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Chapter 258: Evolving Positions

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"Lydia?" called Freakshow, quietly, as soon as he had a moment to himself. "Lydia," he hissed, more loudly. There was really no chance of anyone hearing him unless they had the bathroom bugged, and Freakshow rather thought the running water would take care of that.

Lydia did not appear. Damn her. Despite his exact and detailed instructions… Ghosts were so unreliable. All that power, and, still, they didn't apply it correctly.

That's why they had to be controlled. By him.

No matter. He had a whole army at his fingertips.

But it would have been so much easier to take command of if Lydia had been here like she was supposed to be, like she had said she would.

Ghosts.

No matter, no matter. He just had to wait.

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Wes turned the thumb drive over between his fingers, contemplating. Should they upload, or leave it? That's what the Amity Park delegation was trying to decide today. They'd wanted to check the political temperature, so to speak, before deciding, but it had been long enough.

"I think we should upload," said Wes. "Truth is our best weapon. And I don't know about you guys, but I don't want this to be swept under the rug."

"But we do want to avoid aggravating anyone so much that they'll react in the opposite way we want, and double down," said Pamela.

"Those people are lost causes, anyway," said Sam, crossing her arms.

"No, I think Pamela has a good point," said ex-Mayor Montez. He'd been less relevant here than he would have liked, Wes knew. "We're in a very precarious position, but we are making good progress. We shouldn't throw that away."

"I daresay," said the sewer monster, "it most certainly will be spread about one way or another, will it not? Not now, perhaps, but should the barrier come down and we be allowed to cross the border between our nation and this one without restriction, it will be revealed. Even an event as simple and banal as the fair metropolis of Amity Park regaining internet access will reveal the happenings, at least in part."

Inky meowed.

"She thinks we should spread it," said Wes. Inky swatted him lightly. "Okay, she thinks we should spread 'the tale of our glorious battle and liberation.' Is that better?"

Inky meowed again, pleased.

"I think I'm with Wes on this one, guys," said Irving.

"So," said Wes, "I think everyone's had their say. Should we put it to a vote?"

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The video started with a clip show.

A town with a blue sky overhead, sun flashing off windows, people on the street, smiling teenagers, someone's wedding, a high school football game, a car going down the road. Images of a normal life, of normal lives.

Then, a streak of green.

A protest scattering as a monster made of dripping red something rolled into view. Videos of fuzzy, flying shapes, shapes that might have been humanoid, but so far up in the sky it was hard to tell. A transparent woman. Things that in another time and place would have been dismissed as hoaxes or bigfoot videos.

A local news broadcast. "This was the scene at Amity Park last night as ghosts - that's right, ghosts - caused hundreds of thousands in damage. I'm Shelly Makamoto, and this is ghost watch. Day 2."

More news. Crisper pictures. Ghosts.

A green sky. A giant.

A goliath.

(And a David.)

Phantom flew across the sky in a bulky suit, off to fight a monster.

The videos went faster and faster. Some were fights. Some were slices of life. Some were news clips, performances, oddities, ghosts smiling and laughing with humans. Faster. By the end they were mere seconds of pictures. Dizzyingly fast still frames.

Then they stopped.

"Hello, my name is Wesley Weston, and I am from Amity Park. What you just saw was a snapshot of what came to be normal life for us. A life we were used to. A life a lot of us liked. A life we could have left at any time, up until this past September. I hope we have your attention, because we're going to show you what has happened in the months since then."

The video had a million views before the hour was out.

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"Well," said Jazz, a little wryly, "you certainly have their attention."

"Most of the response seems to be outrage that this could happen on American soil," mused Sojourn. "The rest of it seems to be the sentiment that the GIW were right. Or that this is a all a conspiracy theory."

"Most conspiracy theories are more believable than this," said Wes.

"The Earth is Flat theory?" asked Jazz, an eyebrow raised.

"I said most. Don't put words in my mouth." Wes shrugged.

The eyebrow inched higher.

"Okay, most of the conspiracy theories that aren't thinly veiled antisemitism or straight up lunacy are more believable than this. Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" asked Jazz, continuing to look at him like that.

"You're a top diplomat for an entire dimension. Quit it."

