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seanpultz · 8 months ago

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Characters:

Ghostbusters Team:

Dr. Peter Venkman (Bill Murray) - The wisecracking, charismatic leader of the Ghostbusters.

Dr. Raymond "Ray" Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) - The enthusiastic scientist and co-founder of the Ghostbusters.

Dr. Winston Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson) - The pragmatic and level-headed member of the team.

Janine Melnitz (Annie Potts) - The no-nonsense receptionist of the Ghostbusters.

Callie Spengler (Carrie Coon) - The daughter of the late Dr. Egon Spengler, Phoebe and Trevor’s Mom and Gary Grooberson’s wife.

Gary Grooberson (Paul Rudd) - A member of the Ghostbusters team, Phoebe and Trevor’s step-dad and Callie Spengler’s husband.

Lars Pinfield (James Acaster) - A quirky and eccentric equipment and gadget maker of the team.

Trevor Spengler (Finn Wolfhard) - The grandson of Dr. Egon Spengler.

Phoebe Spengler (Mckenna Grace) - The granddaughter of Dr. Egon Spengler, a young genius and Ghostbuster.

Podcast (Logan Kim) - Phoebe’s best friend and podcaster who aids the Ghostbusters.

Lucky Domingo (Celeste O'Connor) - Trevor's girlfriend and a member of the Ghostbusters team.

Coven of Witches:

Agatha (Christina Ricci) - The powerful leader of the coven of witches who accidentally conjures up Krampus using a spell book she purchased at Ray’s Occult Book Store, which her copy contains a false page. She along with Theodora and Selena help the Ghostbusters save Morgana from Krampus’ clutches and end Krampus once and for all.

Theodora (Gaby Hoffmann) - A skeptical witch in the coven who doubts the Ghostbusters' abilities. She soon warms to the Ghostbusters and helps them defeat Krampus.

Morgana (Aubrey Plaza) - A mischievous witch who enjoys causing havoc with her powers. She is soon forced against her will to aid Krampus in his nefarious plot.

Selena (Kelly Rowland) - A compassionate witch in the coven. She’s the peacemaker. If their is any in fighting between Agatha and Theodora, she is the one who defuses the tension.

Antagonist:

Krampus (Christoph Waltz) - A malevolent entity known for punishing naughty children during Christmas. Krampus, now free, begins wreaking havoc and causing chaos in the city.

Returning Character:

Louis Tully (Rick Moranis) - The quirky former client-turned-friend of the Ghostbusters.

It's Christmastime and the entire city of New York is decorated for the holiday season. However the citizens of this city seem to be losing the Christmas spirit. The tinkling of the bell above the door pierced the quiet solitude of Ray's Occult Books, sending a shiver down the dust-covered spines of ancient tomes and disturbing the slumber of forgotten arcane secrets. In strode four figures, silhouetted by the festive lights outside, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the somber hush that usually reigned within. As they approached the counter, their eyes alight with curiosity and mischief, Dr. Raymond Stantz looked up from his ledger, his heart skipping a beat. Agatha, the charismatic leader of the quartet, her raven hair cascading over her crimson coat, caught his gaze and offered a coy smile. The air grew electric with an unspoken challenge as she announced, "Ray, we're in need of something… special." Theodora, Morgana, and Selena flanked her, their individual auras of power and beauty enveloping the store in a warm embrace. It was clear that tonight was not going to be an ordinary closing time.

With trembling hands, Ray reached beneath the counter and produced a tome that had not seen the light of day in many years. Its leather cover was worn, adorned with intricate gold embossing that whispered of arcane wisdom. The title, "The Grimoire of the Forgotten Spirits," shimmered faintly under the flickering candlelight. He presented it to Agatha with a mix of reverence and caution. "This," he said, his voice hushed, "is what you're looking for. But beware, the spells within are not for the faint of heart. They are ancient, powerful, and may come with consequences if used improperly." Agatha's smile grew wider as she took the book, her eyes gleaming with excitement. The coven exchanged knowing glances, their anticipation palpable as they leaned in closer to examine the grimoire's contents. The air in the shop grew thick with the scent of magic and the promise of a Christmas Eve that would be anything but silent night.

The four witches, with the Grimoire open at its center, gathered in the heart of Central Park, their breaths misting in the cold winter air. They formed a tight circle, their boots crunching on the frost-covered grass as they sat cross-legged, each clutching a candle that cast eerie shadows across their faces. The moon, a waxing gibbous in the sky, cast a silver glow over the cityscape, which seemed to have dimmed in comparison to the radiant power building within their sacred space. The pages of the ancient spellbook fluttered as Agatha, with a dramatic flourish, began to recite the incantation they had selected. The words were ancient and unfamiliar, resonating with a power that seemed to hum in harmony with the very earth beneath them. Theodora, Morgana, and Selena joined in, their voices weaving together to form a mesmerizing chant that echoed through the park. The air grew colder, and the very essence of the city quivered as their combined magic reached out, searching for the frayed threads of Christmas spirit.

Agatha's eyes widened as she stumbled upon the "Evocation" page, its title scrawled in a language that seemed to dance before her eyes. Without a second thought, she pointed at the incantation and whispered to her sisters, "This is it." Theodora, Morgana, and Selena nodded in unison, their own excitement brimming. They took a collective deep breath and began to recite the ancient words, their voices rising in a crescendo that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the night. The candles flickered and then were abruptly extinguished by a cold wind that swirled into existence, sending their hair whipping around their faces. The earth beneath them stirred, a gentle tremor that grew into a quake, the ground shaking with an intensity that sent shockwaves through the city streets. Trees swayed, and the distant sound of car alarms pierced the night as the buildings around them swayed in rhythm with their chant. The witches clutched each other's hands tighter, their eyes locked on the grimoire as the incantation grew more urgent, their hearts racing with the power surging through them. The city's Christmas lights flickered and dimmed, as if bowing to the resurgence of ancient magic that now held dominion over the park. The very air crackled with energy, and the spirits of the forgotten were drawn to the epicenter of their call, sensing the shift in the balance of the worlds.

As the incantation reached its climax, a deep, guttural growl reverberated through the trembling ground, sending a shiver of fear down the spines of the witches. The earth before them split open, revealing a chasm of shadow and malice. From the abyss, a monstrous figure began to rise, its twisted horns and fur-covered body silhouetted against the moonlit sky. Krampus, the Christmas demon, emerged from the depths with a thunderous roar, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. The witches' laughter turned to gasps as they stared at the terrifying creature before them, realizing too late the gravity of their summoning. The once festive atmosphere of the park was now suffused with a palpable dread, the air thick with the scent of fear and the stench of the netherworld.

Panic gripped the witches as Krampus fully emerged, his massive form casting a dark shadow over the trembling ground. The city's energy pulsed around him, the very essence of lost Christmas spirits fueling his monstrous presence. Agatha, her initial bravado forgotten, clutched the Grimoire to her chest and whispered to her sisters, "We've made a mistake. We need to reverse this!" Theodora's eyes darted around, searching for an escape, while Morgana and Selena clung to each other, their faces pale with terror. In a moment of desperation, Agatha recalled the legendary Ghostbusters, the city's unsung heroes known for handling the most unusual and supernatural of situations.

The city's emergency lines were ablaze with reports of the tremors and strange occurrences in Central Park. At the Ghostbusters' headquarters, the sirens blared to life as Janine Melnitz, the unflappable receptionist, relayed the urgent messages to Dr. Peter Venkman, who was busy wrapping Christmas gifts for his colleagues. With a dramatic sigh, he tossed aside the tinsel. "Looks like we've got ourselves a case," he quipped, the twinkle in his eye betraying his excitement. Dr. Winston Zeddemore, ever the voice of reason, calmly checked their gear while Callie Spengler, her father's scientific legacy pulsing through her veins, reviewed the spectral readings with a furrowed brow. Meanwhile, her husband, Gary Grooberson, and their kids, Trevor and Phoebe, eagerly prepared to join the fray, their curiosity piqued by the chaos. Podcast, with his ever-ready recorder, and Lucky Domingo, Trevor's girlfriend, tagged along, eager to capture the night's events for posterity.

