Meanwhile, Walter Peck was feeling the self-satisfaction of a man who was about to get revenge on an enemy, and he wasn't entirely sure that he liked it. "Revenge wasn't the point, I'm a public servant, looking out for the public good," he told himself. "What I do I do out of responsibility, duty, and the law. I don't do it because I like it; I do it because it has to be done." Having told himself all of these things, he at last permitted himself a thin, sneering smile. "Duty or not, I am really going to enjoy sticking it to Peter Venkman."

The little convoy turned onto Mott Street and rolled up to the firehouse with its garish neon sign. A county sheriff's car blocked the garage opening. A New York City police car and a Con Edison van pulled up in the alley alongside. And Peck, in a burst of missionary zeal, parked his lime green United States government interagency motor pool sedan in front of a fire plug and stepped out. The others were waiting for him.

"Don't take any guff off these people, gentlemen," Peck announced. "They're a bunch of con men, so be on your toes."

"Can we get on with this?" Bennett, the NYPD captain, asked impatiently. He'd worked with Peck before and didn't like him.

"Certainly." Peck replied as he stepped through into the garage bay, followed by NYPD, Con Edison, and two New York county sheriff's deputies. He decided to ignore the receptionist and head directly for the basement, but she jumped up and blocked his path.

"I beg your pardon!" Janine glared protectively. "Just where do you think you're going?"

Peck was not to be trifled with. "Step aside, Miss, or I'll have you arrested for interfering with a police officer." he then countered.

Janine looked to the bored captain, who nodded sourly, but held her ground. "Who do you think you're talking to, Mister? Do I look like a child? You can't come in here without some kind of warrant or writ or something." she retorted.

Peck held up a sheaf of papers and ticked them off with one finger. "Cease and Desist All Commerce Order. Seizure of Premises and Chattels. Ban on the Use of Public Utilities for Non-Licensed Waste Handlers. Federal Entry and Inspection Order. Satisfied?" He led the little troop down into the basement, Janine falling doggedly in behind.

"Egon, I tried to stop them..." Janine called, but Spengler and Peck were already at it.

"You are dealing with something you don't understand."

"Then I'll learn all about it as we dismantle your operation."

"No, the damage that could be caused..."

"I knew you were using harmful chemicals!"

"It's not chemicals. What's wrong with you? Don't you realize what we're doing? Don't you watch television?"

Peck sneered. "Not if I can help it."

Throughout it all, Peck's entourage had stood gaping at the workbenches, the reinforced containment wall with its warning stripes, the trap locks and recharge bins, the control panels and warning lights, Louis Tully, the Keymaster, stood in one corner, mumbling secret promises to Gozer between bites of a Twinkie.

"This is impossible," Spengler shouted.

"Now, look, you fraud—" Peck began, but Captain Bennett laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Watch it..."

Peck nodded. "Now, look, Dr. Spengler. You've seen the court orders. You are no longer in charge here. I am. Now, I want to see what's in there. Either you shut off those beams or we'll shut them off for you."

Spengler tried a reasoned approach. "You can see what's inside through the monitor if you wish. Here..." He reached up and turned it on.

Peck shook his head. "I told you, I'm not interested in television," he scoffed.

Peter Venkman appeared on the stairs, disheveled and red-eyed. "At ease, Officers. I'm Peter Venkman. I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding here, and I want to cooperate in any way that I can."

Peck rounded on him. "Forget it, Venkman. You had your chance to cooperate, but you thought it was more fun to insult me. Now it's my turn, smart guy."

Drell snorted and scoffed. "This man's a clown." he then said, referring to Peck of course.

"He wants to shut down the storage grid!" Spengler cried. Janine ran to him and threw her arms around him protectively, and Tully, sensing what he assumed was a cue for action, huddled in to Spengler's other side. They looked like some sort of very strange war memorial.

Well, Venkman thought, it has been a very strange war. He turned to the police captain, who appeared to be the sanest of the lot. "If you turn that thing off, we won't be responsible for the consequences."

"On the contrary," Peck snapped. "You will be held completely responsible. Turn it off."

But the Con Ed man had been looking through the monitor screen. He turned back, his face pale, and made no move to do anything. Venkman placed a hand on the man's arm. "Don't do it! I'm warning you."

The technician looked nervously around the room, then appealed to the police captain. "Maybe he's right. I've never seen anything like this. I don't know..."

