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Who You Gonna Call? (ThomasRHellsing x Applepoisoneer)

Applepoisoneer

Applepoisoneer

Supernova
Joined
Jan 2, 2016
Location
In the deep, dark woods. Where no one can hear you
The scarf wasn't helping. Barbra, better known as B.B. Bellingham, was used to the stench and detritus of abandoned buildings, but this one wasn't supposed to be this bad! The Shady Pines Home for the Mentally In Infirmed (catchy title) was set to be cleaned and re-opened as a museum. And they were going to do it all in less than a month? No sir!

B.B. wondered if anyone on the FBI's payroll, or even the local police, cared at all that there were still patients' whose bodies were unaccounted for? Surely some of them must have escaped, but there were far too many given the circumstances to have just vanished. Toward the end of the 1920's, when the depression was at its worst, the hospital lost funding and took, what would later come to be called, "The Pound Measure." Patients who were deemed hopeless cases were "humanely" euthanized and buried in the ever-growing cemetery to the side of the building. Mostly in unmarked or unceremonious graves.

It was this horrific tragedy that fueled the off-the-charts level of paranormal activity reported to have ground the clean-up to a grinding halt. And that's where B.B. came in. She tightened her blonde hair back into a bun, adjusted her thick glasses, and re-tied the printed silk scarf around her nose and mouth. It was deep in the summertime, so she'd worn the watermelon-printed scarf, black capris and a quarter-sleeve light jacket over a plain blue t-shirt. Quirky scarves had become her signature apparel for the small crowd who would actually recognize her. But even her peculiar fashion choices couldn't protect her from the permiating smell of rot; both biological and man-made.
 
Bryan Welsh, AKA Rookie ran a hand through his short brownish blond hair. His blue eyes taking in the sight of "The Shady Pines Home for the Mentally In Infirmed", and shook his head. Mumbling to himself, "Why can't it ever be haunted beaches? Or strip clubs. No, it's got to be the spooky ass sanitarium. Or was it a normal hospital? I swear, this job is always a bit depressing. Go to "Horrible Place Number X, and bust the ghosts there.", if it wasn't for the great health care I'd tell Dr. V to shove it."

The Ghostbuster pulled his jump suit up, zipping it. He'd chosen The Second style jump suit, since he liked the darker coloring. He did some light stretching it was important. Carrying around a few hundred pounds of nuclear accelerator got old. It didn't help that most haunted places had a smell, and it was rarely a good smell. He checked the batteries in his P.K.E., turning it on he winced as just being this close to the place made the meter rise about mid way. Next he checked his ecto-goggles. Nodding his head as he saw slime stains he said, "This is going to be one of those jobs I can already tell."

The rookie moved to the back of the Hummer he used. Unlike the New York busters, Bryan was a bit freelance. Traveling the country, catching ghosts that caused problems. The truth was, unless massive paranormal spikes occurred, AKA a Vigo or Gozer event, having five or more Ghostbusters in New York was a bit over kill. He'd been given the option to open his own franchise, but he was young and wasn't in the mood to settle down just yet.

The Ghostbuster pulled on his Proton pack. It had a few nifty add ons developed during the 1991 Gozerian Cult incident. But that meant it sometimes needed to be vented to cool down. Deciding it would make more sense to trust his ecto-goggles the rookie slid them on, holstering his wand for now. He raised up the P.K.E. meter and headed inside. Something deep in his bones told him he should have called in today, but he shook it off. He wasn't afraid of no ghost.
 
(OOC: damn, I was typing on my phone and somehow that extra "In" made it in there.)

B.B. didn't have much in the way of gadgetry. Just her and her bare psychic influence. She recognized that it was incredibly dangerous to pit her mind against spirits of all kinds, so typically she restricted herself to those that required a more human touch. Poltergeists couldn't be reasoned with. But those spirits who were lost, trapped, and generally benevolent were the most receptive. This was especially true of children and those who died without knowing they had, though she wasn't sure how many of those there would be.

For all the other kinds of ghost; the restless, the malevolent, the down-right aggressive, there were the Ghostbusters. It made her feel inadiquite to say so, but she had felt rather fortunate to coax one of the Ghostbusters to help her on this case. Even just waiting in the lobby, with her back against the conspicuously damp wall, she felt spiraling dizziness at how much paranormal activity breathed inside these walls. couldn't see through the boarded up windows or the plastic on the doors, but she did hear a car pull up and a door close.