Theodora's gaze remained fixed on the horrifying creature that loomed before them, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't shake the feeling that they had bitten off more than they could chew with this incantation. "Agatha," she murmured, her voice quaking, "what if the Ghostbusters aren't enough? What if we've unleashed something that even they can't handle?" Agatha shot her a glare, the panic in her eyes belying her attempt at confidence. "They've faced worse, Theo. They're the best at what they do!" The argument grew heated, the tension between the two threatening to shatter the fragile unity of the coven. But Selena, ever the peacemaker, placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders. "We have to trust in our allies and ourselves," she soothed, her voice steady despite the fear that lapped at her own core. "We're in this together, and together we'll find a way to set things right." The moment of discord passed as the witches felt a renewed surge of determination, drawing strength from their bond. They turned their collective attention back to the grimoire, searching frantically for a spell of banishment as the ground continued to tremble beneath Krampus's heavy steps.

At the Ghostbusters headquarters, the four witches stood before the entire team, their faces a mix of excitement and trepidation as they recounted their ill-fated summoning. The room buzzed with energy, the air thick with the scent of ectoplasm and the hum of high-tech gadgets. Peter, Winston, Callie, and their young companions listened intently, their expressions a blend of skepticism and growing concern. "Krampus?" Peter echoed, stroking his chin. "I think we might have missed that one in our supernatural studies." Winston nodded gravely, his eyes scanning the grimoire with the same scrutiny he reserved for his ghost traps. Callie's fingers flew across her computer, pulling up every scrap of information she could find on the creature. Meanwhile, the kids, Trevor and Phoebe, watched with rapt attention, their eyes wide with wonder and a touch of fear. The witches' story grew more urgent as they described the demon's terrifying emergence in Central Park, and the Ghostbusters exchanged knowing glances. It was clear that the fate of the city's Christmas spirit rested in their hands. "Alright," Peter declared, slapping his hands together. "We've faced everything from Free-roaming vaporous phantasms to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. A little Christmas demon isn't going to ruin our holiday cheer."

Agatha, her cheeks flushed with urgency, handed the grimoire back to Ray, her finger trembling as it pointed to the page titled "Evocation." The room grew quiet as she spoke. "This is the spell we were reciting that sent Krampus to earth!" But as Ray took the book, his eyes widened with disbelief. "This… this page," he stuttered, "it's not supposed to be here." He pulled out his own well-worn copy of the grimoire from the shelf behind the counter, and flipped to the same spot, revealing a page titled "Protection Against Dark Entities." The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation settled upon them. "But how?" Agatha gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Someone, or something, has altered the very fabric of the book itself."

Theodora, her eyes darting from the page to her friends, suggested nervously, "Maybe it's just an error in the printing?" But Ray's expression grew grave as he shook his head. "If it were a mistake, we'd be seeing these kinds of disturbances across the country. Every copy would be triggering the same events. But no," he said, his voice tight with tension, "this is unique. This is personal." The room grew quieter still, the realization sinking in that they had been led into a trap, one that had been meticulously set and baited with the very spirit of the season they sought to revive. The coven's eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. They had not only summoned a creature of legend, but had also become pawns in a much larger, more sinister game.

Theodora rolled her eyes at Agatha's accusation, her voice tinged with irritation. "You think we're just pawns? That's ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "We're powerful witches, capable of handling this ourselves!" Agatha shot back, equally as frustrated. "You think we should just wing it? This is Krampus we're dealing with!" Their voices grew louder, the tension between them thickening the air until it was almost tangible. Morgana, tired of the squabbling, pushed herself to her feet. "I can't do this," she murmured, her eyes darting from one friend to the next. "I need to think." Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the firehouse. The remaining three witches watched her go, their expressions a mix of shock and guilt. The silence that followed was as heavy as the weight of their mistake. They knew that they needed to put aside their differences and focus on the task at hand, for the sake of the city they loved and the spirit of Christmas itself. But as they turned back to the grimoire, the daunting reality of what they had unleashed loomed larger than ever.

Morgana's solitary figure was swallowed by the shadows of the deserted street as the argument in the firehouse grew distant. Lost in thought, she barely noticed the icy wind that had picked up. The ground trembled again, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a fur-covered, horned monstrosity stomping towards her. Panic set in as she recognized Krampus, the creature they had inadvertently summoned. He grabbed her with a bone-crushing grip, his eyes gleaming with a cunning that belied his fearsome exterior. "You shall be my conduit," he rumbled, his breath reeking of the netherworld. "Together, we shall orchestrate a Christmas so terrible, the city will never forget!" Morgana struggled, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Never!" she spat. But Krampus only chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, you will," he said, his tone low and menacing. "This is not a request." And with that, he vanished into the night, pulling her with him into the shadowy realm from which he had come.

As the tremors subsided, the Ghostbusters received a barrage of panic-stricken calls reporting the sudden paranormal uprisings. On one end of the line, the frantic manager of Radio City Music Hall begged for their assistance, describing a scene of ethereal chaos amidst the twinkling lights and festive cheer of the Christmas Spectacular. On the other, the high-pitched wails of children pierced the airwaves as the once-beloved toys of F.A.O Schwarz had turned menacing, bringing the bustling store to a standstill. The team exchanged a grim look, recognizing the unmistakable handiwork of Krampus. The candy-colored façade of their Christmas was cracking, revealing the darker heart of the holiday lore they had so carelessly poked.

The Ghostbusters made their decision swiftly, their seasoned instincts honed by years of battling the supernatural. "Ray, Winston, and I will head to Radio City," Peter announced, his voice firm and decisive. "Callie, Trevor, Phoebe, Podcast, Gary, Lucky, hit F.A.O Schwarz. We've got to keep this demon's influence contained before it spreads any further." The groups nodded in grim agreement, the gravity of the situation etched into their faces. They knew that this was no ordinary ghostbusting gig; they were dealing with a force that threatened the very fabric of the city's holiday spirit.

With a roar of the engine, the ECTO-1 streaked through the Christmas-lit streets of New York, carrying Peter, Ray, and Winston to the beleaguered Radio City Music Hall. The iconic marquee flickered ominously as spectral figures danced around the Rockettes, whose graceful movements had turned erratic and terrifying. Meanwhile, the ECTO-Z, a sleek black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter, sped towards the enchanted chaos engulfing F.A.O Schwarz. Inside, Callie, Trevor, Gary, Phoebe, Lucky, and Podcast could feel the very air crackling with malevolent energy. The once-joyful toys had transformed into an army of nightmares, their eyes glowing with an unearthly light as they marched through the aisles, turning the toy wonderland into a twisted playground of horror. As the two teams approached their respective battlegrounds, the gravity of the situation weighed heavy on their hearts. This was not just a fight for the city's Christmas spirit, but for the very soul of the season itself.

As Peter, Ray, and Winston stormed into Radio City Music Hall, they were met with a bizarre and unsettling sight. The Rockettes, known for their high kicks and synchronized routines, were now in a frenzied dance, their movements jerked and contorted by the mischievous spirits that had taken hold of them. The Ghostbusters quickly identified the culprits as a group of perverted poltergeists, their spectral forms leering from the shadows. These low-level troublemakers were feeding off the fear and chaos they had created, but they were no match for the seasoned professionals. Peter cracked a smirk. "Looks like we've got some holiday hecklers," he quipped as they raised their proton packs in unison, ready to restore order to the iconic stage. The poltergeists jeered and taunted, their ghostly laughter echoing through the hall, but the Ghostbusters remained unfazed. This was a game they knew well, and they were about to show the spirits of Christmas past just how New York rolled.