"Just do it!" Peck shrilled. "Nobody asked for your opinion."

The technician nodded, licked his lips nervously, then reached for the switch, but Venkman threw both arms around his waist. "Don't be a jerk!"

The two deputy sheriffs moved in to break up the scuffle. Venkman glared at Peck. "You dumb jerk."

"If he tries that again," Peck replied. "Shoot him."

The captain shot Peck a look of contempt. "You do your own job, Pencilneck. Don't tell me how to do mine."

"Thank you, Officer," Venkman said.

"You shut up too. You, Con Ed. Turn it off."

The technician stepped up to the switch, took hold, and looked back nervously. Venkman, Spengler, Janine, and Tully had backed away toward the stairs. The two county cops were already gone. Spengler looked at the man, and mimed a huge explosion.

"Do it, now!"

Con Ed snapped down the huge knife switch, then jumped away as if he had been stung. There was the sudden sound of dying dynamos, a falling electrical hum, and the lights went out. Red warning bulbs began to flash, a siren started to scream, and a horrible tremor ran through the floor. The monitor screen exploded. The bricks in the containment wall began to loosen, emitting streams of blinding light and the hideous drip of ectoplasm. And under it all, one deep, terrifying sigh. A sigh of relief. A sigh of satisfaction. The sound of a monstrous creature that had just become uncaged.

That was enough. They fought their way up the stairs and out onto the street, pursued by coruscations of colored light, unearthly sounds, tremors in the very fabric of reality. The old firehouse shuddered, all of the windows blew out, light bulbs exploded, and the heavy floorboards danced like piano keys. With a crack the radio and monitoring tower on the roof gave a jerk and disappeared downward, sliding into the roof, and a second later a titanic geyser of glowing energy shot skyward, a hundred feet in the air. It hung there a second before bits and trails of light began to disperse to all points of the compass.

"There they go," Spengler said in awe. "I never thought I'd see it. A full four-dimensional cross rip."

"It's time. It's coming. This is the sign." whispered Louis the Keymaster, beside himself with joy.

"It's a sign all right," Janine moaned. "Going out of business."

Peter Venkman had nothing to say. He simply turned and knocked Walter Peck on his ass. WHAMMO!

"Dr. Venkman, why did you do that?!" Atticus asked with wide eyes in alarm.

"He had it coming." Peter shrugged in defense.

"Oh, this is not gonna be good for our reputation." Atticus said in concern.

Dozens of emergency vehicles converged on the old Mott Street firehouse, and soon the intersection was jammed with squad cars, fire engines, Con Ed trucks, ambulances, and civil defense vans. After Captain Bennett had separated Venkman and Peck and told them both to shut up, tactical command passed to Spengler. He was desperately trying to deal with dozens of "experts," while enduring the quizzing of a bomb squad man in a bulky decontamination suit.

"Does it contain TCE, PCB, or tailings from styrene esters, or any poly fluoric groupings...?"

"What's this slimy stuff all over everything?" A paramedic asked.

"...sulphur dioxide, lead alkyls, mercaptans..."

"That's ectoplasm. It's not dangerous."

"Stinks though."

"...radioisotopes, asbestos, mercuric compounds, industrial acids..."

"No, no, no. It's..." Spengler started, then realized that he wasn't sure how to explain psychic effluent to people who were used to dealing only with physical pollution. "You could call it a form of ectophenomenological fallout..."

"Fallout?!"

"No, psychic, not mineral. Like bad vibes."

"...carcinogens, mutagens, teratogens, or synergistic poisons..."

"What are the pink particles?" a fire captain asked. "What will happen if we use water?"

Spengler shook his head. They were worse than graduate students. "No. No water. There's nothing you can do."

"...solanine, oxalic acid, cyanide, myristicin, pressor amines, copper sulphate, dihydrochalcones..."

"Can someone write these down?" Thor asked as he groaned and held his head. "I feel like I'm in Mr. Poole's class."

Spengler took the man's clipboard and pen and wrote the word none in large letters across the form. Then his ears caught a familiar, warbling moan and he looked up hopefully. Somehow the Ectomobile had found a path through the chaos and was pulling to a halt behind Peck's car.

Spengler elbowed his way to the door as Stantz stepped out, gaping at the geyser of ghostly energy soaring into the Manhattan sky. "What happened?" he asked urgently.

