The Sedgewick Hotel — once a posh New York hotspot in the 1920s — now stood faded but still elegant. Marble floors, red carpets, and gilded fixtures tried to hide the cracks of age and ghostly encounters. Strange occurrences had long since beco the norm, but tonight, the return of a certain green blob had staff on edge.
Sam arrived at the Sedgewick Hotel alongside the other Ghostbusters, walking in step as they approached the front desk near the front lobby. The hotel manager, red-faced and clearly agitated, stord out to et them.
"That disgusting green blob is back up there wreaking havoc! I demand a refund right now!"
Peter stepped forward, ever the showman, and said with a smirk, "Sir if you check the fine print on your invoice—"
Ray abruptly cut in, "Invoices."
Peter nodded and corrected smoothly, "Right, invoices—you'll see that your warranty on rehaunting expired so ti ago. You should've taken the extended service agreent."
As Sam walked away with Ray, he leaned over and asked under his breath, "You guys put out multiple invoices for warranty?"
Ray whispered back with a shrug, "The city makes us do it. Covers our ass and theirs. Besides, nobody ever pays attention to them anyway."
Sam chuckled and said, "Does that an nobody has warranty?"
Ray grinned, "Yep. Which ans no one can demand a refund."
Egon's said. "You guys might want to head in. I'm getting so interesting scans here in the lobby. I'd like to investigate."
Ray replied with a half-shrug, "Suit yourself. More fun for us."
Peter scoffed, clearly unimpressed, and muttered, "Yeah, fun."
As the three of them approached the elevator, the doors slid open and a well-dressed woman stepped out. Peter instantly straightened his posture, flashing his best smile.
"Hi there," he said smoothly, attempting his usual charm.
The woman gave him a cold once-over, rolled her eyes, and walked off without a word.
Sam and Ray barely contained their laughter as they stepped into the elevator, shoulders shaking. Peter turned toward them with a deadpan look.
"I'd like to see you two chuckleheads try to do better."
As the elevator ascended, Ray turned to Sam, his voice light but excited. "All right, Ace. Get ready."
Peter looked away with a smirk and said, "Dr. Stantz, if you do the honors."
Ray smiled proudly. "Proud to, Dr. Venkman."
With practiced ease, he powered on his proton pack, the device humming to life with an electric whine.
Peter glanced at Sam and explained, "It's part of our settlent with the city. Proton packs must remain off in heavily populated public areas."
Ray nodded in agreent, adding, "And in close quarters. It minimizes the city's liabilities and satisfies the restraining order... the maid here had put on us."
Peter sighed, shaking his head. "World we live in today. You shoot a proton stream—highly charged particles—at soone, and they get all... sue happy."
Just then, Peter spotted a luggage cart gliding across the hallway. His eyes narrowed.
"That's him."
He fired his proton stream at the cart—lightning-fast and loud.
Imdiately after, a terrified bellhop sprinted past them, screaming.
Peter sighed again, rubbing his temple. "Great. Now we've got another plaintiff."
As Sam followed Ray down the hotel hallway, luggage suddenly flew toward them. Sam ducked low, sidestepped a suitcase, and narrowly avoided a tumbling chair. Ray looked over at him with an impressed grin.
"Not bad, kid. You're pretty spry."
"Thanks," Sam replied, keeping his eyes peeled.
Peter called after them from behind. "You two go on ahead now. I'll cover the elevators."
Ray glanced back. "You sure you don't want to co with us?"
Peter leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Nope. Seen this movie. Know how it ends. You two—have fun now."
Ray chuckled. "Yeah, okay."
Sam leaned toward Ray, smirking. "He just doesn't want to get slid again, does he?"
Ray nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's it too. But I don't see what the big deal is. It's just sli. Nothing the dry cleaner can't take care of."
Sam raised an eyebrow and asked, "You guys have to switch dry cleaners a lot, don't you?"
Ray laughed, "Hey, how'd you know?"
Sam gave a sly grin. "Just an educated guess."
Ray said, "All right, enough chatter. Pull out your PKE ter."
Sam nodded and did as instructed. Ray mirrored him, pulling out his own PKE ter and adjusting his goggles.
Ray explained, "The ter will flash and buzz when you've got an active signal, and your pair of goggles are linked directly to your active PKE ter. This allows you to see otherwise undetectable phenona."
He raised his ter, watching the screen carefully.
"When the center bar of your ter peaks," Ray added, "you're headed in the right direction."