At F.A.O. Schwarz, the once-innocent playthings had morphed into a terrifying spectacle, their eyes aglow with malicious intent. Callie, Trevor, and their companions stepped into the fray, the aisles now a battleground of discord. A giant teddy bear, once a symbol of comfort, barreled towards them, its mechanical joints squeaking in an unnatural symphony of rage. The Ghostbusters' gear glinted in the neon lights as they sprang into action, trapping the rogue toys one by one. The air was thick with the sound of shattering glass and the cries of panic-stricken shoppers. Phoebe's quick thinking and scientific prowess proved invaluable as she identified the toys' weak spots, allowing the team to neutralize the possessed playthings swiftly. Meanwhile, Podcast and Lucky captured the chaos on film, their cameras flashing in a stark contrast to the shadowy figures that flitted through the store. Yet, amidst the turmoil, they all felt a growing sense of unease, as if the true power behind the chaos had yet to reveal itself. The spirit of Christmas was indeed fighting back, but it was clear that Krampus's influence was more than a simple haunting—it was a declaration of war on the very essence of the holiday.

In the heart of the chaos at F.A.O Schwarz, a rogue nutcracker toy, now an embodiment of Krampus's wrath, lunged at the unsuspecting team. With a feral snarl, it swiped at Grooberson, sending him crashing to the ground. The impact was jarring, the floor cold and unforgiving beneath him. As he lay there, momentarily stunned, the nutcracker loomed over him, its eyes burning with a hellish light. The air grew colder, the sound of its mechanical jaws clacking together echoing through the battle-scarred aisles. However, Trevor, who had been watching from the sidelines, had seen the attack coming. With a fierce shout, he leaped into action, his proton pack humming to life. The beam of energy shot out, colliding with the nutcracker and sending it reeling back. Grooberson looked up at his son, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and fear. The boy had become a man, a Ghostbuster, and in that moment, the spirit of Christmas seemed to shine a little brighter in the face of the dark forces they faced. With renewed determination, he climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, ready to rejoin the fight to save the holiday from the clutches of the malevolent Christmas demon.

Phoebe and Podcast found themselves backed against a shelf, surrounded by a horde of possessed action figures that had come to life, their plastic limbs moving with eerie fluidity. The toys, once the heroes of countless children's imaginations, now bore the twisted grins of Krampus's minions. The action figures swarmed around them, their tiny hands grasping and reaching, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Phoebe, we need to get out of here!" Podcast shouted over the cacophony of snarling plastic. But Phoebe, her eyes alight with the same determination that had fueled her grandfather's legacy, had an idea. She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small device, something she had been tinkering with in her free time. "I think I can disrupt their energy patterns," she exclaimed, her voice steady despite the fear that clutched at her heart. With a flick of her wrist, she activated the gadget, and a pulse of energy surged through the aisles. The action figures froze for a brief instant, and then, as one, they exploded into a shower of plastic shrapnel. The air was thick with the scent of burning electronics and the echoes of their final, unearthly shrieks.

Back at Radio City Music Hall, the battle against the poltergeists had escalated. The Ghostbusters' proton streams crisscrossed the grand stage, illuminating the terrified faces of the trapped Rockettes as they danced under the spirits' control. The air was charged with the electric crackle of spectral energy, and the once-festive decorations swung wildly from the ceiling, adding to the chaotic scene. Despite their best efforts, the poltergeists remained elusive, their laughter echoing through the cavernous theater. Winston, ever the pragmatist, suggested they regroup and formulate a new strategy.

"Fellas, I've got an idea," Winston said, his voice low and intense. "We can use one of the Rockettes as bait to draw out the poltergeists. They're obviously feeding off the fear and chaos here. If we can get one to come out in the open, we might stand a chance."

Ray nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Alright, let's do it," he said, his eyes scanning the terrified dancers for a suitable candidate. "But we need to be gentle, we don't want to cause any more trauma than we have to."

Ray, his eyes alight with a newfound determination, turned to Peter. "I know exactly what to do," he murmured, and with that, he approached one of the Rockettes who had managed to break free from the spectral dance. She was trembling, her eyes wide with fear. "Ma'am," he began, his voice soothing, "we need your help. Can you trust us?"

The Rockette looked at him, hope flickering in her eyes. "I… I'll do anything," she stuttered.

With a gentle nod, Peter took her hand. "Good," he said with a reassuring smile. "Now, when we say 'now,' you're going to run out onto the stage and do your best impression of a distressed damsel in need of saving." He winked at her, and she managed a small smile in return. "Ready?"

The Rockette took a deep breath and nodded. The moment Peter gave the signal, she sprinted onto the stage, her cries for help echoing through the theater. The poltergeists, unable to resist the temptation, swarmed towards her, their spectral forms becoming more tangible with every step she took. As they converged, the Ghostbusters pounced, trapping the malevolent spirits one by one with their proton streams. The Rockettes, now freed from their spectral captors, watched in awe as the Ghostbusters restored order to the grand stage, their movements a blur of lights and energy.

The Ghostbusters' proton streams converged, trapping the poltergeists in a swirling maelstrom of spectral energy. The dancers watched in amazement as the malevolent spirits were drawn into the containment device, their laughter fading to whimpers as the light of the city's holiday spirit began to dim their power. With a triumphant shout, Peter slapped the trap shut, sealing away the last of the troublemakers.

The ground beneath the Ghostbusters' feet trembled violently as the shadows grew darker and more ominous. The laughter of the poltergeists was suddenly dwarfed by a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Music Hall. The massive form of Krampus emerged from the shadows, his fur bristling and eyes burning with malevolence. He loomed over Peter, Ray, and Winston, a twisted grin spreading across his monstrous visage. "You dare to interfere with my revelry?" he bellowed, his voice shaking the chandeliers above. The Ghostbusters, though experienced in the face of the supernatural, could not help but feel a shiver of fear run down their spines. This was not a creature they had encountered in their textbooks or in their nightmares. This was the embodiment of forgotten Christmas terrors, and he had come to claim the city's lost spirit for his own. Peter, ever the charmer, tried to reason with the beast. "Look, buddy," he began, his voice steady despite his racing heart, "It's Christmas Eve, why don't we just call it a night, huh? Maybe we can work out some kind of deal." But Krampus was not interested in deals. His eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent a blast of icy energy hurtling towards the trio. They're knocked off their feet.

At F.A.O. Schwarz, the chaos reached a fever pitch as the Ghostbusters continued to combat the possessed toys. In the midst of the frenzied search for the source of the disturbance, they stumbled upon a scene that chilled them to the core. Morgana, the fourth member of the coven they had believed to be their ally, was standing at the center of the destruction, her eyes glowing with a sinister light. She held the grimoire high, its pages fluttering with a dark power that seemed to have consumed her. The once-peaceful witch had become a conduit for Krampus, her voice now a chilling echo of his malicious intent. "You fools," she cackled, "you played right into our hands!" The realization hit them like a punch to the gut. One of their own had been the architect of this terrifying plot, and now they faced not only the wrath of a vengeful demon but also the betrayal of a trusted friend. The air grew colder, the shadows darker, as Krampus's influence over Morgana grew stronger.

Phoebe, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger, stepped forward, her grip tightening around her proton wand. "Morgana, what have you done?" she demanded. But Morgana, her eyes gleaming with an unnerving delight, merely cackled in response. "It's all just a bit of fun, darling," she cooed, the grimoire in her hand pulsing with a dark energy that seemed to be consuming her from within. "Krampus promised me power beyond our wildest dreams, and what's a little chaos if it brings us closer to our hearts' desires?"

Back at Radio City Music Hall, Krampus leaned in close to Peter, Ray, and Winston, his hot breath reeking of ancient malice. "Your interference is noted," he sneered, his grin growing wider. "But fear not, for I am merely the herald of what is to come. The spirit of Christmas is mine to claim!" With a final, chilling laugh, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the Ghostbusters to wonder if they had truly seen the last of him. The tremors ceased, and the shadows retreated, allowing the trio to catch their breath. As they shared a concerned look, the weight of their encounter settled upon them. They knew that the real battle was far from over; they had merely bought themselves some time. The city's Christmas spirit was still in peril, and the fate of New York's holiday cheer rested in their capable, if slightly trembling, hands. With renewed resolve, they gathered their gear and headed back to the ECTO-1, the sirens wailing in the night as they sped towards headquarters.