"The storage facility blew up," Venkman replied. "That weasel Peck shut off the protection grid." Then he stopped, suddenly aware of the number of things out of his control.

"Eh, guys?" inquired Mo. "Where's the Keymaster?"

"Oh, no," Spengler gasped. "Janine, where's Tully?"

Janine, trying to fend off a group of reporters, shrugged helplessly.

Stantz was thoroughly confused. "Who's the Keymaster?"

But Spengler and Venkman were already fighting their way through toward the street. Peck and Bennett were waiting at the police barrier.

"Stop them!" Peck ordered. "Captain, I want them arrested. These men have been acting in criminal violation of the Environmental Protection Act, and this explosion is a direct result! Not to mention they've enlisted juveniles!"

"You turned off the power!" Venkman cried, again lunging for Peck's throat, but the captain hauled him back.

"You can't do that," he said. "If you hit Mr. Peck again, I'll have to charge you with assault."

Venkman looked up at the towering ghostly gusher, spewing spirits all over Manhattan and spattering the neighborhood with slime. It didn't frighten him half as much as the possibility that Tully and Dana might get together. Who knew what horror could be unleashed then?

It had Egon scared white, and that really scared Peter Venkman. He made an effort to get himself coherently under control. "Look, Captain, there was another man here; you've got to find him and bring him back!" he explained. "A short, determined guy with the eyes of a happy zombie."

"See!" Peck cried. "They are using drugs!"

"If you don't shut up, I'm going to rip out your septum!" Egon Spengler screamed with uncharacteristic fury, causing everyone for a thirty-foot radius to fall silent and stare. Peck backed away.

Bennett raised both hands. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going to have to arrest you all. You can discuss it with the judge. I'm going to read you your rights now, so please listen carefully..."

No one noticed Vinz Clortho as he wandered uptown. He was just one more person gaping at the spectacular display of lights in the daytime sky, but probably the only one north of the Criminal Courts Building who guessed their true significance. At least initially. As the released ghosts made their way back to their haunting grounds, a lot of people were in for some rude shocks.

As the Keymaster passed the subway entrance at Broadway and Canal Street, he failed to notice an insidious vapor swirl into the ventilation grate that served the platform for the uptown line. No one did, which was not surprising, for insidious vapors were common enough in a city with New York's air quality. But this was not air. A few minutes later the stampede started as people trampled over one another in an attempt to reach the street, their clothes blown by a raging whirlwind and splattered by ectoplasm. A uniformed patrolman responded, hurrying to see what sort of commotion was going on, and grabbed a running youth by one arm. The boy wore a red beret and a Guardian Angels T-shirt.

"What's going on, man?" The cop asked. "I thought you Angels were pretty tough."

"Not against that I ain't." The boy cried, shaking off the man's hand and sprinting up the street.

The cop drew his gun and turned, to find a hideous green demon rising from the stairwell. It opened its mouth, exposing foot-long teeth, and let loose an ungodly scream. The cop caught up with and passed the Guardian Angel a block and a half to the north.

"Oh, man, oh, man, this is getting way worse than I thought." Drell in concern as he watched a certain event on his crystal ball.

Louis Tully, Keymaster of Gozer, was approaching his goal: the meeting with the Gatekeeper, the preparations to receive the expected one, Gozer the Destroyer. His mind was filled with the glory of the Shagganah and all the Myriad Sacred Forms of the Torb as he entered the long pedestrian tunnel in Central Park. Several forms were clustered in the darkness ahead of him. Ah, he sighed. Fellow supplicants, witnesses to the Rectification. They spread our as he approached.

"Hey, man. We're friends. Let us go through your pockets."

The Keymaster was nonplussed. This was not how it had been foretold. "Are you the Gatekeeper?" he asked.

"Come on. You want me to stick you? Come across, man."

"I am Vinz Clortho," Tully said impatiently. "I am the Keymaster." "And I'm Mister Dave, baddest dude on this block."

Tully considered. Gozer had never before come in the form of a dude. It smacked of treachery. "Do you bar my way?"

"Are you crazy, man? You don't give, Mister Dave's gonna rip you, man. Nobody gets by Mister Dave."

Tully's eyes began to swirl. "Do you bar my way?" "Yeah, sucker. We bar you way."

Vinz was filled with the strength of the Vuldronaii. He opened his mouth and let out a terrifying roar that snapped the blade of Mister Dave's knife and tore bricks from the inside of the tunnel. Streams of iridescent light sparked out, discharging bolts of italic electricity into the muggers. They fled screaming out the north end of the tunnel.

