I didn’t mean to hit you guys. In case you didn’t notice, I was having a bit of trouble outrunning these insane lightning bolts of doom,” he added saucily.
“But you were drinking,” said the other one in sunglasses.
Bo paused. “I had a little. What of it?”
“Sorry man,” said the one with sunglasses, “we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”
“Seems like it,” said Bo. “What are your names?”
“I am Jeff MacPherson,” said the one in shades, “but everyone calls me Shades. This is my friend, Ernie Slaughter.”
“What’s up,” said Ernie with a wave of his hand.
“Bo Holbrook,” said Bo tersely.
“So what’re you doing here, Grizzly Adams?” asked Ernie.
“Do you see a beard on my face?” asked Bo.
“No . . .”
“Then why the hell would you call me ‘Grizzly Adams’?”
“Who cares,” Shades interjected, “I think I know why you’re here.”
“And why is that?” Bo asked.
“The same reason we are,” said Shades. “We’re here to see the Ghostbusters.” He pointed to the distinctive Ghostbusters logo on his t-shirt.
“What makes you think that?” said Bo, being characteristically stubborn.
“Well, how many people drive a Cadillac Hearse around?” asked Ernie as he crossed his arms.
“Point taken,” said Bo with a sigh, “so I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t mind risking life and limb to see a piece of the action.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Ernie, “look at how much good that inkling did to them news reporters.”
“You saw that too, eh,” said Bo. “What the hell happened?”
Shades pointed out to sea. “You see that empty space where the Statue of Liberty used to be?”
Bo looked out to the water, and his eyes boggled. He saw nothing but purple lighting and churning waters. The Statue of Liberty was completely gone!
“What the hell happened here?” asked Bo. “The last minute I saw the Ghostbusters fighting that black cloud fucking thing, and now the Statue of Liberty is gone!”
“Yeah, and as far as we know the Ghostbusters went back to regroup after that thing sucked up the Statue,” said Ernie.
“Them news choppers got caught in the vortex too,” said Shades. “Poor bastards,” he added grimly.
“Well this sucks,” muttered Bo as he removed his hat and fingered his hair. “What do you suppose they plan on doing?”
“Last we heard they were planning on throwing down on the thing with some big proton cannon strapped to an old fire truck,” explained Ernie.
“Really? Cool,” said Bo. “Sounds like they’ve got a lot on their hands.”
“They can handle it, I am sure,” said Shades.
“These guys are elite,” said Ernie.
“Yeah, but even the elite might need a hand,” Bo said as he adjusted his hat back onto his head. He made his way to his hearse and opened the door. Ernie and shades exchanged puzzled looks for a moment.
“You guys coming?” asked Bo as he placed one leg inside the hearse. “I can give you all a ride. It’s the least I can do after nearly running you over.”
“I don’t know,” said Ernie, “I am kind of skeeved about riding in a hearse, man.”
“Come on, Ernie,” said Shades as he made his way towards the vehicle. “You’ve slept with scarier women than most dead people.”
“He’s blunt, but he’s got a point,” said Bo.
“How would you know?” grunted Ernie as he walked to the front passenger seat.
Shades blocked his hand from reaching the door handle, “Sorry, I’m riding shotgun.” He smirked.

“I’d fasten my seatbelts, kids,” said Bo with a grin, and with a quick shift in gears he reversed the Ecto-1X, then gunned it down the street at such speed that Ernie found himself flipped over on his back, his legs wobbling upwards.
“You should’ve buckled your seatbelt, pretty boy,” said Shades with a chuckle.
“Kiss my ass,” snarled Ernie as he sat himself upright. “Where the hell are we going?”
“I’m trying to find the Ghostbusters firehouse. It should be somewhere on Moore street.”
“Why would we be going there?” asked Ernie
“Maybe we can help them out or some shit,” replied Bo as he spun his steering wheel maniacally.
“I doubt they’re just gonna hand over four nuclear accelerators to us and tell us to go to work,” Ernie quipped as he tilted in his seat. “I mean, we’ve only ever seen this stuff on TV.”