Morgana, her eyes alight with dark glee, turned to the stunned group of Ghostbusters and allies. "You see," she began, her voice dripping with malice, "this Christmas chaos is merely the beginning. Krampus and I will strip the city bare of its holiday spirit, leaving only fear and despair in our wake!" Her cackle filled the air as she held the grimoire aloft, its pages fluttering with a sinister life of their own. "Together, we shall reign over the ruins of your cherished traditions!" she declared. Callie stepped forward, her eyes narrowed with determination. "You're not going anywhere, Morgana," she said firmly. But before anyone could react, Morgana vanished in a swirl of shadow and mist, the grimoire clutched tightly to her chest. The silence that followed was filled with a palpable sense of betrayal and urgency. The Ghostbusters knew they had to move fast to stop her and the demon she had summoned. The battle was far from over, and the fate of the city's Christmas spirit hung in the balance.

The Ghostbusters, weary from their battle at Radio City Music Hall and F.A.O. Schwarz, returned to their headquarters, the weight of their encounter with Krampus heavy on their shoulders. Agatha, Theodora, and Selena, who had been waiting anxiously, looked up as Peter, Ray, and Winston entered, their expressions grim. Callie stepped forward, her voice tight with tension. "We found Morgana," she began, her gaze shifting to the three remaining witches. "But it's not good news." The room grew still as she recounted their discovery at F.A.O Schwarz, her words dropping like a lead weight. The color drained from Agatha's face, while Theodora's eyes widened in horror. Selena's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. "What do you mean?" she choked out. Peter took a deep breath, his eyes dark with the gravity of their situation. "Morgana's been working with Krampus," he revealed. "We need to find her before it's too late." The witches stared at each other in disbelief, the fabric of their friendship torn by the revelation of Morgana's treachery.

Selena's voice, usually soothing and calm, was now a whipcrack of accusation. "This is why she left us," she spat out, glaring at Agatha and Theodora. "Because you two couldn't stop bickering long enough to realize we're in this together!" The tension in the room spiked as the two rival witches faced Selena's wrath. Agatha opened her mouth to retort, but Theodora's hand on her arm silenced her. The truth in Selena's words hung in the air like a noose, tightening around their necks. They had allowed their personal grievances to cloud their judgment, and now Morgana had paid the ultimate price, falling prey to Krampus's manipulation. Theodora's shoulders slumped, her bravado shattered. "You're right," she murmured, her voice thick with regret. "We need to come together, now more than ever." Agatha nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We'll find her," she vowed. "And we'll save her from this… this monster."

As the Ghostbusters and the coven of witches stood in stunned silence, the door to the headquarters swung open with a creak that seemed to echo the weight of their failure. In stumbled a disheveled figure, his eyes wide with excitement and his cheeks flushed with the cold. "I-I heard you might need a little help," he stammered, his voice unmistakable. It was none other than their former client, Louis Tully, his accountant's glasses askew and his hair standing on end. The room looked at him with a mix of surprise and desperation.

Ray stared at the unexpected arrival, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Louis?" he questioned, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and hope. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I got your email, Peter's email, I mean," Louis panted, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for his old friend. "He said you guys were in a real pickle, something about a Christmas demon and missing spirits. And, well, I figured, if anyone knows a thing or two about weird stuff, it's me!" He paused, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. The room remained silent for a beat before Peter stepped forward, extending a hand to help the accountant-turned-paranormal enthusiast to his feet. "Thanks for coming, Louis," he said, his smile genuine. "We could use all the help we can get."

Louis, his eyes alight with excitement, cleared his throat and began to regale the group with the legend of Krampus. "You see," he explained, his voice filled with a newfound confidence, "Krampus is the shadow to Saint Nick's light, the ancient Alpine creature who, instead of giving gifts, would punish the naughty children during the Christmas season. With the city's Christmas spirit waning, he saw an opportunity to gain power and wreak havoc. It's said that if one evokes him without pure intentions, they're doomed to become his pawn, part of his twisted game to spread fear and despair." The witches exchanged guilty glances, the gravity of their mistake settling heavily upon them. They had been duped by the very creature they sought to banish, and now Morgana was lost to his clutches.

Theodora's eyes narrowed as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "It was Krampus," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "He's the one who altered the grimoire, using us to set all this in motion."

Ray nodded solemnly as the gravity of the situation sank in. "You're right" he murmured. "We've got to put aside our differences and work together if we're going to save Morgana and the Christmas spirit of New York." He turned to Agatha, Theodora, and Selena, his eyes searching theirs for the spark of unity they would need to conquer this ancient evil. "The spell to banish Krampus requires the power of all four of you," he explained, his voice firm with resolve. "But with Morgana under his control, we're going to have to be smart and cunning." The witches looked at each other, their fear momentarily giving way to a shared determination. They knew that the fate of the city's Christmas cheer rested upon their shoulders, and they couldn't let their personal grief and anger stand in the way of their duty.

Phoebe, her mind racing with the information they had gathered, spoke up with an uncharacteristic urgency. "Guys, I think I know where Krampus will go next," she said, her eyes alight with a newfound sense of purpose. "It's got to be Rockefeller Center. It's the heart of the city's Christmas spirit, with the giant tree and the ice rink. It's where the magic is strongest!" The others looked at her, hope flickering in their eyes. "Rockefeller Center," Peter repeated, nodding slowly. "Makes sense. It's where the purest of holiday joy converges." The Ghostbusters and the witches exchanged determined glances. They had a location and a plan, fraught with danger and the need for unity.

At Rockefeller Plaza, the air was charged with a mix of anticipation and dread as the gigantic Christmas tree loomed over the ice rink, its lights casting a warm glow that seemed to mock the darkness that was about to unfold. Krampus, his fur standing on end, stood atop the skating rink, his twisted horns scraping the low-hanging clouds as he surveyed the bustling crowd below. Morgana, now a twisted reflection of her former self, floated by his side, the grimoire clutched to her chest, its pages fluttering with malicious intent. The once-festive atmosphere grew taut as a bowstring as the two nefarious beings began to chant in an ancient tongue, their voices resonating through the air like a discordant carol. The ice beneath their feet cracked and split, revealing the abyss that had birthed Krampus's malevolent form. The crowd's laughter turned to screams as the very ground trembled, the city's Christmas spirit visibly waning with each foul syllable they uttered.

The sleek ECTO-1 screeched to a halt at the edge of Rockefeller Plaza, its sirens silenced to avoid alerting the terrified crowds. Peter, Ray, and Winston climbed out, their proton packs glowing with a reassuring hum. Meanwhile, the ECTO-Z, the sleek black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter, pulled up alongside, its doors sliding open to reveal an equally determined group. Gary, Trevor, Phoebe, Podcast, Lucky, Agatha, Theodora, and Selena stepped out, their eyes locked on the terrifying spectacle unfolding before them. The Ghostbusters' gear gleaming in the soft light of the Christmas tree. The two groups converged, their collective resolve a beacon of hope in the face of the shadow that had descended upon the city.

Krampus tells Morgana to welcome our guests. Morgana, her eyes now glowing with a sinister light that mirrored Krampus's own, turned to the approaching heroes with a malicious smile. "Welcome, Ghostbusters," she crooned, her voice a chilling parody of its former warmth. "I've prepared a little… greeting for you." With a flick of her wrist, she sent a wave of dark energy towards the iconic SAKS Fifth Avenue storefront. The stunning holiday displays, once a delight to the eyes of passersby, twisted and contorted into grotesque, animate forms. The once-whimsical nutcrackers grew teeth and claws, while the elegant mannequins donned the guise of malevolent soldiers. The window glass shattered, sending a spray of glittering shards into the night as the enchanted figures spilled out onto the sidewalk, their movements jerky and unnatural. The Ghostbusters braced themselves, their proton packs at the ready as the inanimate creations of Christmas cheer transformed into a nightmarish army at their command. The battle for the soul of New York City's Christmas had just begun, and it would not be won easily.