"I thought you said we could take him, man." "What you think I am, Ghostbusters?"

"I gotta get the kids out of this mess." Drell said to himself as he looked very scared for once in his life. And with breakneck speed, he quickly resolved to do just that!

The McLean 301, a theater just off of Forty-second Street, had seen better days. Having begun life as a variety house, it had gone through a succession of remodelings and downgradings as the neighborhood around it changed. Seven years ago it had shown its last first-run film, and was now hovering on the borderline between being an emporium for bad science fiction and a porno house. Today it was science fiction. The marquee proclaimed ALL DAY ALL NIGHT 3-D SCI-FI THRILLER, and the house was packed.

At one time the McLean might have filled to capacity with sweating burlesque fans, with top music and comedy acts, or a neighborhood sprinkling of families for a night of Disney cartoons. Now it was the downtown gross-out crowd, the beer-drinking, pot-smoking, cheering locals in their cardboard 3-D glasses, who got as much loud pleasure out of Z; the Undying Fungoid as their more sophisticated cousins did from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The screen was old and speckled with the refuse of thrown food, the johns didn't work, and the print of the 1957 British SF flic was probably an original. No one seemed to care. For the audience, the movie was less an art form than an excuse for a social gathering one step below a riot, and they were having a great time, shouting insults, pouring beer on one another, and razzing the terrible film as it creaked and crackled through the sprockets. The undying fungoid was in the process of devouring a toy army truck when the ancient film gave a tortured gasp and parted. The screen went white, then black.

"Heeeey!"

"Come on!"

The teenagers complained in the group as they were there to experience that. The low whine underneath the crowd began to rise in volume until one by one the patrons quieted down to hear what it was. Like a dynamo, someone said. You never heard a dynamo in yer life, his friend replied, likening it to a distant police siren. No, a jet engine. Or a pipe organ. Suddenly the dim house and exit lights went out. A few of the audience settled back, thinking that the show might be starting again, but most of them knew better. There was an electricity in the air, as if the entire building had been put through a giant electromagnet. The curtains crackled with it, and a pattern of soft, vague, blue static discharges crawled over the screen, flowing, concentrating. The people watched in awe as they swirled into the center, forming an intense spot of light, while behind them the theater began to vibrate with a low, moaning sound. Like voices, thought one man. No, like music, like old songs.

Suddenly the point of light leapt in a straight line to the projection booth, as if the camera had started, a beam of wavering light stretching across the audience. The moaning resolved into ghostly music, an olio of dance-hall tunes, as the first glowing phantom appeared on the lighted line. It was a strutting comedian in straw boater and checked suit, a cane in one hand. Next came a black-faced minstrel with a banjo. A fan dancer followed, then a floppy-pants comic with suspenders and a spade beard. A stripper in a feather boa. A singer in a slick gown. A juggler. A chorine.

The audience hung there spellbound as the ghosts of a century of New York theater paraded down that spectral runway and vanished into the projection booth, every sort of act that the McLean had witnessed from minstrels to matinee idols. And when the last one was gone, and the magic had gone out of the old theater, there was a long moment of silence from the stunned crowd, followed by the loudest and longest applause that McLean 301 had ever heard.

"Uh, should we tell the others about that?" Sabrina wondered cautiously.

"Hmm... yeah, that seems like a good idea," mused Lionel. "Would anyone be opposed?"

"I don't see why anyone would in this case." Atticus commented.

"Yeah, come on, let's go." Mo suggested.

And so, the kids left the theater and went to the nearest phone to try to get a hold of someone, however...

Some distance away, Winston Zeddemore was feeling far from entertained. How could he explain this to his mother? The first Zeddemore boy to ever wind up in the clink. He turned and looked at a huge biker who was watching him curiously.

"We're gonna get five years for this," he finally spoke. "Plus, they're gonna make us retrap all those spooks. I knew I shouldn't have taken that job."

The biker spit lazily and scratched his jaw. "Tough luck, man."

Most of the rest of the tank's occupants were gathered around Venkman, Stantz, and Spengler, who were trying to ignore them.

Stantz had his blueprints spread out on the floor. "Look at the structure of the roof cap. It looks exactly like the kind of telemetry tracker that NASA uses to identify dead pulsars in space." he then told the others.