She stood upright and adjusted her clothing, fully expecting to be confronted with a well-seasoned, mature man of science. The little corner of her heart reserved for fangirl spasms hoped beyond hope that it was Dr. Spangler.
 
Rookie nodded to the woman as he came around the corner. Wincing a bit he said, "This place is nasty. What exactly were you hoping for here? I can see, well alot of spectral illusions. Once we start grabbing the "Small Fry", I'd be surprised if some of the Nastier ones didn't wake up. Honestly, place like this are alot like shitty apartments in jersey, fix one problem, and the next shows up."

The "Rookie" Ghostbuster, lifted his ecto goggles, and offered the woman a rubber glove clad hand, "Bryan, Bryan Welsh. You can call me Rookie. Everyone pretty much does. I have been waist deep in ecto-plasmic situation before. Saved the world a couple times. But so long as I'm a rookie I'm paid by the hour rather then a salary."

He smiled a bit, "You're B.B. Bellingham right? I don't pay much attention to the "Touchy Feely" sort of ghost hunters, but you're one of the few psychics the guys have found. I don't even want to imagine what you must be picking up here. Even I feel low level creepyness and I'm a super super low level empath. Just enough that I'll feel uncomfortable in places with alot of death, and suicide etc. Most people who work in this area have their third eye opened to some degree."
 
When the Rookie had revealed himself, B.B. felt her heart sink a little Of course she should have known it wouldn't be one of the originals. This wasn't exactly a problem of Vigonian proportion. At least they'd sent someone who seemed to know his way around a proton pack. He made a good point; once she'd done all she could do, they were going to need it.

She took his hand firmly and shook, cracking a smile at the phrase "touchy-feely". Normally it frustrated her when people boiled her down to an image of a crystal waving hippy with too much time on her hands, but that wasn't the vibe she got from this one.

"Yeah, I won't lie; I have had a really cold case of the creeps just standing here in the lobby. Something's been pulling me toward the basement, but unlike every horror movie heroine ever, I know better." She laughed quietly. "They keep the strongest wine and spirits in the cellar."
 
Rookie couldn't help it, me chuckled at the "Strongest wine and spirits" in the cellar comment. Bringing her knuckles to his lips he gave her a gentle kiss, "Enchanted Miss Bellingham. And well, my Aerator will help with that."

He winked at her. Tensing suddenly as "Slam" "Slam" "Slam" "Slam" echoed through the compound. The sound continued getting closer and closer, until suddenly the door and the arches around them loudly slammed shot. The Rookie's head jerked to the right as he scanned the invisible spectral form, and shoved the woman back hard as a table slammed right where they'd been. The rotted, but heavy wood shattering and some pieces being driven into the dry wall hard enough to stick out. Rookie pulled his particle thrower as he said, "Joseph Nesbit, locked up here after he was found to have murdered and butchered his neighbor."

The ghost was a massive obese man, wearing the patient uniform bottoms. The teeth had they been solid would have seemed rotted, phantom eyes glowing from his gaping maw. Chains broken and dangled from manacles on his arms. He proceeded to reach into his mouth and pull out a lower level ghost the spectral chain from his manacle wrapping around it. It was then hurled like a yo-yo of death. It would have anyway, had a beam of dark blue energy not hit it, drawing a snarl from it. Bryan smirked, "What's wrong fattie? Dark Matter got your tongue? Why don't you just chill out."

The Dark Matter beam's main use was in rapidly constricting ectoplasm, in essence freezing a ghost in place for a limited amount of time. The stronger the ghost, the more time it took. Luckily this particular Class 6 floated in place to prepare its attack. Bryan withdrew the trap from his belt, and threw it low. The beeping of his pack grew quicker telling him he needed to vent the heat soon. He switched the firing mode from Dark Matter, to slime blower, shooting a slime tether one end at the quickly getting freed ghost, the other at the trap. He smirked at the tether tightened, and slammed the just getting freed ghost, into the trap. Less muss, and much less fuss then the typical way of doing things. He moved over to the trap and ignoring the burned ecto-plasm smell, attached it to his belt. Smiling as the actual trap part glowed and a new trap was teleported into place. One of the advancements over the years so as to keep from worrying about accidentally freeing a ghost. He wasn't totally sure how it worked.