“You got any better suggestions?” snapped Bo, and Ernie was quite.
They drove on for a short while longer, seeing absolutely no trace of life on the streets: they were utterly empty, it seemed. They suddenly came upon a lone woman walking the streets. Thick glasses were poised on her nose.
“Hey, why don’t we pick up that fine-ass chick on the sidewalk over there,” suggested Ernie, his eyes boggling.
Bo immediately brought the car to a halt, sending Ernie forward from his seat. He rolled his window down, and rose his head over the roof of the car; this caught the lady’s attention forthwith.
“Excuse me, Miss,” said Bo, “but what are you doing walking the streets all by yourself? It’s dangerous.”
“Would you care for a ride,” asked Shades as he popped his head out of the window.
“Leave me alone, scumbags,” snapped the young woman, and she continued walking. Bo shifted the gears and set the car rolling apace with her, which was much to her discomfiture.
“Look lady,” said Bo, “you can go fu . . .” he was cut off by Shades.
"I think you misunderstand our intentions ma'am,” Shades explained. "We're of the belief that a lady like you doesn't need to be walking alone in the city when it's a ghost town like this. Get in the car for your own safety, please."
“You guys aren’t like a gang of rapists, are you,” asked the young woman.
“Rape is probably the only way our ugly chauffer could get laid,” said Ernie. Bo made no response, but instead he pressed in the car’s onboard cigarette lighter.
“I assure you we are no criminals,” Shades said earnestly, “we’re only offering you a ride. Where are you going, and what’s your name, moreover?”
“I am heading to my uncle’s place,” explained the young woman, “and my name is Jen Spengler. Dr. Egon Spengler is my uncle, I am sure you have heard of him, judging by the car you’re driving and your apparel.”
“Your uncle is Dr. Egon Spengler,” Shades exclaimed, “that’s amazing!”
“We’re heading to see Spengler too,” said Bo, “you can hop on in if you like.”
“I think that would be best,” said Jen as she made her way to the car. Bo stopped her just as she was about to step into the backseat.
“Hold on,” he said as he flicked a hot cigarette lighter into Ernie’s crotch. Ernie flailed around screeching before he finally got hold of it and tossed it out the window.
“Now you can come in,” said Bo with a grin. Jen entered the vehicle and they were off. She kept her distance from Ernie, who sat grinning at her from the other seat.
They drove on for a long time after, seeing nothing but empty streets. It was recognized that they were all complete strangers, but they felt rather comfortable driving together; and even though nobody mentioned it, it felt to each of them as if they had known one another their whole lives. It was a rather odd sensation, but a welcome one nonetheless.

The darkness was spreading ever slowly overhead. From what anyone in the hearse could gather, with much conjecture from Jen, this storm was feeding off whatever it consumed, and utilizing it to grow bigger.
“What the hell is this thing,” Ernie asked as he peered out of the window, his eyes alight with indigo. “It just keeps spreading like the plague or something.”
“Have you ever heard stories about ships and aircraft mysteriously vanishing while passing through the Caribbean Sea,” asked Jen.
“The Bermuda Triangle,” said Bo.
“Exactly,” said Jen, “I think it’s migrated.”
“Hold the phone,” said Shades, “you mean to tell me that thing is the Bermuda Triangle?”
“The Bermuda Triangle is a place,” said Jen, “this is the spirit that must’ve inhabited that area for the past centuries.”
“Why do you suppose it’s moved,” asked Bo.
“Perhaps it ran out of stuff to consume,” said Jen, “men fearing to hazard the thing must’ve stopped passing through it.”
“It’s probably just hungry,” said Bo, “and without any food supply the thing had to move to survive.”
“Well yes, theoretically speaking,” said Jen. She watched as a cyclone formed in the clouds, reaching downward, almost like a tornado. The winds shifted violently, sending the hearse to tilt to one end for a moment. All in an instant the cyclone lurched down like a great worm and greedily devoured a nearby building. Nothing of it was left once the cyclone receded back into the jetty fog.