Spengler nodded excitedly and nudged Venkman. "And look at this, Peter. Cold-riveted girders with selenium cores." he pointed out.

But Peter Venkman was acutely conscious of their audience. He turned to the group of hoods who were trying to figure out Stantz's coverall. "Everybody with us so far?" he then prompted.

Stantz grabbed his arm. "The ironwork extends down through fifty feet of bedrock and touches the water table." he soon larified.

Venkman still didn't get it. "I guess they don't build them like they used to, huh?" he then asked.

"No," Stantz cried. "Nobody ever built them like this. The architect was either an authentic genius or a certified wacko. The whole building is like a huge antenna for pulling in and concentrating psychic energy."

"Who was the architect?"

"He's listed on the blueprints as I. Shandor."

"Of course!" Spengler yelped, startling everyone in the room. "Ivo Shandor. I saw his name in Tobin's Spirit Guide. He started a secret society in 1920."

Venkman rubbed his forehead painfully. "Let me guess... Gozer worshipers."

"Yes. After the First World War, Shandor decided that society was too sick to survive. And he wasn't alone. He had close to a thousand followers when he died. They conducted bizarre rituals, intended to bring about the end of the world."

Venkman nodded. "She said he was the Destructor."

"Who?"

"Gozer."

"You talked to Gozer?" Spengler asked, confused.

"Get a grip on yourself, Egon. I talked to Dana Barrett and she referred to Gozer as the Destructor."

"See?" Ray Stantz exclaimed proudly. "I told you that something big was about to happen!"

Zeddemore had heard enough. "This is insane! You actually believe that some moldy Babylonian god is going to drop in at 78th and Central Park West and start tearing up the city?"

"Not Babylonian, Sumerian," Spengler said breathlessly. "And he won't have to. Ray, do you remember what we discussed about ERMs?"

"Yes," Stantz replied. "All the psychic potential of the city released. The Big Twinkie! We've got to get out of here."

"What's he talking about?" Zeddemore whispered.

"I'm not sure," Venkman replied, "but it sounds bad."

"Hey!" They all turned. A high-ranking police officer was standing in the corridor outside the holding cell, flanked by two jailers. He pointed at Venkman. "Are you the Ghostbusters?"

"What about it?"

"The mayor wants to see you right away. The whole island is going crazy. Let's go."

The teenagers began to follow until they heard a loud "psst".

"Did you guys hear someone psst at us?" Thor asked the others.

"I did hear that..." Atticus replied.

Mo looked around a bit and soon suddenly, a smoke cloud appeared making them all cough.

"The Great and Powerful Drell!" Drell announced as he made an overly dramatic entrance.

"Okay, Endora, what's up?" Atticus asked and smirked at that Bewitched-like entrance.

"Very funny," Drell rolled his eyes at that before he looked at the kids. "Listen, this ghost business is getting a lot worse and I'm worried for your safety, so I think it's time for you all to come back home." he then told them.

"Like, home-home? As in, abandon the mission?" Lionel asked.

"I hate for you guys to do that, but..." Drell began to say.

"No way! We gotta help out the Ghostbusters," Atticus protested and reminded the warlock. "We need to stay here!"

"Kinda speaking for everybody right now, are we?" Casper commented, unable to help it.

"...he's got a point," said Lionel. "We can't abandon the guys when all this crazy stuff is goin' down."

"What...?" Drell asked.

"Drell, we kinda made a commitment, ya know?" Cherry reminded him.

"Yeah, Uncle!" Thor added. "Besides, you were the one who got us into this adventure business in the first place."

"And when the going gets tough, we tough don't get going," said Lionel. "If Gozer is as bad as they say, the city's gonna be up to its earlobes in ghosts!"

"I guess that's true..." Drell sighed and shrugged. "Even if everyone else are just a bunch of mortals who can't fend for themselves."

"Watch what you say!" Sabrina gasped. "I'm half-mortal!"

"I know you are, Sabrina," Drell sighed and replied. "Man, am I putting my foot in my mouth today."

"And I figure the taste is real bitter," said Lionel. "Now let's get a move on!"

"But!" Drell piped only for the kids to dart off as he sighed. "Oh, you poor souls, this is far worse than Della or that Biff Tannen character." he then lamented to himself.