He spoke, moving his head around, "B.B. you ok?"
 
"I'm fine, thanks." B.B. quietly replied, rubbing her hip where it had connected with the wall. "But how did you know the ghost's name without psychically connecting with it? Did you look at the patient logs?"

She was wildly impressed by the tech that he carried with him, but something about it seemed too efficient. It lacked the humanity needed to determine what was required for each ghost. Although, with this one being outwardly aggressive, she knew what it needed was a swift kick in it's ample ass. She only hoped he wasn't so trigger-happy as to attack something that didn't attack him first

"That's some really impressive equippment." She mentioned as they made their way deeper into the heart of the ground floor.
 
Bryan gestured towards his ecto-goggles, "Doctor Spangler invented these. The original ones used EMF amd other ghost specific energies to allow you to see invisible spirits."

He pulled up his P.K.E. meter as he said, "As time passed, they combined the in essence Ghost Radar that is the P.K.E. meter, and the Ghost Sonar that is the ecto-goggles into a new set up. Any spirit I get an up close scan up, and I have to hit the button to scan it. It's P.K.E. and physical characteristics, are instantly sent through a database of useful information. It then offers up the most likely result. Remember, most ghosts have been seen, or interacted with before. The scanner also logs their P.K.E. signature, something that's sort of like a ghost hand print. So if they escape, and another ghostbuster runs into them, the data is right there."

Bryan chuckled a bit, "Useful doesn't even begin to talk about it. Especially if you're having to deal with hundreds of ghosts. Admittedly, sometimes the information given isn't very specific. Like a ghost of a builder, might just mention lots of people died to make a building."

The "Rookie" shrugged, "Remember, we Ghostbusters are more pest hunters then spiritualists. You have a ghost haunting your house, you call us to bust it, like someone would if they had a big rat, or a poisonous snake. We just use lasers instead of traps and poisons."

Bryan chose to offer his own comment, "Personally, I like to think the ghosts we bust aren't souls. See, it's known that the soul leaves an echo, and that most class ones, and what most "Ghost Hunters" interact with are those. A sort of "Soul bleed", since the soul is energy. If you for example, worked at a place for 40 years, your soul would have left behind 40 years worth of "Stain" behind. Now, combine that sort of "Soul Stain" and it's like well electricity moving together. Then a burst of powerful emotion, or Ecto-plasmic energy forces those stains together and births a "Ghost". More powerful ghosts are more echoes, maybe of the same person."

The rookie shrugged, "I could be wrong. But I find the idea that so many people have had such shitty lives that they end up lingering a bit, well sad. I prefer the idea that what we fight isn't "Grandma" but "Grandma's worst bits". That there exists a place where Grandma is happy and having fun on a beach somewhere."

The young man looked around as he continued walking saying, "After all, not even the ghostbusters know for sure WHAT a ghost is. No one but the ghosts themselves do."
 
B.B. shut her eyes for just a moment. "That's a nice thought. It's really hard to wrap my head around the idea that the shadow of someone can linger somewhere and still be so...coherent enough without the rest of them. I hear them; not just teh screaming or crying, the way that a lot of ghost hunters do, but things I can corroborate later with EMF. Random things like, "I'm so hungry, is the roast done yet?" Or, "Is my dog okay?" Just...crazy random things like that. And sometimes, in places like this, you get so many people talking at once that it all just turns to static." She almost sounded melancholy as she spoke.

They hit the nurse's station in the middle of the floor. From there, there were four hallways and a door that lead to the stairs.
 
Bryan nodded his head, "Yeah, but in a way it also makes sense. Hunger is an ancient and primary drive. Worry would cause your soul to leave an enhanced imprint as well. Remember people who worked in a place like this worked here for decades, it was a hospital for 120 years. A sanitarium for another 80, and a home for criminally insane another 50. Doctors, Nurses, and Patients were here that whole time. Plus a big enough shock, like a death might pull in a hundred shadows. That's the difference between the classes. Some look human but barely behave so, while others are straight up aware. We believe it's the amount of shadows that goes into a spirit. Will power could also effect it. Plus there are souls that linger, but in my mind those are the more peaceful spirits."