As the Ghostbusters engaged the twisted army of Christmas horrors, Agatha, Theodora, and Selena approached the rink, their hearts heavy with the weight of their friend's betrayal. "Morgana," Agatha called out, her voice cracking with emotion. "Please, come back to us. We need you." Theodora and Selena echoed her plea, their eyes filled with tears. But Morgana, lost to Krampus's influence, sneered in response. "You're too late," she cackled, raising the grimoire. With a flick of her wrist, she cast a spell at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. The towering evergreen, a symbol of joy and unity, twisted and writhed, its branches stretching out like the arms of a monstrous creature. The lights flickered with a malevolent energy, and with a deafening crack, the tree erupted into a towering, angry giant, its eyes aglow with a fiery malice. The coven watched in horror as their beloved friend became their most formidable enemy yet, the grimoire in her grasp fueling the tree's monstrous transformation.

Agatha's voice cracked with raw emotion as she stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Morgana's twisted form. "Morgana," she pleaded, her voice trembling, "please, I'm so sorry for everything. For the fights, for the jealousy, for not being there when you needed me." Tears streamed down her cheeks, glittering in the malevolent light of the transformed Christmas tree. "You're like a sister to me, and I can't bear to see you like this." She reached out a trembling hand. "Please, come back to us. We need you. We love you." Theodora and Selena, their own eyes brimming with unshed tears, added their voices to Agatha's, their hearts aching for their lost friend. "We're in this together," Selena whispered, her voice a prayer. "We're your family." The air grew thick with the power of their collective love and desperation, a beacon of light piercing the shadow that had consumed Morgana.

A tear, cold and shimmering, fell from Morgana's eye, tracing a line down her cheek like a solitary star in the night sky. The malicious grin on her face faltered, and for a brief moment, the darkness that had engulfed her seemed to recede. She looked down at Agatha's outstretched hand, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the icy grip of Krampus's power. The bond of their sisterhood, forged in countless moonlit rituals and whispered secrets, hummed through her frozen heart. With a tremble that echoed through her very soul, she reached out and took Agatha's hand. The connection between them, unbroken by the shadowy tendrils of Krampus's influence, sparked a flicker of hope. "Agatha," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her regret. "I'm sorry."

Krampus, witnessing the unbreakable bond between the witches, let out a bellow of fury that shook the very foundations of the city. The air around him grew colder, his eyes burning with a new intensity as he realized the depth of their unity. With a vicious snarl, he raised his arms, and the ground beneath the rink cracked open, swallowing the twisted nutcrackers and mannequins, revealing an abyss that mirrored the one in his own heart. From the depths of the chasm, an icy wind howled, carrying with it a horde of malevolent spirits, each one a twisted representation of a lost Christmas memory. The demon's rage had summoned an army of despair, and as they climbed forth, their icy tendrils reached out to ensnare the Ghostbusters and the coven, intent on extinguishing the last embers of joy from the city's spirit.

Their reunion complete, Agatha, Theodora, Selena, and Morgana, their hearts pounding in unison, turned to face Krampus. The coven closed their eyes, their fingers tracing ancient symbols in the air as they chanted the reversal incantation from the grimoire. The once-frozen ground around them began to thaw, the spirits of the forgotten quivering as the balance of power shifted. The Ghostbusters, surrounded by the icy specters, watched in amazement as the witches' combined magic grew stronger. With each syllable, the bond between the four grew brighter, their love and friendship a beacon that pierced the cold embrace of Krampus's malice.

As the witches' voices grew stronger, their incantation weaving a net of light around the Christmas demon, the Ghostbusters saw their opening. Peter, Winston, and the newest member of their team, Callie, took aim with their proton packs, the beams crackling with energy as they fired at Krampus. The streams of light connected with the creature's massive form, the electric blue bolts illuminating the dark night sky as they wrapped around his horns and fur-covered body. He roared in fury, his eyes flashing with anger as the power of their combined might began to wear him down. Meanwhile, the candy cane-wielding Trevor and the ever-resourceful Phoebe fought alongside the witches, their proton blasters lighting up the night with a symphony of color and sound as they targeted the malevolent spirits that had been summoned by Krampus's wrath. The air was filled with the cacophony of battle, the clash of light and dark, hope and despair, as the fate of New York City's Christmas spirit hung in the balance.

With a gasp of shock, the group saw that it was Louis Tully, his eyes ablaze with a determination they had never seen before. Brandishing a modified proton pack, he had joined the fray, his beam of light connecting with the others in a powerful triangulation that sent Krampus reeling. The demon's fury was palpable as the streams of pure energy pierced his shadowy form, his once-mighty body convulsing in agony. The Christmas tree, no longer a monstrous abomination, began to shed its malevolent bark, its branches retreating back into a more familiar, welcoming pose. With a bright flash of light, Krampus's monstrous form disintegrated, the shadows that had clung to him dissipating into the cold December night.

As the shadows of Krampus dissipated into the cold December night, the witches' laughter and chatter returned to the city streets, the Christmas spirit reborn and stronger than ever before. Agatha, Theodora, and Selena rushed to Morgana, their arms entwining in a tight embrace as the cold light in her eyes faded, replaced by the warmth of their love and the glow of redemption. Tears of joy streamed down their faces as they whispered words of comfort and apology, their hearts beating as one once more. Agatha, her voice filled with emotion, turned to the Ghostbusters. "Thank you," she said, her eyes shining with gratitude. "We couldn't have done this without you." Theodora, still clutching her sisters, offered an earnest apology. "I'm sorry for doubting you," she murmured. "But we've learned that sometimes, we do need the best of both worlds." Ray, his eyes soft with understanding, gave a gentle smile. "Don't worry about it," he said, patting her on the back. "It's that kind of unity that keeps the balance. We've got science, you've got your faith, and together, we can conquer anything."

The air grew still, the only sound the distant whisper of the city beginning to realize the horror that had been averted. Then, as if by some divine intervention, the first flakes of snow began to fall, dancing through the air like a silent chorus of angels. Peter looked up at the heavens, a smile tugging at his lips. "What are the odds?" he murmured in amazement. The others could only shake their heads in wonder as the flurry grew into a gentle storm, blanketing the city in a pure white cover that seemed to cleanse away the night's terror. The snowflakes kissed their cheeks, each one a tiny reminder of the Christmas spirit they had all worked so hard to save. As they stood there, united in their victory, the beauty of the moment was not lost on any of them. It was a Christmas miracle, a testament to the power of friendship, love, and the unshakeable belief in the magic of the season.

Back at the warm and cluttered Ghostbusters headquarters, the team and the coven gathered around the table, their laughter and chatter mingling with the faint scent of burnt marshmallows and the persistent hum of ghost traps in the background. Janine, ever the gracious host, had laid out a spread of eggnog and cookies, a warm glow emanating from the string lights draped around the room. Peter raised a glass of the frothy drink, his eyes shining with mischief. "To the most unconventional Christmas we've ever had," he toasted, "and to the friends who make even the weirdest of nights feel like home." The group clinked their glasses together, the sound ringing out like a toast to the bonds forged in the most unexpected of battles. Agatha, her hand resting on Morgana's shoulder, offered a small smile. "And to the power of unity," she added, her eyes meeting Morgana's. The witches, their faces flushed with newfound camaraderie, clinked their glasses with the Ghostbusters, their shared victory a testament to the strength of their alliance. The snow continued to fall outside, a gentle reminder of the magic they had restored to the city, as they all took a sip, the sweetness of their drinks a symbol of the season's triumph over the shadows that had threatened to consume it.