“So . . . what do you all intend to do once you reach the firehouse,” inquired Jen as she cleared her throat, trying to take some focus off the situation.
“We figured the Ghostbusters could use a hand,” replied Bo as he made a sharp left. “I mean, if they’re calling in the retirees for this one, and all.”
“That new team is a bit inexperienced,” said Jen. “I’ve met them before, and it pains me to say it, but I think my uncle found these kids at some minorities on parade assembly. . . . Oh well, they get the job done.”
“They’re just weird,” said Ernie, “I mean, why that gothic chick wears football padding is beyond me.”
“Her name is Kylie,” said Jen, “and she’s the most brilliant out of the whole lot. As for the padding . . . yeah, you’re right. That is weird!”
“We’re here,” said Bo as he turned off the ignition. Before them was the famed Hook and Ladder no. 8, a firehouse that in the past was a fully-functional firehouse, but it now housed a different form of emergency service.
With Jen at the lead, the four strangers stepped out of the hearse and approached the large, double doors of the building. The Ghostbuster’s insignia dangled from a chain above them, humming as its innards gave out a florescent glow.
Bo hastily attempted to open the smaller door, but it was locked fast. “Damn,” he mumbled.
“I don’t think they’re here,” said Jen, “they must’ve left already.”
“So now what,” said Bo, “are we just gonna break in and steal a set of proton packs? I don’t mind telling you all my criminal record is sketchy enough as it is.”
“Don’t worry guys,” said Ernie, “when Bo’s parole officer asks, we’ll say it was all his idea.”
“That ain’t funny,” muttered Bo.
Jen reached into her pocket and produced a set of keys. After sorting through them she placed the correct one into the door. A few clicks were heard, and the doors swung open.
“No breaking is involved with this entering,” said Jen with a smile.
“I knew she’d come in handy,” said Ernie.
The firehouse was strangely desolate, and dark. Jen flipped a light switch, and the building awoke with a dull, white radiance. All but Jen were endeared by seeing their hero’s sanctuary. They had never been inside the firehouse before, but oddly enough it all seemed familiar to them. There was a desk poised between several brass poles at the far end of the hall. Behind it there was a filing cabinet, and beyond that a stained-wood office. A black staircase was to the left, which lead up to the loft area, and before the feet of it there was yet another staircase, which take one down to the basement.
“Wow,” they all said.
Jen wasted little time gawking; it was all passé in her opinion. She made her way to a set of wooden equipment lockers. She swung them open and grinned.
“If you’re impressed now, just wait ‘till you see this,” she said and motioned them all to come over. They were in awe, for before them lay four sacred relics of paranormal elimination: a set of proton packs. They were not of the current make used by the new team, but rather the old “prototypes” as it were. They were old, laden with dust, paint chipped off of several corners, and they reeked of years of wear and usage.
Bo reached out slowly, and taking one of the packs into his hands he hoisted it aloft, grunting lightly. He strapped it upon his back and fastened it tight.
“I didn’t know they were so hefty,” he said with a laugh. He removed the pack’s gun from the side holster. He said nothing, his eyes were shut, and only a smile was on his face. “This is so fucking cool,” he said.
The others applied the equipment to themselves in a similar fashion, drinking in the moment.
“Feels like I was born to wear this stuff,” said Shades.
“Me too,” concurred Ernie.
“Alright,” said Bo, “let’s get the hell out of here before we’re seen.” They all turned and made their way towards the door.
“It’s a little late for that, boys and girls,” came a woman’s voice from behind them.
“Aw shit,” said Bo, “it’s the fuzz!”
They each turned about to see a redheaded woman standing at the end of the staircase. The light glinted off her face where she wore a pair of thick spectacles.
“It’s not the fuzz,” said Jen, ”and judging by that thick New York accent she’s got, it can only be . . .” she turned around, “Janine.”
“Just what do you all think you’re doing,” said Janine. “Jennifer I am shocked you would do something like this. Pilfering equipment that isn’t yours and taking up with hooligans! I would’ve expected much more from a Spengler.”