They walked through the twisting corridors and dimly lit hallways of the Sedgewick Hotel. The center bar on Sam's PKE ter suddenly surged, peaking in front of an old, dusty vase sitting by the wall. Without warning, Slir shot out of the vase with a loud squelch, zipping down the hallway, leaving a trail of ectoplasm in his wake.
"Go, go, go!" Ray shouted as he and Sam took off at a sprint, chasing the slimy green ghost.
They skidded around a corner, scanning the area near the vending machines, but there was no sign of Slir.
Then Peter's voice crackled through their comms, full of distress. "Ray—Oh God!"
Ray's expression turned serious. "Peter, co in! Are you okay?"
Peter's voice ca back, groaning. "Oh man down... we've got a man down."
Ray didn't wait. He kicked open a set of double doors. "Go! Go! Go! Double ti, Cadet!"
He and Sam bolted for the elevator hallway, boots pounding against the marble floor. There, they found Peter sprawled on the ground in front of the elevator, covered head to toe in ectoplasmic sli.
Ray leaned over him, cringing. "He's been slid again. Recruit, help him up."
Sam reached down and helped Peter to his feet, trying to hold back a grin. "Looks like you got slid anyway."
Peter grimaced, arms held away from his goo-soaked body. "How did this even happen? I was covering the elevators. That mutant Stromboli snuck up on . Gah... funktified again."
Ray turned to Sam with a serious tone. "When one of us goes down, we always help them up. It's all about teamwork."
Peter wiped sli from his eyes and interjected, "Oh no, my friend. That was back in the pre-sliming era. Right now—it's all about payback."
Egon's voice suddenly cut in over the comms, calm but urgent. "You guys need to get down here imdiately. Our live-in science experint is tearing apart the lobby—and he's not alone."
Ray blinked. "More ghosts? We gave this hotel a clean bill of health five years ago!"
Sam looked at him and said dryly, "New people die every day."
Egon responded without missing a beat. "What the recruit said."
Ray snapped his fingers. "Call the elevator, Sam."
They climbed on. But after a minute of descending, the elevator suddenly jolted to a halt.
Ray sighed. "All right, Slir—you've had your fun. The elevator is off-limits."
Then he keyed the comms again. "Egon, I think we're stuck on the elevator. We need so help."
Peter groaned and walked over to the control panel. "Let's see... think we're stuck on the elevator." He began mashing the buttons. "Think we're stuck. Think we're stuck. Think we're stuck..."
He turned and looked at the two of them, raising his hand with mock seriousness. "Hey guys—you okay with officially stuck on the elevator? Show of hands?"
Sam smirked and sarcastically raised his hand, playing along.
Then ca a low rumbling noise. Sam instinctively trained his proton wand at the door. Ray did the sa.
"Here it cos," Ray muttered.
Peter shouted, "Kill it, Ray!"
The elevator doors suddenly slid open—to reveal Egon standing calmly in front of them.
Sam blinked and chuckled. "Should we still kill it?"
Peter let out a small laugh. "Okay, smartass. Just rember—I sign your paychecks."
Egon, ever calm, adjusted his glasses and said, "Actually, Peter, I sign the paychecks."
Peter groaned. "Will you let have this? I need sothing to hold over the kid."
As the team rushed toward the lobby, they ca upon a chaotic scene—Slir and two spectral bellhops were tearing the place apart. Chairs, tables, and debris floated mid-air, hurling across the room with violent force.
Ray pointed, "Never mind the onion head for now. The ghost with the red cap is fighting hard to hold stasis."
Peter squinted. "He's a New York bellhop. Just tip him."
They all opened fire, blasting the bellhops with coordinated proton streams. The ghosts retaliated, throwing luggage and chunks of furniture with telekinetic rage. Explosions of debris erupted as walls cracked and decor shattered.
Sam shouted mid-fight, dodging a flying chair, "Should we try to take this outside? We're kind of wrecking the place!"
Egon called back calmly , "Don't worry. They have insurance."
"Oh—then I don't feel bad about it!" Sam grinned, wrangling one of the ghosts and tossing out a trap. The ghost was sucked in with a scream.
Egon and Ray tead up to trap the second ghost, coordinating effortlessly as veterans of the trade.
Ray exhaled. "That concussive PKE wave really stirred up the nest. Ghosts are crawling out of the woodwork."
Peter looked toward the ceiling and muttered, "Can we please call Winston and tell him his vacation is officially over?"
Suddenly, Slir returned—this ti accompanied by another bellhop ghost.
Ray shouted, "More of them!"
The battle resud in full force.