Peter, his arm still in the air from the toast, saunters over to the refrigerator, the smile on his face fading slightly as he notices the door ajar. With a sigh, he opens it to find Slimer, the infamous Onionhead ghost, surrounded by the remnants of Janine's Christmas cookies, crumbs scattered like glitter across the floor. The green apparition, wearing a tattered Santa Claus hat perched atop his gelatinous head, looks up with a mouthful of sugary goodness, his eyes wide with guilt. The sight of Peter's disapproving gaze sends Slimer into a flurry of panic, and with a squeal that could shatter glass, he takes flight, his transparent form smearing through the air. The hat falls askew as he crashes into the screen.

THE END

#ghostbusters #bill murray #dan aykroyd #ernie hudson #annie potts #carrie coon #paul rudd #James Acaster #finn wolfhard #mckenna grace #logan kim #celeste o'connor #christina ricci #gaby hoffmann #aubrey plaza #kelly rowland #christoph waltz #rick moranis

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noir-obenio · 5 years ago

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6079

"Best Care, Fair Share"

a MASH AU: ROTG × HTTYD [I am a bit skeptical about writing and publishing this. I already have a whole plot for this, I'm just publishing this first chapter to see what you peeps think. Criticism is very much welcome] WARNING: Some graphic depictions of violence Characters involved (in this excerpt): Captain Hiccup "Fury" Haddock Captain Jack "Frost" Moore Major Heather Weisling Colonel Thuggory "Meathead" Phillips Major Gorman "Grim" Gormless Corporal Finley "Fishlegs" Ingerman Corporal Trevor "Tuffnut" Thorston Captain Samuel "Sandy" Hoffmann **future chapters will involve a LOT more of the characters though**

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Pungent—the only word to describe it. The air stinks (probably because of the humidity), the smoke stinks (artillery fighters use too much powder and chemicals), the people stinks (they reek too much of dried blood and grime), the muck stinks (you wouldn’t know if someone shitted in here), the blood stinks (so stale, it gets everywhere)—this crummy war stinks (you don’t need a description for this).

Bullets can be heard from any point. Turn around and one of them might just hit. March ahead and suddenly, there’s death greeting halfway. It’s raining harshly, but there’s no thick mud around the boots, no sound of the titter totter of the raindrops, just traces of dust, dry soil and dripping blood—there’s the realization, this rain can never end. The raining of bullets, of shells, grenades—every explosive on the arsenal had been fired but still, it will never stop—all that was left was screaming.

All of it, I heard while patching up wounds in the operating room. When you’re four miles from the front, it’s not impossible to miss such heavy sounds and feel the small tremors in the earth. Dust gets in my eyes and I have to persist, even in the prickling pain, just to get my patient through. Four miles away is not enough distance to ignore the explosions—the war keeps going on and on, taking the next chance and the next to damage the other. If we could only take a day to close our eyes, not hear the explosions ripping everything apart, forget the war, even for a while and stay in that lucid dream forever, but the shelling was too powerful, even for all our dreams combined.

About several miles up from the ground, there was a deafening grumble of a million sounds pouring through. Every meter per second felt indifferent from a looping infinite number of time. Behind him, artillery fighters from both sides still duel. Below him, soldiers are advancing, carrying their rifles pointed up and helmets down. Smoke shielded their vision, apparently, a shell had just hit the ground. Multiple soldiers must’ve died but there was no time to inspect it for himself. It wasn’t safe to land in the middle of the trench and check on the soldiers there—he had orders. Orders that he has to obey—besides, there were already a handful of casualties aboard with him and it was only him who is unscathed. Passing through the smoke, it was already clear of soldiers. The trenches are left emptied, apart from the dead soldiers, and remnants of the war were very evident, very cold. The chopper pierced through the cold wind. It was winter but there wasn’t much snow—it melted already. The heat of the war was unbearable, even in the strongest snowstorms. The mud became too thick, too hard to pass through. Almost zero visibility on the ground because of the thick smog, but that wasn’t much of a challenge than winning the battle. Through the glass, he can see the shells firing away from the small hills and then he mumbles a little prayer, hopefully it hits something else and not him. The pilot turns a little over the right, the fog became a bit lighter and snow was much thick from the mountaintops. The pilot checked on the casualties aboard his chopper and felt relieved that there was still some slight movement. They were wrapped around in a lot of layers, shielding them from the winter weather, while the pilot had to endure the cold, piercing wind by himself. He headed straight into the mountain range just ahead and he huffed a breath of relief. It all looks much familiar now to him, and he felt much safer now that he was inside.

The chopper glided along the mountain range cautiously, his engine humming, out of the tension—finally. The sound of the bombings were getting fainter, but it didn’t mean they were out of earshot. From the pilot’s peripheral vision, he could see another chopper flying in a distance, going about the same direction he is. The pilot carefully goes around the mountain.

Finally, after a few minutes of flying still, from a distance, he could spot a landing pad—the landing pad of where he needs to go, and the pilot set gears to land.

There is a camp ahead, and he could see the tiny people rushing out. The commotion in the camp was something similar in the battlefield—like they were gearing up to start their own battle. The pilot slowly landed his chopper down the makeshift landing pad, a patch of elevated ground in the base of the mountain. Before long, the chopper was surrounded by jeeps and medical staff ducking and running towards it. The corpsmen unbuckled the casualties from the cots and carefully lifted them off and brought them over to the jeeps. The pilot released another breath, finally, he made it safely back without any trouble. He watched as the nurses crowded over the patients he brought in, and two doctors kneeling at the hood of the jeeps, undergoing triage. The jeep pulls away and drives back to camp slowly, carefully minding the patients, the doctors, the nurses and corpsmen assisting. It was up to the doctors now, his thoughts before pulling up again.

The jeeps made it back to the camp with no harm done. One of the doctors immediately jumped out of the hood of the jeep and watched as the corpsmen carefully lifted the patient off the jeep and into the ward. He yells out some instructions, an IV and a unit of plasma—he was a usual case. The doctor runs, towards the compound, which were filled with casualties in stretchers, awaiting triage. Later, another ambulance just arrived and the corpsmen pulled the doors open, retrieving the casualties inside and placing them down the ground with the other casualties awaiting triage. Another doctor inspects them, shouting instructions amidst the loud commotion in the camp. The corpsmen took another patient away and into the pre-op ward. The nurses follow along, helping them prepare these patients for surgery. The doctors hop along the casualties, tagging them and giving out instructions. The commotion around the camp remained bustling, especially with the newest arrival of a bus, full of casualties. One of the doctors flipped open the doors and entered, inspecting all the patients inside. A nurse soon followed.

When the doctor ducked down and inspected the next patient, he sucked in a breath and felt his stomach curl—the kid was dead. The nurse knew the look in the doctor’s eyes and bent over the window, calling out for the chaplain. By the time, the chaplain had arrived inside the bus, the doctor was almost done with the casualties inside—a lot of which are on a level two priority. The chaplain blessed the dead soldier with a prayer, a sad look in his eyes. The boy was too young.

The doctor suppressed the distraught inside him and finished doing triage on the wounded and the corpsmen cleared the bus of the casualties, bringing them in over at the ward. Some of the patients were already hooked up on an IV, while the others are being cleaned of their wounds and the blood that scattered over their body. The doctors suited into their scrubs and their masks were securely tied in their heads, their hands, brought up and suited in surgical gloves. They entered the operating room and found themselves a table where nurses and corpsmen were waiting. They can hear one of the doctors attempting on a joke—it was funny, but none really had time to manage even a chuckle.

The first wave of casualties flow inside the operating room. There was pressure, there was tension so thick, the scalpel wouldn’t have been enough to cut through it. They weren’t supposed to take so long on these operations. It was just “get the patient safe and stable, out of critical condition and move on”. It wasn’t their duty to perform such perfect surgery—not like what it was supposed to be. Over two hours passed before the next patients were brought in and the next and the next, until they stopped counting the hours, the number of patients and how much gloves and sponges, full of blood, were scattered on the floor. It didn’t dawn on them—(they weren’t even aware of the sunset) the windows were filled with thick fog and outside, light didn’t even shine—how long they were occupied inside.