The Rookie shrugged, "I just don't get how, if I died I'd go fuck off insane. I've met ghosts whose big goal is to ear at a buffet every day. I mean really? Haunting people who get to the food before you? I've got to think that's just a bit of some loser, not his whole soul stuck behind to get discount fried chicken."

The rookie swore as a crash cart seemed to explode, what might have been a fairly attractive woman seemed to melt before them exposing muscle and bone as she howled out, "GET AWAY! GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM! DO IT NOW!"

As she screamed it would seem to get darker and rats and roaches the size of a palm would begin to form out of the cracks. Trying to push them back. The rookie however had already pulled his trap and tossed it under the ranting nurse. As two others ghosted from the station and two became visible behind them he stomped the activation trigger. The three by the station took too long to realize they were being sucked in to fight it.

The ghostbuster then turned, and slime tethered the nurses trying to grab them into the trap as well. It was sparking as he picked it up and it vanished. The Rookie spoke, "Head Nurse Camilla, she was killed by a patient, raped and then downed in acid. Well drowned it's more like a bottle of it was held in her mouth, but point remains."

He looked at her, "That's also part of why I hope not all these things are full ghosts. To suffer, over and over, for eternity. That's shitty."
 
B.B. nodded, watching the last of the smoke from the trap evaporate. She was beginning to feel a little useless. "That's why I got into ghost hunting. I've spent so much time trying to guide spirits out of the wheel of suffering that, well, if they're not actually real people, then I've wasted a large portion of my life."
 
Bryan looked at her, "Not really. I mean maybe they aren't Grandma Agnis, but they are still SOMETHING, maybe they are unknown forms of life, or are more basic impulses like animals. Personally I always hate dealing with animal ghosts more then human ghosts. Most animals in my mind are harmless and people make them mean. So, we're deal with cruelty all the way around. Children ghosts as well annoy me."

The Rookie Ghostbuster shrugged a bit, "I swear, sometimes, I just think people should stop being dicks to eachother. But, well then again I guess I'd be out of a job. And to be fair, some ghosts haunt apartments and such, places where the people who were dicks to them are long dead and gone. Places like this though, trying to clean it up and shove the victims into a box. I might see if Doctor Spangler can rig some containment boxes up for the Museum."
 
A smile touched B.B.'s lips at his words. "I suppose as long as I can convince them to leave, it doesn't really matter how much of someone's life they are. They just sound so...complete."

The mention of Dr. Spangler grew her smile just a little, before the appearance of another apparition killed it completely. It was a partial appearance, only a head and arms in a chair that wheeled itself through a wall in front of them. Perhaps Bryan was on to something; the appearance of a chair might mean some kind of residual resentment toward it.

The head rested against the back of the chair, as though lolling on a limp neck. It was that of an old man, heavily wrinkled and eyes so sunken, they almost looked like empty sockets. It scooted about in total confusion, but didn't seem to want to attack anyone. When it caught sight of Bryan, it stopped and seemed to smile, shutting his eyes.

"George?" It asked in a voice like the rustle of dry leaves. "Georgie, you've finally come to see me? Are we going home?"

B.B. looked from the parts of the man in the chair, to Bryan. "You see what I mean?" She whispered quietly. "Whether this is all that's left of him or all that he left behind, it's hard not to empathize." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "There's so much desperation within him. I think you should play along."
 
Bryan nodded a bit, as he said, "Sure Old Man, let's get you home, the grand kids will love to see their old man. Sorry I haven't been around much, work and the kids, I just haven't had the time. Maybe we can set you up in the new house somewhere."

The emotion in his voice was thick. It was obvious that the man did empathize with the ghost. He'd nodded slightly to B.B. for sort of agreeing with him. Anything trapped in this sort of suffering was pitiable. A low heavy voice said, "Where do you think you're going old man?"

A female spirit appeared, a thick chain forming from her hand around the old man's chair and form. She snarled, "Nobody will ever come for you, now go back to your room, or do you need to be locked in the closet!"

Bryan drew his thrower, and fired a proton stream cutting the chain as he said, "Nurse Hackhett, one of the worse head nurses this place ever had. A cruel sadist, raised by her mother, who had mental issues of her own. She saw anyone with even minor issues as unfit, a blight and took personal joy in tormenting them. Higher level spirits tend to bond, or hold lesser ones, feed off of their spectral essence."