Midway through the fight, Slir and the new ghost suddenly fled, phasing through the walls.
Peter growled, "Oh no you don't! Nobody slis Peter Venkman and gets away with it. Kid, follow ! We're going after him."
Ray called after them, " and Egon will go after the other one. Good luck!"
Peter and Sam gave chase, moving quickly through the hotel's dim kitchens. As they entered, pots, pans, and utensils began to float into the air—and then abruptly crashed down with a deafening clang.
Peter winced and shook himself off. "God... you'd think I'd be used to that by now. How you holding up back there, Junior?"
Sam grinned as he followed. "Honestly? I'm actually having fun."
Peter laughed. "Maybe you really were the right person for this job. Don't tell Ray and Egon, but... I actually like this gig too. Sure, I might complain a lot—but end of the day? I don't think I could ever go back to a regular job."
He flashed a grin. "Co on. We've got a green blob to catch."
They pushed further into the kitchen when the air grew heavy. A swirling mist pooled into the room like fog from an unseen source. A shadowy figure began to form.
Peter raised an arm. "This... is not Slir's doing. He's never been able to do sothing like this."
Out of the mist erged Papa Sargassi, a ghostly fisherman with a long beard and glowing eyes. He wore tattered nautical clothing and wielded a fishing rod covered in spectral hooks and kelp, dragging the essence of deep-sea death behind him. He growled, voice like gurgling seawater.
Peter shouted, "Watch out!"
They both dove aside just in ti as Papa Sargassi charged forward and flew through the kitchen wall.
Peter watched him go. "Great. Another one. What the hell's going on around here...?"
He turned to Sam. "Whatever. We'll deal with him later. Kid—Slir's the priority for now."
Sam hesitated. "You sure? I could chase after him."
Peter shook his head. "No. Rule number one of ghost hunting—never go it alone. Now co on. Help take care of Slir, then we'll go after fish-sticks."
They entered the Alhambra Ballroom, where Slir was already tearing apart the buffet line. Food was flying everywhere.
Peter crept quietly behind the ghost and suddenly blasted him with a proton stream.
Sam followed, weapon raised, and together they wrangled Slir—ducking flying food, chairs, and cutlery as the ghost fought back with everything he had. But the duo was relentless, their streams pinning Slir down until finally he couldn't fight anymore.
Peter threw out a trap. He and Sam guided Slir over it, and with a bright flash of light, the ghost was captured.
At that mont, the furious hotel manager burst into the room, eyes wide in horror.
"The Alhambra Ballroom! The bar mitzvah! What have you done?!"
Peter turned, grinning. "Excuse —thanks to and my brand new, exclusively assigned recruit here, the festivities can now continue in an entirely ghost-free environnt."
Sam chuckled and added, "You might want to call them and cancel. There's still a lot of ghosts running around."
The manager sighed deeply. "Yes… that's probably for the best. If I move quickly, maybe I can catch them before they leave their hos."
Just then, Ray's voice crackled over the comms. "Peter? Sam? If you guys have got Slir, we could use so help. More ghosts just showed up."
Peter laughed, wiping ectoplasm off his face. "Co on, kid. Let's go help the two geniuses clean up their ss."
Sam grinned and said, "Right behind you."
Outside of the ga, Tet and Castiel sat together, watching Sam's progress.
Castiel tilted his head slightly. "Sam seems to be enjoying himself," he said, voice low and thoughtful.
Tet grinned, lounging sideways in midair as if gravity didn't apply to him. "I knew he would," he said with a playful glint in his eyes, spinning a multicolored die between his fingers. "But, Castiel, I need to do sothing real quick."
He floated upright with a snap of his fingers, cloak billowing with dramatic flair. "Hold down the fort for , will you? You won't even notice I'm gone—I promise."
Castiel gave a slow nod, serene as always. "Very well."
Then, in a flash of radiant, prismatic colors, Tet vanished.
He reappeared instantly in The Void—an endless expanse of starlit nothingness, space bending around his presence.
"Alright" Tet called out casually, his voice echoing through the infinite dark . "I need to expand a bit."
He stretched his arms out as if physically reaching across realities.
"I need another person to play in Bobby's ga," he said, tapping his chin with a thoughtful look. "And at the mont... I don't have a suitable person to do that."
He gave a snap, and hundreds of glowing orbs representing potential worlds floated before him like a cosmic catalog.
"So..." he said with a mischievous grin forming, eyes shining like galaxies. "I need to expand my player pool."
He clapped his hands together with excitent. "Let's go world shopping."
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