The mischievous gamer God

When Sam next opened his eyes.

He was falling—plummeting through the night sky, the cold wind whipping at his face. Eyes wide with panic, he shouted, "Oh shit! Aahhhhhhh!"

Then, somewhere just to his right, a calm voice asked, "Why are you screaming?"

Sam whipped his head around and blinked in disbelief. Floating beside him—completely relaxed, arms behind his head like he was lounging on a cloud—was Tet.

"What the hell—?!" Sam gasped. "I'm falling!"

Tet raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Relax, relax! Think of it like a loading screen," he said breezily. "I just popped in because I had to see your reaction."

"My reaction to what?!" Sam snapped, trying to keep from flailing.

Tet grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement. "To this."

The world suddenly shifted.

Before Sam could ask what he meant, everything around him slowed—and then he heard it:

🎶 DUN... dun-dun-DUN-dun... DUN-dun-DUN-dun... 🎶

🎶 If there's something strange in your neighborhood

Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters! 🎶

🎶 *If there's something weird and it don't look good

Who you gonna call

🎶 I ain't afraid of no ghost

In disbelief and excitement, Sam's eyes lit up as he exclaimed, "Am I… in Ghostbusters?!"

Tet floated beside him with that usual mischievous grin and said, "Yep! I thought you'd have a lot of fun here, so enjoy, buddy."

As Sam continued to fall, wind rushing past him, he saw a blinding light open up beneath him. The moment he passed through it, everything shifted—and suddenly, he felt his boots touch solid ground. The sensation of gravity steadied him, and he let out a relieved breath.

"Oh, thank God," he muttered.

He looked himself over and blinked in surprise. He was now wearing grayish-khaki coveralls, tough and slightly baggy, along with well-worn brown leather work boots that felt sturdy beneath him. His fingers brushed over a familiar red-and-white patch on his arm—the Ghostbusters logo.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You've got to be kidding me…"

He was pulled from his moment of self-inspection by a cheerful, enthusiastic voice.

"Hey! It's the new cadet. Welcome aboard!"

Sam's head snapped up. His eyes widened with stunned recognition.

Dr. Ray Stantz.

Wearing the same jumpsuit, with a proton pack slung on his back, Ray looked just like he had in the movies—bright-eyed, full of energy, and ready to chase down a Class 5 full-torso vaporous apparition.

Standing beside him, fiddling with the pack's wiring, was the cool, cerebral figure of Dr. Egon Spengler, expression focused and unreadable behind his glasses.

"This might be a little dangerous," Egon said flatly, still tweaking the settings.

Ray grinned and replied with a spark of excitement, "Great! Danger is our life!"

Egon adjusted the knobs and added calmly, "We'll start at 50% capacity. That should keep any burning or tissue damage to a minimum."

A voice chimed in dryly from off to the side.

"Hey, if you're gonna burn any tissue, do it to the new kid. We can't use Ray—our mortgage is in his name."

Sam turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized the smirking, sarcastic face of Dr. Peter Venkman, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall like he owned the place.

Ray chuckled and said, "Well, I guess he's right. What's your name again, kid?"

Sam straightened a little and replied, "Oh, I'm Sam Winchester. A pleasure to meet you."

Peter gave him a once-over and smirked. "Well, he's polite at least. I would've preferred not to know his name at all… so I didn't get too attached."

He gave Sam a deadpan look and added, "Especially after what happened to the last guy."

Sam blinked, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What happened to the last one?"

Peter shrugged, tone still playful but with just enough edge to suggest he wasn't entirely joking. "You don't want to know."

Sam held up his hands. "Noted."

"So… when do I start?"

Egon gestured toward a proton pack sitting on the table. "Right now."

Sam walked over and carefully lifted the pack. Egon added, "Put that on. I need to get it tuned and ready."

After a few minutes of adjustments, Egon stepped back and gave a small nod. "All right. You're good to go."

"You might feel a little tingle," he added dryly.

Ray clapped Sam on the shoulder with a wide grin. "We've perfected an extensive and rigorous training regimen that'll teach you all your equipment's basic functions."

"It takes some time to achieve master throw skill," he added enthusiastically, "but it's definitely worth the effort."

As soon as he finished speaking, a deep pulse of energy surged through the building, followed by a low rumble that shook the floor beneath their feet.

Everyone staggered slightly. Sam instinctively reached for something to hold on to.

Egon's brow furrowed. "Was that… us?"

Ray looked toward the direction of the tremor. "I don't think so."

Peter walked in from the hallway, hands raised slightly in mock innocence. "Ray?"

Ray was already scanning the room, voice more serious now. "Had to be some kind of psi-energy pulse. Substantial. A significant, collected, and centralized necromantic convulsion…"

He paused, concern growing. "…Level Seven or more."

Egon nodded in agreement. "Agreed. We need EMF measurements now."

Just then, the front desk door swung open and Janine Melnitz walked in, voice sharp and Brooklyn-accented.

"I know the answer, but is a Level 7 whatever bad, or very bad?"

Egon calmly turned to her. "On a scale of one to ten, I would say—"

Peter interrupted, raising his hand. "Let me guess… it's a seven."

Ray, already reaching for his gear, muttered, "Let's just say we're about to get real busy."

From downstairs came the unmistakable crash of shattering glass, followed by a high-pitched, echoing laugh.

Ray's eyes widened. "Look out—Slimer's escaped again!"