He spoke in a kind tone again, flicking his head to force the goggles off of his eyes. He'd slid them down when the chain formed. He spoke to B.B., "Why don't you take the Old Man outside? Once he's in the car come back, and help me out. Something tells me we'll have alot more work to do once I've finished the old extraction paper work."

The nurse howled and thrust out her hands, spectral chains grabbing and throwing desks, and other debris. Bryan didn't even pause as he charged forward, firing boson darts at other chains. Spectral forms became briefly visible, men, woman and children, with wicked curved spectral fish hooks inside of them attached to chains that attached to the head nurse. The nurse was smaller, with a loud howl she raised her hands and two massive blobs of black slime flowed up from the ground, forming a pair of Black Slime Golems had formed. Slime dripping off of them seemed to melt the very ground slightly like acid.

Bryan smirked and said, "Nice trick bitch, let's see how they like a present, straight from me to you."

The ghostbuster pulled a Cylinder from the bandoleer across his chest. It was sort of siamond shaped, but black, and as thick as an apple, as well as flat on top and on bottom. He pulled a pin from on top and flicked a switch, tossing it between the three. It beeped.

Beep...

Ghost and Golems looked at it.

Beep...

The ghost snarled, "GET HIM!"

The golems turned and began to move forward only for the oddest noise to echo, and lightly shake the building.

Schlorp!

The grenade detonated, throwing off a good hundred feet wide arc of green positively charged slime. Positive and negatively charged slime made the slime a neatural charge. In this case, it made the two black slime covered golems howl and it was like submerging them in oil as they steamed, the acidic black slime neutralized and weakened by the green slime. Bryan smirked as he then fired two boson darts into each Golem, The first obviously straining their forms, but the second blowing them into tiny pieces. The pack was shrieking a warning. Bryan hit the emergency vent. He'd casually stepped infront of B.B. before the grenade went off. The Nurse turned, only to suddenly freeze as Bryan used the stasis beam, and tossed the trap under her, stomping the activation pedal.

The man smiled as "Nurse Bitch" was sucked into the trap. Collecting it, suddenly two dozen spirits became visible. Half a dozen nodded or bowed before going white with light and finding their place. However, the others while freed would require a bit more effort. He smiled at B.B., "How about I take the old man out, and dump the traps, while you help these poor sods. Then come find me. Before we go any deeper, I think I'm going to give you some gear. We haven't even gotten to any of the heavily populated spirit wise areas yet."

He looked at her, "Also, a bit of advice, wipe from slime on your face. I know it sounds dumb, but positively charged slime prevents possession. Trust me, that sucks, alot."

He began to move towards the wheel chair before saying, "Oh, we should check out some time if your abilities can effect slime."

If she could get a psychic reading off of the slime she'd find it extremely happy. So saturated with good thoughts and vibes it would almost be like getting a psychic contact high to a normal person, much less one as attuned to spirits as her.
 
She had moved toward the old man before the spectral grenade had exploded, but it seemed that the man had been far enough away to avoid the blast. B.B. couldn't help but smile when the energy in the room shifted drastically from captured fear and agony to a mild confusion and relief. She couldn't say she had ever spoken with so many at once before and just hoped they would all take turns.

"Okay everyone," She began in a warm voice. "I know you're all confused, but I'm here to help. We'll make sure you're all where you need to be."

It took quite a while, but she managed to guide all of the spirits in the lobby through what they were feeling and put their minds at ease. Then, in a few trips, she walked each of them to the door and opened it. While it was obvious that they didn't need to go through the door, and could just teleport or phase through walls, it completed the iroutine. Once the spirit was outside the building, they typically came to teh realization that they had died, and vanished. It always filled her with a great sense of pride when a story was completed.

Finally, she returned and took a few fingers full of the glistening, unfortunately snot-like positively charged slime, and after a few moments of pure revulsion, rubbed it in a sort of collar around her neck. It was cold at first, but warmed quickly and tingled. Suddenly, she felt like laughing. Not just a chuckle, but Open Mic Night at the Apollo, bust-a-gut laughter! The absurdity of everything just hit her all at once, and it wasn't helped by seeing Bryan again in the full array of his gear.

"Okay," she snickered. "It's really gross, but I think I'm ready." It took her a few times to surpress her fits, but eventually they died down and she could wear a serious face again. "I don't know why I'm laughing so hard. Maybe it's because wearing this slime seems so weird, and I hadn't thought to do it before now."
 