There was a comforting thought though, that their patients transitioned and became much more conscious and didn’t need too much treatment. They knew that they were almost finished. Thank the gods.

Hours past, the clerk, largely built but very rickety, came rushing into the operating room, looking troubled and afraid. He went over to one of the tables and breathed a few deep breaths before he announced the news—and possibly get stabbed multiple times later—“Um… Colonel… everyone… c-choppers are coming—new casualties are coming in any minute!” he announced.

There was booing, grumbling, cursing and sponges filled with blood were thrown at him instead, “It’s not my fault the war keeps bringing us casualties—blame the Revolts!” he cried out before he ran outside the operating room.

“Damnit! We’ll never get outta here!”

“Put a clamp on it, Frost!” one of the nurses said.

“Would you stop calling me Frost?” he grumbled.

One of the doctors hurriedly finished bandaging his patient’s shoulder before he stripped off his gloves and his gown, “I’m going to go perform triage—anyone with me?” he asked.

“I’ll go with you” answered Frost before finishing the suture he made.

The surgeon removed his gloves and gown and exited the operating room. Entering the pre-op ward, they found a few more patients left, resting uncomfortably in the cots, enduring the pain they have accumulated. A young corporal and a nurse were watching them, checking their vital signs and making them much comfortable as possible. The two doctors grabbed some thick coats, slipped them on and went outside, the cold winter wind slapping them awake.

“Do you remember how long were we inside the operating room, Fury?” Frost, the lanky, brunette man, asked.

“I don’t even remember the last time I even breathed” answered Fury, the other lanky, brunette man.

“Attention, all available personnel—new wounded are coming in the compound, I repeat, new wounded are coming in the compound” the PA announced.

Medical personnel rushed out the ward and met with the doctors outside. The distant roar of the engines was heard, and jeeps and an ambulance were seen from a distance. From the sky, the chopper was closing in and landing. At least, it’s only one chopper. The corpsmen carried the casualties off the ambulance and Fury met with them and inspected the wincing and writhing patient, “I’m afraid this one needs to be treated ahead of the remaining patients” he said, “Start an IV and ten milligrams of morphine and a few units of plasma, he needs to be in a table, stat!”

The patient was taken into the ward. Fury climbed inside the ambulance and found another patient inside, the same state as the patient before. He repeated his instructions to the corpsmen on standby outside the ambulance. He exited the ambulance and rushed towards the other casualties. About half of them were already dying and dead while the other half still had a shot in life. A little later, he noticed the chaplain running out of the ward and rushing towards the dying men. Meanwhile, Frost was up on a jeep, going up the landing pad and meeting with the casualties on the chopper. Fury spared him a glance before he entered inside the pre-op ward and got rid of the coats. The last of the patients that were brought in yesterday were gone and in the operating room—which was a relief. The new casualties were many, but much lesser than the number of yesterday’s casualties. Good grief. Fury proceeded to scrub up and a nurse assisted him in putting on the gloves, the surgical gown and helped him reattach his mask. He entered the operating room once more and a wounded patient was already laid on the table.

Fury looked into the wound, which was off the pressure bandage. A corpsman took it off and threw it somewhere else and forgotten immediately. Fury winced, seeing how deep the wound was. His guts were almost sprawled out of abdomen, but Fury wasn’t as much disturbed. He had seen a few hundred of these before, he was just left to wonder what the kid had to go through to sustain this kind of injury. He turned to the nurse beside him, “Clamp and suction” he instructed the nurse.

The nurse grabbed the suction tube and placed it on the wounded abdomen, then, she grabbed the clamp from the table with her free hand, “Clamp” the nurse responded, putting the instrument on the doctor’s hands.

“How many out there, Fury?”

“About twenty of them, Thug” he answered, “Scissors”

Later on, Frost came bursting inside the operating room, in full scrub. A patient was brought inside, hooked up and nurses have prepped him for surgery. Frost stepped up as the corpsmen immediately pulled away from the table and exited the room. He looked at the nurse across him, clearly horrified of the sight in front of her.

“I don’t know what the heck happened to this guy, he’s got shrapnel wounds all over his thoracic cavity” Frost hurriedly said, “Raise this kid’s morphine to twelve milligrams—!"

“Pressure: 80 over 60”

“Give me some O negative blood!” Frost called, “Start an IV with a bore needle—c’mon!”

“If you’re gonna need some assistance, just call for anyone of us” one of the doctors said.

Tension loomed over the operating room again, apart from the clatter of surgical instruments and the mumbles of the doctors, there was a nerve-wrecking silence. It had been an hour already, many of the wounded treated in the operating room have been brought to post-op. A sergeant entered from the post-op ward and approached the colonel with a hesitant look on his face, “Colonel, I’m afraid we have insufficient space in post-op for the remaining patients” he said.

The colonel turned to look at the sergeant, “There’s no more room?”

“We have already moved a lot of spare cots inside and post-op is already flooding with patients, we couldn’t accommodate anymore”

“Get one of the tents from the supply room, set it up beside post-op, and you can put those who have light injuries inside” the colonel answered, turning back to the patient he was almost finished operating, “Suture”.

The sergeant responded and ran back to the post-op ward to do what the colonel tasked. After finishing patching up the patient, he raised his head and spotted a staff by the doors and called out for him, “You, corporal by the doors! Go check out how many are still in pre-op” he ordered.

The corporal pointed at himself, unsure of the colonel’s orders, “Yes!” the colonel called.

The corporal pointed at the door behind him and the colonel replied with another exasperated “yes”.

The young man entered outside the operating room and counted the people still in the pre-op ward, awaiting treatment. The corporal entered back inside the operating room, “About six more people, colonel” he announced.

Everyone in the room cheered. The colonel smiled, but it went unnoticed behind the large mask, “Okay, corporal—?"

“Corporal Thorston, Colonel!” he proudly answered.

“Thorston, bring in another patient”

Corporal Thorston nodded and rushed back into pre-op and came back with another corpsman and a patient between them. The patient was brought into the table and a nurse came by, holding up a couple of x-ray scans towards the bright light. The surgeon took a second to glance at his medical staff and nodded. The colonel studied the scans carefully before he got started. A nurse took over and prepped the patient for surgery, placing an IV on him and hooking him up on a unit of blood.

Over the other tables, another doctor had called in for the next patient and replaced his gloves with a new pair. Another doctor from another table was suturing his patient. Fury was still head deep in surgery, taking out shrapnel from the patient’s wounded backside. Another surgeon was retrieving a shrapnel from the patient’s abdomen. Frost was still operating on the same soldier he came in with and he was looking very much frustrated already.

“Frost, his pressure’s 60 over 40 and his pulse is 50 and I’m afraid is fading fast”

“Hey, Fury—I need your help over here” called Frost, “Start another IV, quick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really busy here, I can’t leave this guy” Fury replied, apologetic.

“I’m available” called another doctor, walking over Frost’s table.

“Hey, Gorm” Frost greeted sweetly with an unnoticed smile.

“Knock it off, Frost” his rugged voice boomed.

“Yeesh, still as stony as ever” Frost grumbled, “You know, you should be the one called Frost, not me—you’re so cold”

Gorm ignored Frost and checked on the patient, “What do you need, kid?” he asked.

“I need you to help me with that retractor—I need to get his ribs apart” Frost replied, “I need to swoop in and find any shrapnel left in his chest. I’m afraid it’ll pierce the heart and this guy is lost”

Gorm adjusted the retractor and the ribs opened wider for a bit so that Frost could see inside the chest cavity, but blood flooded the chest cavity, “Suction, quick! I think I saw a small shrapnel near the spleen” Frost called.

The nurse quickly grabbed the tube and hovered it above the pool of blood. The chest cleared a little and Frost could see the chest cavity again, “Okay… lap sponge” he requested.