Peter, deadpan as ever, shouted after the chaos, "No, wait—come back!"

Sam chased after Ray and Egon, following them down the narrow metal staircase into the basement. Their boots echoed with each step. When they arrived, they found Slimer hovering and drooling midair, staring fixatedly at the containment unit. His green, translucent form pulsed slightly, emitting a low gurgle of curiosity.

Egon adjusted his glasses and said calmly, "There it is. It seems oddly drawn to the containment grid."

Ray, standing just behind him with his proton wand already in hand, replied with mild amusement, "He's been fascinated with it ever since you added the viewer to the unit."

Then he stepped forward a bit and said with a reassuring tone, "Okay. Easy now. You can do it. I'll talk you through this."

Ray nodded toward Slimer. "Use the proton stream to get his attention."

Sam hesitated, lifting the wand, his brow furrowed with concern. "What if I hit the containment grid?"

That took the wind out of Ray's sails a bit. His confident posture faltered, and he held up a finger, blinking. "I… did not think about that."

Egon, barely missing a beat, calmly said, "Go ahead. It should be fine."

Sam took a shaky breath and said nervously, "Okay…"

He raised the proton wand, tightened his grip, took careful aim—and fired.

A brilliant orange stream of protons burst forward, crackling with raw energy. Slimer, sensing the danger, let out a high-pitched screech and darted out of the way, just in time to avoid the blast. The stream struck the containment unit instead with a loud zzzzzRRRRAKT! and a shower of sparks.

Ray flinched. "Careful! That's some highly sensitive equipment you're disintegrating there!"

Before anyone could respond, a deep, low maniacal chuckle echoed through the room. Then, with a burst of spectral light and a blast of icy air, a very large, grotesque, overweight ghost erupted from the containment unit.

Ray's eyes widened. "Oops… You let one out."

The new ghost howled and zipped straight through the door at the back of the basement.

Egon stepped forward, already pulling tools from his utility pouch. "You two go after it. I'll fix the containment unit."

Without hesitation, he crouched down and began fiddling with the sparking machinery.

Ray turned, his expression a little more serious. "He went into the sub-basement. Come on, kid—follow me."

He added, glancing back over his shoulder with a half-smile, "If you take the right precautions, Slimer's harmless. Not so sure about the other guy though."

Then he turned fully and said, "Okay, let's get to it," and walked briskly through the door.

As he and Sam made their way down the dim corridor into the sub-basement, Ray gave a small laugh and said, "Oh, and don't sweat the containment unit, kid. Egon'll have it fixed in no time."

Sam exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… my bad."

When they arrived in the sub-basement, they found Slimer floating in the center of the room. He spun lazily in the air, clearly unaware—or uncaring—of their presence.

Ray raised his wand slightly and said, "All right. Proton packs hot."

He glanced at Sam to make sure he was ready. "Remember—first we weaken him by blasting him with the proton stream. Then, once he's good and tired, we hit him with the capture stream—or wrangler—and get him in the trap."

Ray gave a firm nod and added, "Make sure to vent your pack when it starts to overheat. You got all that?"

Sam nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. "Yep."

Ray grinned. "All right. Let him have it."

The two of them aimed and began blasting. Their proton streams lit up the room in wild bursts of color and heat. Slimer squealed and darted around in circles, trying to escape the beams.

After about a minute of frantic dodging and high-pitched gurgling, Slimer had had enough and zipped out of the room with a faint splatter of ectoplasm left behind.

Ray lowered his wand. "Damn. He got away."

But then, as if summoned by the chaos, the other ghost—the one from the containment unit—suddenly reappeared in a shimmering burst of blue mist.

Ray groaned, recoiling slightly. "There's the other one… Oh, and I thought Slimer was disgusting. Get him, kid!"

Sam didn't need to be told twice.

With a hardened expression, he raised his wand and fired. The two of them spent the next few minutes blasting the ghost, forcing it into evasive loops and burning off its energy reserves.

Once the ghost started to slow and flicker from exhaustion, Ray shouted, "Throw out your trap!"

Sam quickly reached into his pack, pulled out a trap, and flung it to the floor. It slid into position, hissing and beeping. Then, as the ghost hovered directly above it, Sam stepped on the foot pedal. The trap snapped open with a blinding light, and a powerful cone of energy began to pull the ghost in.

Ray and Sam wrangled it with their streams, forcing it into the vortex. The ghost shrieked and struggled, but eventually it was sucked into the trap and sealed away with a satisfying clang!

Ray grinned. "And boom! There it is. One escapee accounted for."

He bent down and pointed at the trap. "Oh, and always remember—retrieve your trap."

Their radios crackled to life, Egon's voice coming through cool and composed. "Did you get them?"

Ray clicked his comm. "Oh, we're batting a five hundred here. Slimer escaped… but our recruit bagged his first one. A real nasty customer."

Then Ray turned to Sam and added, with an amused smirk, "Oh, and kid? Be careful about crossing the streams. In a word—don't."

Egon chimed in, more serious than Ray. "Seriously."

Ray gave Sam a quick nod and asked, "So how do you like the job so far?"

Sam, wiping a bit of ecto-goo from his sleeve, grinned wide and said, "This might be the best job I've ever had. When do we do more?"

Ray laughed heartily, slapping Sam on the back. "That's the attitude I like to see. Keep it up, slugger. All right, let's head back to the others."