Bryan chuckled a bit, "Positively Charged Slime, is slime charged by positive emotions. Singing, dancing, laughter of children, it takes a psychic charge, and them disperses that charge over time. Against Negatively charged slime, or emotionally charged slime, it shares the charge, causing damage to "Black Slime", and positively charging the emotional slime. It's not perfect of course, but if you're ever having a bad down, some of it will help you out. My jump suit has a thin layer of white slime, it's totally neutral, but it prevents possession."

The Ghostbuster handed her a Proton Pistol, and holster explaining "The Pistol is about half if not a bit less powerful then the thrower, but it's lighter, easier to use, and arguably more accurate. It can fire a continuous stream for about 30 seconds, or two Boson darts. The firing mode is where the safety would be on a normal pistol. Safety straight vertical is stream mode, it straight horizontal is slime fire mode. Pulling the slide will auto vent it, the heat sink is where the clip would be on a normal pistol.

He then dug around until he pulled out his spare pair, and then handed her the Ecto-Goggles which were luckily very easy to use. The final thing he showed her and luckily it attached pretty easily to the belt and holster he'd already loaned her was a ghost trap. It went on her left hip where the pistol had been on her right.

Looking at her he said, "Not bad huh? You should be glad, my pack weights over five hundred pounds."
 
B.B. was aghast, "Five Hundred pounds? That can't be possible!" She sinced thee belt around her waist and tightened it. She'd hoped her aim wouldn't fail her, as she hadn't really any practice with guns. "Well, I'm glad I've just got this pistol then, and this little trap here. I think I've seen you do it a few times here, so I might have the hang of it."

She turned and started to head back into the sanitarium crowded with the restless spectres. "Well, I suppose we ought to get back to it." She sighed, heaving the door back open.

It felt strangely empty on the first floor; at least in the lobby area. She didn't think there would be a ghost in every room, so-to-speak, but they might have to make a few sweeps. "I don't sense anything up here anymore, and these goggles aren't picking up anything...I don't think."

The view through the goggles, which she had waited to slip on once she'd re-entered the building, was a lot like night vision. It was kind of a faded blue-green with a flashing meter that indicated a low mark. She wagered that would go up with spectral activity.
 
Bryan nodded as he said, "The original proton packs were each almost 200 pounds. The upgraded packs were close to a thousand. Luckily it's got a K-Frame on it. Like soldiers use to carry their gear in the older days. That and the weight distribution doesn't make it TOO bad. But that's why the Ghostbusters aren't super nimble. We're pretty much turtles. As technology has advanced the packs have gotten lighter, but my pack is still heavy enough that I need regular messages. Dr. Stantz has complained about slipping disks from time to time."

He nodded to her as he said, "It's one of those things that's pretty simple to learn, but hard to master. Of course, the pack is harder, the more advanced model, the more work you have to do. Switching between firing modes, alternate firing styles, knowing when to vent etc."

Bryan nodded and headed back inside. He spoke quietly, "In my experience, most ghosts have a sort of "Lair", a place where they spent all of their time. This isn't one hundred percent true, but most specters fear or respect higher level spirits. For example, the head doctor Schultz was his name right? Anyway, he'd be scary not only to the patients, but to the nurses to some degree. So, they would avoid his area. The weaker spirits would probably be bound to a place, unless one of the stronger spirits manipulated them. Like the Head Nurse Ghost and her chains. Be careful, the stronger a ghost, and the deeper their ties to the "Ectoplasmic universe" the more they can manipulate it. For example."

As they stepped into the wing where the criminally insane were kept the lights flashed and the sound of a massive current filled the air. You could almost smell the ozone. As the lights cut back on, a ghost was standing their, howling at them. It was one of the gorier ghosts, dozens of deep cuts oozing ectoplasmic blood. It's face with a carved smile. It's throat cut as well. The "Rookie" swore and stepped back, slipping on rotted wood, he drew his thrower and fired a double Shock Blast, the shotgun esk particles of dark matter made the ghost vanish. Only for two dozen scalpels to rise in the air on either side of them. Bryan's eyes widened as he used his pack and his body to shield B.B. hissing as he said, "Bonus about the suit, Kevlar lined."