“Hooligans?” exclaimed Bo, “listen lady, fu. . . .” Shades covered his mouth.
“We’re friends of Jen’s, Ms. Melnitz,” said Shades with an apologetic grin.
“Friends,” said Janine sarcastically, “then would you mind explaining exactly why you’re stealing our equipment, ‘friends’?”
Bo motioned for Shades to remove his hands, his voice spewing out a few muffled expletives.
“Are you going to play nice,” mocked Shades just before he was met with an elbow to his stomach. He released his hands forthwith, and Bo stepped forward.
“Ms. Melnitz, Do you know what it’s like to sit and do nothing,” he began. “To know you could do something to help but won’t. Be it because of fear, or spite, or family, or drunkenness.” Shades and Ernie snickered at this statement. “Well we’re sick of just sitting around doing nothing to help out. We figure the Ghostbusters need all the help they can get against that big, fucking thing and we believe we’re the ones to do it. Sure we don’t know how to work this crap, but you don’t either.
“Believe you me, we’ve heard plenty of stories about you lacing up the boots and heading out with the boys when you’re needed. Well, we think they need us. We want to help them. Is that so wrong?”
Ernie wiped a mock tear from his cheek, “that was beautiful man.”
Janine smirked a bit at Bo’s words, but said nothing. She turned about and started walking up the staircase. The four false Ghostbusters lowered their heads in dismay. Just as Janine reached the top of the staircase she stopped.
“They’re at Central Park,” said Janine. “There’s a building near there where you can have a good vantage point. I don’t know much good it will do, but you won’t be seen. The address is it 55 Central Park West. Good luck.” She continued up the stairs and receded out of sight.
Ernie smiled. “Let’s do this like Falco.” He held his proton gun aloft.
“Like Falco,” asked Jen, clearly confused.
“Rock me, Amadeus,” Ernie added with his tongue wagging. Jen shook her head, and the four were off.

Before the four deputy Ghostbusters was the building of Evo Shandor, whom built nearly a century ago to pull in the spirits of evil, and the one of greatest evil: Gozer. Since the destruction of the portal the building had been repaired, and an additional three floors were constructed to help put behind the memory of the incident of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
“Wow,” said Bo as he peered up at the building, which still seemed ominous and imposing. They made their way inside and ascended the long, spiraling flights of stairs leading up to the rooftop. By the time they reached the top they were they were all exhausted.
“You’d think they’d install an elevator or something,” said Shades as he struggled to regain his breath. To the end of the hall, at the very top floor of the apartment, there was a lone stairway, leading up to the very summit of the building.
“Let’s go,” said Bo, and the four followed as he marched to the surface of the building. The air hit Bo’s face, and it stung him with cold. He puckered his eyes, looking to the distance, and there he witnessed the spirit in the sky. It roared violently as it moved ever closer.
“Here comes the London fog,” said Ernie as the storm came upon them. At the height they stood the storm appeared fearfully close. It was almost as though they could reach out and touch the storm with their fingers, though they dared not. The wind grew heavier, and the four Ghostbusters could barely keep the footing; Jen was nearly swept away completely by it.
From deep inside the storm there came a deep light. It came ever stronger, until it loomed over the Ghostbusters. The clouds rolled back, revealing a horrible eye of purple light. It glared down upon them, though despite its best efforts, it could not invoke any fear in those beneath it.
“What the hell is that,” exclaimed Shades as he drew his neutrona wand. The others produced their weapons as well, aiming them upward.
The eye spoke to them: “I sense you have come to stop me, and that is a futile act. I have been and always shall! I am the Eye of the Storm! You are standing beneath me. Move and inch and you’ll be dead!” Its voice was that of countless voices crying out in anger, as a crowd would in unison. There were voiced mixed together: young, old, men, women; and none of them belonged to the eye itself.
“Okay, I am officially freaked out,” said Ernie. His gun rattled in his trembling hands, as he was the first to fall beneath its evil charm.
“Keep it together,” said Bo. He addressed the eye: “listen, whatever you are, we don’t care what you think about us. We’re gonna stop you no matter what you say! So kiss my ass, you fucktard!”