Hizzoner had had an extremely successful term as mayor, and he was determined not to let it be spoiled by a few ghosts. "Ghosts, fer crissake! I get along with Italians and blacks, with Poles and Irish, with Puerto Ricans and Chinese. My credibility is solid with big business and environmentalists, with Jews, Catholics, and Muslims, with liberals and conservatives. My visibility extends with impeccable clarity to the Carson show, the Letterman show, to Donahue and Griffin and Good Morning America. I've published a book, done cameos on Kate and Ali and Ryan's Hope. They're doing a play about my life. I've done a good job. So, what do I get? Ghosts."

Hizzoner looked up, watching his aides as they tried to keep traffic moving in and out of the big office. The police commissioner, the fire commissioner, the city and state police commandants, the archbishop of the diocese of New York, Rabbi Korngeld, the regional director of the EPA, General Petersen of the National Guard, the city comptroller, the corporation counsel, three city bureaucrats whose names and positions he'd forgotten, several state officials, officers of the Coast Guard and Navy, and the chief agent of the FBI's New York office—all of them talking at once, most of them trying to talk to him. I have such a headache, he thought. Just once a crisis shouldn't give me a headache.

Mackay, his point man, stepped into the office. "The Ghostbusters are here, Mr. Mayor."

The room fell instantly silent as Mackay ushered the four men into the room. Well, they don't look like monsters, Hizzoner decided. Just average New York crazies. The simple solution would be to dismiss them as frauds, toss them into Riker's Island, and feed the key to a sea gull. Of course, that wouldn't explain the thing that came through the wall of my shower this morning. He stood up and placed his palms on the desk.

"Okay, the Ghostbusters."

They nodded respectfully.

"And what's with the kids?"

"They're our biggest supporters and helpers." Ray stated confidently as the group nodded.

"It's true." Atticus added.

"And who's Peck?"

A thin, angry-looking man in a tight suit pushed his way forward. Hizzoner disliked him on sight. He looked like the mayor's high school biology teacher, and Hizzoner had flunked frog dissecting four times. "I'm Walter Peck, sir. And I'm prepared to make a full report." He said as he withdrew a fat sheaf of papers from his briefcase and dropped them on the desk. Typical, Hizzoner thought. The city's falling apart and this ring ding brings me a term paper.

"These men are complete snowball artists and these kids are nothing but a bunch of juvenile delinquents."

"WHAT'D YOU CALL ME?!" Thor snarled, about to charge until Cherry and Lionel did their best to hold him back.

"They use nerve and sense gases to induce hallucinations," Peck continued. "The people think they're seeing ghosts and call these bozos, who conveniently show up and get rid of the problem with a fake electronic light show."

The mayor looked sharply at Venkman. "You using nerve gas?"

Venkman shook his head emphatically. "The man is a psychopath, Your Honor."

"Probably a mixture of gases, no doubt stolen from the army..."

"Baloney!" Stantz cried, then favored the archbishop with an embarrassed smile.

Peck charged on. "...improperly stored and touched off with those high-voltage laser beams they use in their light show. They caused an explosion."

Venkman looked ready to start talking again, but Hizzoner raised his hands for silence. He looked imploringly at his staff.

"All I know is, that wasn't a light show we saw this morning," The fire commissioner said. "I've seen every form of combustion known to man, but this beats me."

The police commissioner's argument was more telling. "And nobody's using nerve gas on all the people that have seen those... things all over the city. The walls are bleeding in the Fifty-third Precinct. How do you explain that?"

The mayor couldn't, but had no intention of asking either Peck or the Ghostbusters, at least not yet. He turned to the archbishop. "Your Eminence?"

The prelate and the mayor were old friends from the days when they'd been priest and ward captain, Tim and Ed, but the formalities still had to be observed. He kissed the preferred ring.

"Officially the church will not take a position on the religious implications of these... phenomena. However, since they started, people have been lining up at every church in the city to confess and take communion. We've had to put on extra priests. Personally, I think it's a sign from God, but don't quote me on that."

"I can't call a press conference and tell everyone to start praying. Rabbi, any thoughts on this?"

Korngeld shrugged. "It's quite a deal. What can I tell you?"

A tall black man stepped forward. "I'm Winston Zeddemore, Your Honor. I've been with the company for only a short time, but I gotta tell you... these things are real. Since I joined these men, I have seen jazz that would boggle your mind!"

The mayor rubbed his eyes wearily. "You, Venkman, how did this happen?"

"Everything was working fine, sir," Venkman said earnestly. "We ran a safe operation."