He tore one of the scapels out of his leg, and arm, they hadn't gone deep because of the protection, but they'd managed to draw blood. Bryan snarled as the lights cut up again, flicking his head to lower his goggles he fired and the ghost howled. Diving for cover he said, "Ok B.B., I think his ecto shielding is down enough let's throw a capture stream on him and."

Rookie swore as a second spirit slammed into him. Knocking him into the ground. He rolled and swore as he scanned the second enemy in the room. This one looked like a large, muscular shirtless man, except the skin of his torso seemed to be alive, and sewn from other types of skin. The blond swore, if it wasn't a pain addicted serial killer, it was a cannibal. He spoke to B.B., "You handle Slashey, I'll handle big tall and like to eat people."

He fired a Boson Dart into the large ghost's chest. I was easily 8 feet tall, but the blast still sent it reeling. He began firing Shock Blasts, and Boson Darts until his pack was over heated. Venting it, he threw a trap, and fired a slime tether. Then another, and a third. The creature was too strong, tearing them, but Bryan then fired a capture stream, pulling the struggling creature to the trap. Finally it screamed and was sucked in. He turned to see how B.B. was doing.
 
B.B. had always believed in playing it safe, so she'd fired another shot into the already weakened pile of echtoplasmic gristle, and slid the trap across to where it was standing. She hit the button still attached to her belt and the trap opened, pouring a blinding light poured over the ghost before it was absorbed with an ear-splitting screech. She stood in a still defensive stance a few seconds after the trap absorbed the spirit, as though it might pop back out, but when it didn't, she reeled it back in and handed it off to Bryan.

"You're right, the tech does make it easier." She smiled. "That was definitely not a reasonable spirit. In the past, I would've had to pull out an entire exorcism. Can you imagine how long that would take will all the unreasonable spirits here?" She shook her head.

Something caught her eye on the wall. It was a framed map from 1908, showing the way the hospital used to be set up when it was a sanitarium for all, instead of just the criminally insane.

"Hey, check this out." She raised a finger and smudged some dust out of the way, wiping it on her pants. "Dr. Schultz's office is down at the bottom of the stairs, just before all the operating rooms and radiology lab." She whistled. "I can't imagine how out of date that X-ray machine's got to be by now. It could pobbilby be dangerous. I mean, under normal circumstances, we would just avoid it, but with ghosts..." She trailed off, letting Bryan fill in the blanks.
 
Bryan attached the trap to his belt to trigger the quantum thing, then handed it back to her, and attached his own, nodding as the smoking stopped. Nodding he said, "Jericho "Slashey" Rodriguez, a hardcore masochist, like cutting people and watching them bleed to death, honestly he probably had blood born diseases in his life. The one I dealt with was Aaron "The Biter" Schmidt, one of New York's first Cannibals."

The Ghostbuster nodded, "A full on Exorcism is risky, and not guaranteed to work."

The Ghostbusting Rookie nodded a bit, "Honestly, given the way things work, I would be surprised if it's that easy. Ghosts tend to trap their lairs. Meaning if we just try to go down the steps, odds are they will rot out from under us or something. Better to clear the top first, then move down."
 
She narrowed her eyes a little behind the goggle display. "I didn't suggest it would be easy. He'll still be the toughest ghost here; whether he's just residue left behind from one man's evil, or if it's the soul himself. But I'm almost positive he'll be in either his office, or more likely, the operating room nearest it."

She continued on down the hall toward the stairs. Peering up into the darkness, the shadow of a figure lingered there for a moment and was gone. Just as it vanished, another glimmering white-blue form replaced it. In the inky blackness, it stood out as being a shining woman. A long cord or rope trailed down her back and knotted around the banister. With an ear-splitting shriek, she leapt. She fell the full extension of the rope and swung there for a moment, before her spirit disappeared.

"Hm, it could just be a repeater, but be careful regardless." B.B. was sure he was thinking the same thing, but it seemed like something she ought to say.
 
Bryan rolled his eyes a bit, "My point was, it might be better to clear out the above grounds before we go lower. There are different wings of the hospital after all. The area we entered was reception. But then the offices are in the right wing, the "Non Violent" patient rooms in the left wing. The back wing was for the criminally insane. As for the strongest spirit, you're both right and wrong."