Bo pressed a toggle switch down on his wand, and a familiar hum sounded from the pack. He took aim, and at the center of the eye a stream of protons flew to the center of the eye. Numberless voices cried out in pain as the eye was stricken. The rest of Bo’s company took his lead and fired their guns at the center. The eye quivered, and purple flames spouted downward at its rim like countless glowing tongues. They licked the ends of the building, and in a burst of dark colors the eye was sundered, and its remains sunk down to the ground in all directions. The proton streams were ceased.
All fell quiet, and the four Ghostbusters stood bewildered at the ease of their chore. All but Jen looked amazed.
“Is it over,” asked Ernie, “did we win?”
Jen looked about over the ledge of the building. “No,” she said, “the clouds are still here.”
“Shit,” said Bo, “I got a bad feeling about this.” He felt the ground tremble under his boots. The rest of the team looked down over the ledge of the building, and they were horrified at what they saw. A mass of purple light was wrapped about the building, and steadily it rose to meet them. Glass burst and shot out from the aura of the eye as it passed from floor to floor. The fog followed close behind it.
“We’re doomed,” shouted Ernie, “that thing is gonna swallow us up!”
“Everyone spread out,” said Jen, and the four amateur Ghostbusters ran to the four separate corners of the building.
“It’s getting closer,” shouted Shades. “On my count we fire, that should send it back. Just point and spray!”
“Full neutronas,” said Jen. A high-pitched electrical hum was heard as they adjusted their wands.
“Shut up, Ernie,” said Bo. “Jen, do these things have a safeguard,” he asked as he pointed to his proton gun.
“I believe so,” said Jen. “There’s a minimatic valve on them which regulates the amount of particle flow.”
Bo observed the device attached to his gun. “We should disconnect them. If my guess is right, then these things act like a restrictor plate on cars. It keeps them from reaching their maximum speed.”
“It’s a long shot, but it might work,” said Jen. “Everyone, take out your minimatic valves!”
They twisted the long, silver tubes on their gun boxes, and with some effort the came loose, shooting a few stray sparks of electricity from the empty sockets where they were once attached. Ernie frowned a bit.
“Are you guys sure about this,” he asked.
“On three,” said Shades. “One, two, THREE,” he shouted, and all at once four red streams erupted from their hands. The kickback was enough to knock the wind out of even Bo, but it did not hinder any of them. Their streams gleamed so brilliantly and furious that just then it seemed as though the sun was beaconing out from 55 Central Park West. The initial sound was akin to lightning.
“This is a bit worrisome,” said Bo as he felt his gun handles heat up in his rattling palms. The force of their pure, protonic energy was enough to force back the once gaining storm, until one by one their gun barrels broke, and their streams fizzled out, sending them each on their backs.
Silence fell on the area suddenly. The four had expected the malicious light to come at any moment, but the lack of quacking under them hinted differently. Bo stood up and peered over the stone ledge. Below him the clouds had evaporated, and he was spellbound.
“Looks like it worked,” said Bo in amazement. At length he approached Jen, who still lay prostrate. He offered his hand, and she was lifted to her feet, surprisingly quick, too. She smiled as her eyes met Bo’s, she turned her head away, her cheeks flourishing, though Bo could not see. Bo grinned at her lightly and went to tend to the others.
Ernie got on his feet, his eyes blinking, and he was half-astonished and completely at a loss for words. “Did we do it,” he asked.
“I believe we warded it off,” said Jen. She peered over towards Central Park, and there the black fog was beginning to take shape once again.
“It’s on the move again,” said Bo. The strange shape was now floating towards Central Park, clearly much weaker than it had been. The lights of purple it was shining before faded, and it seemed to move slower than it had before. Finally it came to the ambush set up by the official Ghostbuster team. There they had an enormous modified trap, and also a large fire rescue truck stood poised with an enormous cannon fastened to its back.