"Hal"

Stantz rounded on Peck. "It was fine, just fine, until this jerk here shut down our power."

"Is this true?" The mayor asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," Cherry spoke up as she stepped forward. "This man is a dickless jerk."

Venkman smirked and snorted in approval over what Cherry said as he was thinking the same thing.

Peck launched himself at Venkman, but two of the mayor's aides pulled him back. Hizzoner stifled a laugh and glared at Peck. "That'll be enough of that. So, wise guy, what do we do now?"

Venkman grinned. He liked the mayor. He would have done well back on the carny.

"It's this way, sir. You can believe Peckerhead..." said Lionel.

"That's Peck!"

"Did anyone ask if I cared?" Lionel snorted.

"...or you can accept the fact that this city is headed for a disaster of really biblical proportions." finished Venkman.

"What do you mean by biblical?" The mayor demanded.

"Old Testament, Mr. Mayor. Wrath-of-God type stuff," Venkman clarified. "The seas boil, fire and brimstone falling from the sky..."

"...40 years of darkness," Stantz chimed in. "Earthquakes, mass hysteria, human sacrifice..."

"...dogs and cats living together; mass hysteria..." Thor continued.

"Enough! I get the point." The mayor looked at the assembled multitude waiting for his word. Aides, employees, supporters, the secular arm of the office, waiting for him to pull off the big save so they would all look good, or to fall on his face. To blow it. To create a power vacuum for one of them to step into. I hate these times, he thought. He glanced at the archbishop, who winked. "And if you're wrong?"

"If I'm wrong, then nothing happens, and you toss us back in the can," Venkman said with a small smile. "But if I'm right, and we can stop this thing... well, let's say that you could save the lives of millions of registered voters."

The mayor smiled back. 'If this guy ever goes into politics, he could be very, very dangerous. I wonder if he's a Democrat?' he then thought to himself.

Peck pushed his way forward. "I don't believe you're seriously considering listening to these men."

The mayor took a long look at Peck, then motioned to his aides. "Get rid of him," Then, turning to Venkman, he said, "We've got work to do. What do you need from me?"

The mess at Dana Barrett's building hadn't gotten any better. In fact, things were considerably worse. Louis Tully wandered through a stream of tenants carrying precious possessions through the lobby as lightning roared and snapped around the building, cutting power lines, shattering windows, and blowing pieces of masonry into the streets. Policemen herded the frightened people into cabs and tried to keep the curious motorists moving on Central Park West, making sure there was room for emergency vehicles. In the confusion, no one noticed that Louis Tully was swimming upstream. His floor was almost deserted. The lights were out, but a continual crackle of lightning was spilling from the opened apartment doors.

A figure shuffled toward Tully, Mrs. Blum, a neighbor. "Louis! What are you doing, standing there?" she demanded. "Get out of the building... don't you know it's an earthquake or something?"

Louis looked at her, amazed at the fleshbag's petty concerns. The woman was carrying a bowl of fish, a symbol that did not register in the pantheon of the Destructor.

The Traveler is coming." Louis said, his voice thick with reverent secrecy.

But the creature would not comprehend. "Don't be crazy. Nobody is going to come and visit you with all this commotion going on." Mrs. Blum said as she hurried off.

Another lost soul. So be it. His duty was to Gozer. He approached the sacred joining and knockcd three times, the thunder answering in concerto as the door opened. It was Zuul, the Expected One. "Are you the Gatekeeper?" he asked.

"I am Zuul." Dana said.

It was the moment. Vinz Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer, rushed to the joining as he and Zuul merged. She was the Gatekeeper—and his key was ready. (*MWAH!* Good-night, everybody~) They sank down in the embrace that had been foretold, and blew the roof off the building.

The mayor followed Venkman and Stantz through the corridors of City Hall, puffing to keep up and straining to understand. And, he was having second thoughts. 'By God', he thought, 'If these clowns screw up, I'll make sure they never again see the light of day.'

The Ghostbusters had begun their preparations, and the City Hall area was swarming with vehicles and support people, not to mention reporters, tourists, groupies, and a large crowd of peddlers selling Ghostbuster T-shirts and dolls. A circus, Hizzoner thought. I hate trusting someone else when I don't know what's going on.

"I don't understand it. Why here? Why now?"

"Hey, what goes around, comes around, Mr. Mayor," Atticus replied. "Besides, we've helped really shape up the image of Ghostbusters."