The Ghostbuster spoke slowly, as if he was remembering stuff, "Some spirits are made up of dozens of spirits. Remember there was a plague ward on the third level. It's possible the only spirit on it will be big and pissed off. A bunch of spirits sort of fused together. While you're right in that most often a "Person in charge" is the biggest and baddest spirit, that isn't always true. Also, remember this island was a mass grave in the old days, and even the Native Americans had legends of a creature on the island. For all we know the guy who did all the experiments was possessed by something."

Bryan shook his head, "I'm not trying to cut you down, or say you're wrong, just saying be aware. If you focus in on one target, it tends to bite you in this job. Especially since though research I found out one of Shandor's Disciples was the one who made this place. That makes it very likely that it's tied to a ley line or something weird went into making it. But we won't know what until we reach the bottom."

Bryan held up his thrower, as the woman reformed he shot her with a stream of the positively charged slime. The woman looked around blinking as the slime seemed to absorb into her. Nodding lightly at the two she faded away. Looking at the psychic he said, "Most repeating ghosts don't know their dead. If a human tries to tell them that, or stop them, it makes them angry and dangerous, but a bit of slime breaks them out of their negativity spiral. Allowing them to find peace. The Ghostbusters always prefer to help a spirit find peace, but some are just bad."

He headed down the stairs, feet moving slowly as he tested the stair case. Nodding a bit he said, "The Steps seem to be concrete."
 
"Thank you for your invaluable insight, Rookie." She growled bitterly. Carefully she stalked up the stairs with her proton pistol at the ready, careful not to slip in the residual slime. While she didn't appreciate being told things she already knew like she'd never seen a ghost before, his tech would come in very handy.

At the top of the stairs,she heard something like wind blowing through something hollow, though it didn't feel like there was a draft. She stopped, closed her eyes and opened her third eye, metaphorically. It was a psychic development that allowed her to sense ghosts. Something called out to her, beckoning her to follow, though she could resist.
 
Bryan blushed a bit, "Sorry, I'm used to dealing with either people smarter then me who know this already, or people who don't believe in ghosts and need everything explained to them. People who know stuff, but don't know everything are a bit rare in this line of work. Imagine working with two of the top people in the field... It's like working with Ford or Einstein."

The Rookie gently put a hand on her shoulder, "Mildly Empathic remember, when something creepy tries to pull you away, it's time for one of Mama Zeddmore's specialty tools."

He handed the psychic a slime grenade, "Press the No-Ghost logo cover your ears and close your eyes. A massive amount of slime will be released. I'll give you a twenty count head start. You'll be leading this time, sound good?"
 
"Whatever you say, Sgt. Specter. " B.B. grumbled and took the grenade. She knew it would come in handy if they should encounter an amalgam of ghosts.

Continuing down the hall, she could hear weeping. It sounded hollow, as though whomever was crying was in a large, empty room.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, pressing her ear to the wall. "It could be a trap, so proceed with caution. Though I'm sure you knew that already."

The weeping sounded as though it were coming from the first room on the left. B.B. made a quick scan of the door, but there was no slime on the outside. While this didn't necessarily mean the ghost couldn't leave the room, it was usually one of the primary signs that a spirit was trapped within. She stood off to one side and reached out to push the door open, keeping herself out of the frame. Nothing. The knot in her stomach loosened just a little as she stepped forward, readying the pistol again. A woman with long, blonde hair sat alone on the moldering remains of a matress. It was a full-body manifestation, and from the readings, it should be harmless.

Still cautious, the psychic took a few steps in. The frief in the room was suffocating, like a thick smoke. The woman on the bed held a swath of dirty fabric in both hands, wringing it occasionally. She did not look up was the living woman entered.

The display on the goggles flashed an age and a first name. "Judith?" B.B. asked quietly, reading the prompt. "Why are you crying?"

"They took her." Judith moaned. "...Said I was unfit. Said I was..." She raised her face to the pair in the hall. The mid-section of each eye had been worn away, and what looked like water damage in an old wall marked each cheek. Her hair plastered to either side of her thin face. "Those animals took her from me!"

She rose to her feet, and the goggles upped her threat level by one point. B.B. raised the pistol about mid-way, but tried not to look so ready to shoot.

"Judith," She continued in a stern but compassionate tone. "Your little girl is not here anymore. We've come to take you to her. She is safe." Obviously these were only half-truths, but the psychic spoke them with every confidence. She found that often times, confidence was her best weapon to keep a bad situation from getting worse.
 
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