The four amateurs stood and watched from afar as the Ghostbusters laid their assault on the shape. Their protons cannons were in full, pinning the creature as the gigantic ray gun let out a burst of protonic energy in a magnitude that was unlike anything seen before it. The creature of fog was nearly done for, until something gone awry. The cannon waned and faded out, and the creature was grabbing for one of the busters.
“Oh no,” said Bo, “I think it’s got Elvira!”
“Nope, Cheech saved her,” said Shades as they watched him rescue her from the monster’s tendril.
One of the other Ghostbusters down below (a handicapped one) had patched a wire from a nearby power terminal into the power source of the cannon, and it was functioning once more. In an instant it gave out an even stronger ray of energy, which pinned the fog down fast.
The colossal trap was activated, and it gave out a brilliant ray of green light. The emerald glow enveloped the shape, and eventually consumed it.
The four Ghostbusters on high raised their damaged guns and cheered. They had achieved victory of the malignant mass.
“They wouldn’t have pulled it off if it weren’t for us,” said Bo. “I hope we get some kind of reward for this.”
“They’ll probably wring our necks,” said Jen with a little dismay. “How am I going to explain this to my uncle? We’re like vigilantes or something.”
The sound of whirling propellers came from behind them. To their surprise they saw a bright red, double-winged fighter plane pass right over them and down to the park. The pilot waved joyfully to them. “Thank you,” he shouted, and the four waved happily back to him as he made his way down to land.
“Did the Red Baron just fly by and say ‘thank you’ to us, or am I still drunk?” asked Bo in complete bewilderment.
Jen laughed, “I was right. It was the spirit inhabiting the Bermuda Triangle. Now that its subdued, I think all the people and things it consumed over the years are returning back to the physical world.”
“Well, that’s good news,” said Bo. Several more planes went soaring past them, all of different makes from different eras. Freedom had come to them at long last.


The apartment complex was restored back to the condition it was in before the malignant creature had laid its wrath upon it. The four quasi-Ghostbusters were amazed at how quickly everything was restored. They later discovered that much of the coastline which the creature had devoured was completely restored. All the people that were stricken by its lightning were also returned safely.
They had driven the hearse all the way back to the docks where Bo had met Shades and Ernie. The Statue of Liberty was back where it belonged.
“Well, looks like everything is back to normal,” said Bo as he opened the door to the Ecto-1X.
“Yeah,” said Jen. “It sure looks that way. I wonder where all these people will go once now that they’re back where they belong.”
“I just hope they don’t plan on staying in New York,” said Ernie, “this place is crowded with enough alienated pricks as it is.”
“True enough,” said Shades. They all got into the hearse, and it drove off down the road.
People were beginning to come back out of their homes, which made for a less speedy arrival back to the Firehouse. Bo grumbled at this slightly.

They arrived back at the Ghostbuster’s Headquarters. Bo parked the hearse in front of the building, and they all stepped of the vehicle. They each held their borrowed proton packs in their hands, eying them mournfully.
“I dunno, man,” said Bo. “That was some intense shit we just did.”
“Yeah,” said Jen, “it was certainly an experience. We got to play Ghostbusters. You know how many kids have had that fantasy before?”
“Man, I felt like I could do that sort of thing for a living,” said Shades, “it all just felt right; you know what I’m saying?”
“I hear ya,” said Ernie.
They all approached the door. Bo entered first, and the rest followed. Immediately the thick scent of roast turkey and gravy could be smelt all inside the station.
“Having a little Thanksgiving dinner, judging by the smell of things,” said Bo.
“What are you, a basset hound?” asked Ernie, whom quickly felt a swift slap upside the head.
There seemed to be a lot of commotion going on upstairs.
“You pig,” exclaimed a man’s voice, which echoed down to them from the stairwell.
“That was Venkman,” said Jen, “you guys stay here. I’ll handle explaining this to my uncle. It might soften the blow.” She walked slowly up the stairs, leaving the other three behind her.
A few moments later Jen returned, her head hung low, and her expression was plain, though that wasn’t very unusual. The other three looked in amazement, as the three original Ghostbusters were following behind her: Egon Spengler, Raymond Stantz, and Peter Venkman! They were each dumbfounded. They had never had the chance to speak with them personally. They felt almost giddy, though the expression on Dr. Spengler’s face, which was less than content, made them a bit fearful too.