"Yeah," Venkman added with a shrug. "The big lazy Susan of karma just keeps turning, and sometimes we get the short and of the stick."

"What's he talking about?" The mayor demanded.

Stantz clapped him on the shoulder. "This may be nature's way of telling us to slow down. You have to admit, it's kind of humbling, isn't it?"

"We're humble already," Hizzoner shouted. "Hasn't this city suffered enough?"

The Ectomobile was backed up to the loading dock, and Spengler and Zeddemore were charging the proton packs off a coaxial connected to the building current.

A maintenance man was looking fearfully at the rumbling nuclear accelerators and trying not to get too close. He tapped Venkman on the shoulder. "You're sure this is all right?" he then asked.

"It's all right." The mayor grumbled.

The maintenance man glared at him.

"And who the devil are you?" he then countered.

"I'm the mayor, you meathead."

"Big deal."

Hizzoner himself was about to ask if it was all right when Captain Bennett appeared. He had changed into field coveralls. "We've cleared the whole building and cordoned off the street. I'm massing our special tactics squad and the National Guard is on standby."

"Forget the tac squad," Venkman said. "There's nothing for them to shoot. But the National Guard is fine. People like soldiers. They give great crowd control."

"What's wrong with him?" the mayor whispered to Spengler.

"He's in charge," Egon replied bluntly. The mayor blanched. This is definitely going to give me an ulcer, he decided.

Spengler crossed to where Janine was standing anxiously by the Ectomobile. She smiled bravely. A romantic moment, Egon decided, and took her hand. "Hi," he said, making a mental note to ask Peter how to talk to girls. They were far more complicated than fungus, or ghosts for that matter. He wondered abstractly whether anyone had ever done a study...

"I want you to have this." Janine said, handing him a coin.

"What is it?" Egon wondered.

"It's a souvenir from the 1964 World's Fair at Rushing Meadow," Janine explained. "It's my lucky coin."

"I don't believe in luck," Spengler said firmly.

"Keep it anyway. I have another one at home."

"Well, thanks, Janine." Cherry said with a small smile.

"Thank you." Egon said, deeply aware of the gravity of the situation. So, this was what history was like.

Peter Venkman was not so sure. He looked at the long convoy lined up behind the Ectomobile; a police Cruiser, three National Guard trucks, three fire engines, a Con Ed van, a wrecker, and, ominously, a dozen ambulances.

"Hey, Peter," Stantz called from the Ectomobile, "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be..." Venkman muttered to himself quietly and he then saw that they were all looking at him; Stantz, Spengler, Zeddemore, Janine, even the mayor. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Okay, just remember, whatever happens out there, we are the professionals. Not only are we the best Ghostbusters around, we are the only Ghostbusters around. It's up to us," he said aloud to them, giving them a thumbs up and they each returned it. Then, raising his arm in the old cavalry signal, he cried, "Move 'em out!"

"Oh, gee. Oh, gee. Oh, gee." Drell was heard whimpering as he saw all of this from his crystal ball and leaned against the wall behind him.

Suddenly, there was a bolt of lightning that came from the closet in the hotel room and he looked curious.

"I didn't order Other Realm pizza..." Drell murmured in confusion as he was about to get the door.

"Drell! Hi!" Hilda grinned as she suddenly jumped out and sprawled over onto the door. "I thought you were out in town trying to get the kids to come home or something?" she then said, trying to distract him.

"No, they insist on staying even though I don't think it's a good idea especially with Kibosh suddenly getting involved with this Gozer business, but what about you?" Drell explained a bit bitterly. "Did you order us pizza or something?"

"Oh, uh, sure, I ordered pizza!" Hilda said and chuckled nervously. "I think you should let me get it though. Why don't you sit down and relax and think about how to get the kids to come home with us?"

"Hm... alright," Drell said, a little suspicious.

Hilda grinned sheepishly and waved him off. Drell turned the other away, sighing to himself and then walked off again. A literal child-like doctor came through the door, holding onto a bag and had an adult woman next to him.

"Dr. Brickman, what took you so long?" Hilda complained.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I had 18 holes of golf to beat that fairy doctor Dr. Rip Studwell in," Dr. Brickman explained before rolling his eyes. "Yeesh, what a narcissistic yutz."

Hilda's eyes crossed, and she gave a sickened grimace at the sound of the name.