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The president sighed. "Well, this puts more pressure on us, certainly, but it doesn't change anything substantial." He rubbed his temple with the remote. "Why did they post this without trying to use it as leverage? It does humanize the situation more. Are they hoping to get international support for secession? Is that it? Or more internal support? They were always going to get supported by other secessionists…" He shook his head. "Is it just more grist in the outrage machine?"

"I think," said Alicia, "it's actually there to humanize the ghosts."

"Can you explain that thought, Ms. Walker?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's something Jass was talking about, last time she visited. She's real into psych stuff. Wants to shrink h- Wants to be a psychologist. Or a psychiatrist. Never clear on the difference. But she talked about humanizing enemies or something like. Makes it harder to fight them."

"I don't know that it's a particularly good attempt," said another advisor, "but then, the human components of their delegation aren't exactly career politicians. Some of them are hardly more than children."

"It might not be about us," said a younger representative who was sitting in on the meeting by virtue of the fact she was the one to call the video to the president's attention, chewing her nail. "Could be about people back in Amity Park. Because they are politicians, now. I don't know how important they're considering their poll numbers, but morale has to be a big factor in their situation."

"Great," said the president. "So, it could be anything. Now, how do we interpret what's happening in this video?"

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"It's a very simple question, Mr. Showenhower," said the supervisor, hands on her hips. "Will these containment units hold or not?"

Freakshow waved a negligent hand. "Not for any longer than a week," he lied, smoothly. "The GIW didn't intend these for long-term use, only temporary storage." In truth, Freakshow had no idea how long the units would last. His expertise was on the more mystical side of things, not the scientific. "Honestly, as fascinating and useful as their more modern appliance are, they were always inferior to work set up by a proper practitioner of the necromantic arts."

"Uh huh," said the supervisor, at least a little skeptical. "Right. Well, you'll be working with Ms. Forrest, our resident folklorist…"

Freakshow tuned out the rest of the introduction, because he knew that woman. Knew her from his stay in the GIW prison. He'd never learned her name, but she had always been rather more… amenable to his suggestions about how to use ghosts than her peers. He smiled.

"I'm sure I'll have a fine time working with you, Ms. Forrest."

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"Sorry," said Jazz, trying to edge around the man, "I'm on my way to have lunch with my aunt. Is it urgent?"

"Urgent?" asked the man. He shifted, uncertainly. A sheen of sweat gleamed off his bald head. One of Jazz's attendant will-o-the-wisps chimed that he felt nervous.

At least, that's what Jazz thought they said. Her wisp language skills weren't all that great as of yet.

She'd become used to it, though, people, often many times older than herself, being nervous around her. Scared of her. She supposed it came of surrounding herself with ghosts and wearing swords. Despite herself, she found that she liked it, in small doses. Especially if the person in question was… unctuous, or self-assured in their power.

Was that wrong of her? It was certainly ghostly of her.

The man had yet to respond, simply dithering in the hallway.

"My aunt is expecting me," she pressed, hoping he'd come to a decision.

"Oh, no, I suppose it isn't terribly urgent, at the moment."

Jazz nodded. "Great. If you'll leave your contact information at the embassy, Mister…?"

"I- Yes, yes, I'll do that," he said, backing away without sharing his name.

Jazz sighed. Whatever. He'd have to tell them who he was to get a meeting.

That incident resolved, or at least put to the side for the time being, Jazz hurried down the hallway. There were a series of small meeting rooms one could reserve and get food delivered to a couple stories down. It was safer to meet with and talk to Aunt Alicia in one of those than out in the open, or in a restaurant.

Of course, Jazz would prefer to talk to Aunt Alicia at the embassy, but Aunt Alicia couldn't for reasons she hadn't been clear on. Usually, given her family, she'd assume that it was more of a wouldn't and was for reasons related to ghost prejudice.

But the way she'd said couldn't…

Yeah, there was something weird going on there.

She just hoped she didn't have to rescue her aunt from… something. Although that wasn't a particularly distant possibility, in her mind. Aunt Alicia had been forced to work with Freakshow, after all, and even leaving Spitoon was out of character for her.

Was the government threatening her?

That would be a mistake.

She opened the door to the meeting room to find Aunt Alicia already there. "Hi, Aunt Alicia, how are you today?"