Jen stood beside Bo, and they were all now face-to-face with the founders of the Ghostbusting industry.
“So,” began Egon, “Jen told me everything. Just what exactly made you think you could just waltz in here and take our equipment?”
“We. . . .” began Bo, but he was quickly cut off.
“Are you kids insane?” exclaimed Egon, “You could have been killed! Not to mention the fact that my niece is the only one of you who knows how to handle the equipment!"
“Um . . . I’m nearly thirty-years-old,” said Bo, “with all due respect, Dr. Spengler.”
“That just makes it worse,” continued Egon, “you are old enough to know better.”
“Take it easy on them,” said Ray, “if it weren’t for them we would all be dead right now.”
“Yeah,” said Venkman, “and let’s not forget when we first started using this stuff. We didn’t know how to use this equipment, and if I recall we nearly blew off some Puerto Rican maid’s head.”
“Regardless,” said Egon, “what Jen and the rest of you did was just plain reckless. They stole dangerous equipment, put their own lives and the lives of others in danger, and . . .”
“They didn’t steal that equipment,” said Janine as she came down the stairs. Her apron was still tied to her waist. “I let them have it,” she explained.
“Janine, how in God’s name could you let these four hooligans take off with our equipment?” said Egon. Jen frowned, as she was included in the ‘hooligans’ remark.
“They just wanted to help,” said Janine, “and Raymond is right. You would all be dead right now were it not for these kids. It took a lot of guts to do what they did, and you’re throwing it right in their faces. I would think you’d be a little more rational than this.”
Egon’s eyes went shut, and he sighed. “You’re right,” he said, “I am sorry. I was just shocked to hear about it. Perhaps I am a little overprotective of you, Jen. You are my niece, after all.”
“Them four weirdoes you got up there are not much older than we are,” said Ernie.
“We can hear you,” sounded the voice of a young Latino man from upstairs. Ernie winced at this.
“Oh well,” said Venkman, “you got to admit, they handled themselves pretty well up there. I saw some pretty insane stuff going on up on that old Gozer building. That thing still gives me the shivers when I look at it.”
“Indeed,” said Egon. He fingered his chin lightly, contemplating something.
“So, we’re cool?” asked Bo. “We promise we won’t do it again. Obviously, we’d have a lawsuit on our hands if that wasn’t the case.”
“Not do it again?” asked Egon, “why would you not want to? You’re all clearly naturals at it, from what I’ve been told.”
“Seriously?” asked Bo, an air of pride in his tone.
“Yes,” he said. “We have this idea we’ve been mulling around for a while now.”
“What’s that, Dr. Spengler?” asked Bo.
“Well, as you can imagine, this is a hard job, and we can’t be doing it around the clock.”
“I can imagine,” said Bo.
“So, how would you four like to head up our night watch division? We have the funding to establish one currently.”
“I can never sleep at night anyhow,” said Bo.
“Do you accept my proposition?” asked Egon. “This is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“What about Cheech, Elvira, Timmy, and Carlton?” asked Bo, “won’t they be pissed that you guys aren’t asking them to do this?”
“They’re perfectly content with working the daytime for us,” said Egon. “So, what do you say: yes, or no?”
“We’d love to, uncle!” exclaimed Jen suddenly. The other three nodded at this.
“I need a new job anyhow,” said Shades.
“I need a life in general,” said Ernie.
Bo said nothing, but he smiled contently.
“Great,” said Venkman.
Egon looked to his niece, “Jennifer, do you promise to thoroughly train these three. They may have some natural talent, but it’ll take more than that to succeed in this line of work.”
“I swear, Uncle Egon,” said Jen, her grin unwavering.
“So, what should we call you guys?” asked Peter.
The four of them gathered together and conversed with one another briefly. Bo looked to Peter and with a smirk on his face he said: “Nightsquad, Ghostbusters Nightsquad sounds good.”

The End