The nurse handed him the sponge. Frost dabbed the chest clean and threw the sponge away before he asked for a clamp. The surgeon was quiet, carefully pulling the tissue apart to reveal a much better view of the spleen, then he asked for a wheaty retractor which Gorm helped place. The shrapnel was very little, almost unnoticeable, but reflected enough light for it to be noticed. Frost swept it up with a pair of forceps and disposed of it in a tray. Frost gave out a relieved sigh as he placed the instrument on another tray of used instruments. Frost’s bright cerulean eyes shifted up and found Gorm giving a nod. His eyes turned up and found the colonel standing behind Gorm. He also gave out a nod and the side of his eyes crinkled—probably smiling, Frost thought.

“His pressure’s still low”

Frost hunched down again, ignoring the pain his back was giving him. He had been hunching down at this soldier for a couple of hours, his back was already crying and the rest of his body felt stiff. He could use a little rest, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon, especially with this soldier giving him a hard time.

“Goddammit, can’t this kid give me a break?” Frost grumbled underneath his breath, “I need a clamp”

After being handed a clamp, he went in again on the patient’s chest, trying to open some places where the shrapnel could have pierced. He was rushing now, going over the places he had already checked before to see if there were any strays he missed. That couldn’t have been possible though, but he kept checking. Gorm was willing to help him go over the chest again.

“Okay, I got the aorta” Gorm said.

“I need a retractor” Frost ordered.

“Nurse! Suction” Gorm called.

“I got no pressure”

Frost felt his heart skip a beat. He felt the life suck out of his own body, but he kept on, working around the clock mechanically fast—if there is still any chance to save this guy. He’d take it.

“Father!” one of the nurses called.

“No, no—I won’t give up on this guy—not now, after he gave me such a hard time” Frost argued, still going over the patient’s chest.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to pry him away gently. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Fury behind him, “Don’t” Frost warned and Fury backed off.

One of the two nurses looked over at the priest with a desolate look, her face was a little sweaty, after all the pressure and tension in the operating room. Her tired, green eyes pleaded at the priest, looking down and meeting his eyes. The priest nodded and turned towards the table, fixing a cross with his hand and silently began to whisper a prayer for the poor, dying soldier.

“Father!” Frost scolded, catching glimpse of the priest praying, “Nurse—give me a knife! C’mon, I said give me a knife!”

But neither of the two nurses were respondent. They looked grim and sad, instead. The soldier’s fate was sealed—he was already dead and there was nothing anyone of them could do for him. The nurses had accepted that fate, but Frost still wasn’t giving up and grabbed the knife himself. He started working on the patient again. The priest had already finished praying, Gorm had already stepped away from the table, leaving Frost to work all alone.

“Frost” Gorm called, “The man’s gone”

“Frost” the colonel finally steps in, “There’s nothing you could do for him now”’

His hand was shaking. The knife hung dangerously too loose from his hand and could fall at any moment. One of the nurses gently approached him and took away the knife from his hand, settled it down at the table and slipped away from the table, taking her sorrow with her. Frost took a few strides away backwards and watched as Gorm started to close up the patient. He didn’t move, his breaths were very deep and slow, his eyes were wide open, staring at the dead soldier in front of him. I could’ve saved him. Frost repeats it in his head like a mantra, it was before he was startled back to reality by a hand dropping on his shoulder, “Jack” the voice called.

Frost blinked and turned over to Fury who had an austere look on his eyes. His emerald eyes and dark auburn eyebrows were crinkled and furrowed together, telling him to pull it together. The man’s hand left his shoulder and back to his side, “I’m sorry—I really am” he says, much gently.

“We’re doctors and it’s our job to save every life we could—but sometimes, we forget the last word of that sentence—could” said the colonel, “It’s war. Men will die, Frost, and not everyone we get our hands on could even escape that”

The colonel left the operating room, pulling out his gloves and gown on the way. The operating room was now mostly empty. Most of the staff were already outside, cleaning up and getting dressed back in their fatigues. Those left inside were some corpsmen and nurses in charge of cleaning the operating room. Sponges and bandages filled with blood were everywhere, almost filling the floor. Surgical equipment were sprawled on the tables, filled with grime and blood. Used IVs and plasma containers, all in a pile under the tables. Everyone could agree it was the epitome of hell.

Gorm had finished fixing the dead soldier and the corpsmen took him away. A nurse had started to clear the table off the instruments and clean the blood that splattered on it. The instruments, each being gathered and undergone sterilization. Everything was being cleaned as fast as the sleep-deprived staff could. It had been a painful seventeen-hour surgery. Give me a break already, grumbled each one of them.

Fury grabbed Frost and they walked out of the room, taking off their gowns and scrubs and putting on their worn-out fatigues and boots. Frost was quiet the entire time and Fury didn’t attempt to make conversation. Gorm didn’t lift his lip either and went out of the ward whilst slipping on his thick coat. Fury and Frost were the only ones left inside and the silence was deafening.

“So, ugh… do-do you wanna grab a little something at the mess tent?” Fury croaked.

“Eh… I don’t see why not” Frost replied, shrugging nonchalantly; his tone like his usual, cheery self.

Fury stood up, went over the laundry baskets and threw his scrubs in. Frost followed and they both grabbed their coats and stepped outside the ward.

Once again, they felt the cold winter wind slapped their faces, smacking them awake. Fury stretched his arms and yawned offhandedly, showing off his fatigue for all the war to see, “I could sleep for days!” Fury bawled out.

Frost managed a light chuckle, “I’m too tired to make a joke” he muttered with a small smile plastered on his face.

“Captains!” called out a feminine voice.

They both turned to the source and found a tall, raven-haired woman dressed tidily with a clean, but worn-out olive coat, her fatigue tucked in seamlessly, fastened with her garrison belt under and her boots tied securely. She had her hair in a loose braid from her tight bun earlier in the operating room. Her emerald eyes were gleaming with authority but with a hidden gloom and tiredness. She walked with her hands in her pockets, taking careful strides because of the muddy floor and the ice, “I just want to say you’re work in the O.R. today was commendable” she said.

“Oh, Heather—our beautiful goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel” Frost coaxed.

“That’s major to you, Captain” Heather rebuked.

“Our beautiful major goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel, I had a great time with the assistance of your hands today” Jack coaxed again.

The major rolled her eyes and went towards another direction, towards her tent. Frost pouted, looking dejected as he followed the major with his eyes as she walked away. Fury just laughed at Frost’s rejection, tears almost trickling down from his eyes. He just needs a laugh every once in a while.

“Someday, Fury, I tell you—you’re gonna wind up pining for a woman and she’s gonna reject you in lightning speed” Frost threatened, resuming his walk.

His walk was a bit relaxed now, Fury picked up on it right away. He was glad that his friend was reverting back to his usual self. The men had known each other since they arrived at the MASH unit. The jeep ride going there was very miserable, but each other’s company made it very bearable, at least. Their friendship has kept both of them sane for most of the time and with every minute of every day spent with each other, they would have known the other like a medical textbook. Fury followed his friend, catching up on his strides to walk alongside Frost.

“At least, I won’t be as disgusting in flirting as you are” Fury commented.

“You don’t even know how to flirt to girls”

“Let me tell you—I’m a genius at flirting! I’m a master” Frost boasted, “If flirting was a major, I’d have a Ph.D for it right about now”

“And how come you haven’t landed with one girl in this camp yet?” Fury countered.

Frost stopped to turn to look at Fury. They are just outside the mess tent now. They both could hear the clattering of forks, knives and trays and the faint chatter of the people inside. “Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup, my dear little boy… they don’t know how to respond to such genius, such magnificent, such graceful philandering I can muster” Frost responded with a playful smirk.

Fury opened the door to the mess tent and shoved Frost inside, “Eat. Your mind’s too bushed to think straight”

“No, I’m telling you—I’m a flirting professional slash genius”

At the end of the day, after I had dealt with the fire and the rain, did I find a little solace at the 6079. We had found solace in each other. We were family, that was something I have always been happy of. We shared the pain, the bits of happiness, the fear, the laughs, and the tears.

It was with the right companions did I managed to survive all throughout the war.

- fin.

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