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Ghostbusters: Ectopia

Chapter 1

(Road Hog)

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

The raw sound of the freeway ebbed and flowed like some sort of ocean as rubber met the road. It was a sound Miles had grown up with right outside his bedroom window, a sound so ingrained into his soul that it lulled him to sleep and calmed him down when he was restless… and boy had he been restless recently. The twenty two year old sat on a weathered wood deck balanced on the top of an old tree stump, giving him just enough height to see over the noise barrier to the I-5 freeway beyond. The heat of the setting sun kissed at the back of Miles' neck beneath the closure of his baseball cap and his short buzzed brown hair.

The flow of traffic was returning to normal in the months since the Ghostbusters had returned from wherever they had disappeared to and started battling the overwhelming volume of ghosts. The crimson and peach sunset no longer had to compete with the supernatural aurora that had dominated the skies while the ghosts had run rampant. In a strange way, Miles almost missed the glow and the chaos it was a symptom of. It had made him feel like he was living in extraordinary times, like he had an excuse not to make forward motion in his life, but now? Now he was just an unemployed redneck without any direction. He closed his weary eyes and lifted a bottle of beer to his lips, tipping it back to take a long swig.

Somewhere in the distance, the rise and fall of the road noise took on a different tenor. There was something deeper, more brutish, the growling of an engine carrying a heavy load. Miles opened his dark brown eyes and turned his head, looking to the north. The air rippled where the heat of the day evaporated from the parched, cracked cement, but through that haze came a truck. Chrome glinted all over the grill, curved and styled, looking almost like tusks rising up in front of rusty brown metal. The old headlights were big and round, only emphasizing the feeling that the truck was a mighty beast on the prowl.

Spiked tires spun wickedly, threatening the vehicles that dared to try and pass it, and a long cylindrical tanker rolled behind the big rig, its inertia carrying it on like a juggernaut. Miles' eyes widened a bit as he sat up in awe. It wasn't like any truck he'd ever seen before. Sure, it was big and bulky, but there was a style to it, something that set it apart. As it got closer, Miles realized the metal behind the chrome tusks wasn't rusted, it was just a fine layer of mud. The amber running lights on either side seemed to tinge into orange, almost red hues. Even as the truck rumbled closer and closer, it seemed to ripple and wave like it was perpetually caught in the midst of a mirage, but thick black smoke suddenly bellowed from long pipes trailing along the side of the cab as the truck started to slow down.

A harsh, almost shocking squeal of air breaks sounded as the massive monster managed to shed its speed, slowing down more and more until it came to a lumbering stop - right in front of Miles along the barrier at the edge of his property. The young man sat on the raised platform, holding his beer in disbelief for a moment, trying to figure out what the odds were that it would stop on that particular spot. He jumped as the truck suddenly hissed, two more jets of black smoke billowing out of the exhaust pipes before the passenger side door groaned and popped itself open. The interior was comfortable, though it didn't look particularly clean. The edges of the door glistened with a faint sheen of purple slime, the bench inside stained with who knew what. There were food wrappers and discarded beverage bottles, but resting on the seat, aimed right at Miles was an old trucker's hat emblazoned with pink stitching that just said 'oink.'

As Miles stared at the truck and the wind carried the black smoke around him in a gasoline tinged haze, Miles felt as if the truck was staring back at him, as if it had come for him personally. Miles slowly set his beer down and climbed off the platform. He crossed the yard and unfastened the latch, squeezing through the access point to the other side of the road. Cars had to change lanes to avoid hitting the mammoth truck, but the sound of the road was even louder now as the vehicles whizzed past and the sudden shocks of wind blasted against him. Miles approached the truck slowly, looking up at it with impressed wonder.

Before he even reached the open passenger door, the young man was hit with the smell of sweat and salt, of savory aromas and a deep musky taint. It was potent enough to knock him back into his memories, reminding him of senior year gym class when he'd been one of the only guys not to shower, preferring his natural aroma and loved it when his classmates went natural themselves. After graduation he'd showered even less… He thought of his first time visiting a dive bar, relishing how no one had to behave or restrain themselves. His failed attempt at community college had brought with it the mass consumption of junk food…

A passing minivan displaced enough air that Miles' head cleared a little. His hesitant hand reached out to pick up the hat resting on the seat, but as he touched it, he felt a static charge ripple through his fingers. Just holding it made him feel manlier. In seconds bristly brown hairs began pushing up through his knuckles and sprouted from the back of his hand. The aching restlessness burned away, replaced with a heathen sort of contentment. A strange grin crossed his face as he took off his hat with one hand and replaced it with the one from the truck.

As the trucker hat settled around his skull, it seemed to slide on with an oily ease before fitting snugly in place. Another wave of memories came back, both of reality and the fantasy he'd wanted where he'd sniffed and licked the pits of his stinky classmates and lived life to the fullest. The last shreds of doubt left Miles' mind as his upper lip darkened with brownish-blonde stubble, a mustache sprouting from the virgin lip. The hairs trickled down out across his cheeks, sweeping back to meet up with his sideburns, unspooling from his follicles in record time.

Little by little, Miles' shirt was growing tighter as his chest grew thicker and heavier, his pectorals rounding out from flat slabs to round mounds. The shirt stretched out over his stomach as well as it began to bloat and press forward, pound after pound adding onto him. Miles reached up to slam the passenger door of the truck shut, walking around the front of the cab to the driver's side. As he walked, his ears tingled as they stretched into wing-backed points on the side of his head, his nose tightening and widening, tugging up into a flat snout as his nostrils flared. What had started as mild stubble started pressing out longer and wider as his wheat colored beard continued to fill in.

Even as the young man opened the driver's side door, his pants were sagging lower and lower, making room for the wriggling curl of flesh that was starting to stretch out above his fattening ass cheeks. A bristly layer of translucent fur spread over his cheeks as his pants sagged, but his tail only grew longer and thicker by the second. Thickening fingers with darkening nails clutched the handle by the door as Miles hefted his growing mass up into the truck, landing on the bench with his wide ass cheeks. He let out a belch as he landed, his stomach rumbling as it continued to bloat and thicken. He spread his fattening legs to the side to make room for his balls as they grew wider and heavier, pushing well past the size of kiwis to the size of avocados in less than a minute.

The door of the truck groaned as Miles tugged it shut, a snuffle coming from his pig snout. Each sniff let it broaden outward wider and flatter and taller, almost looking like an upside down heart. The flesh toughened up and grew firmer, the brown in his eyes taking on richer shade. Miles shifted his weight from one massive butt cheek to the other, making sure there was room for his tail. His human concerns were draining away by the second, replaced only with a hunger for pleasure and a sense that there was somewhere he'd have to get to eventually.

Miles lifted his fat, hairy hand up to adjust the sun visor of the truck, though as the mirror flipped down he got a good look at himself and his full, thick beard… a beard that was already creeping down along his chest. The driver ran his hand across the surface of it, realizing the boxy, thick shape it had taken on reminded him of a flour sack. His mustache had curved over his upper lip to hide it, though his lower lip was jutting forward, making room for the growing teeth that rose out from below, emerging as tusks that looked quite like those on the truck itself.

Lost in his own body, Miles reached to lift up his t-shirt, letting it reveal his round, hairy belly and his full, plump man boobs. His nipples had more than doubled in size, his areolas as big as silver dollars while the sensitive nubs had bloated in the center. Miles pinned the shirt under his new double chin and beard, lifting and lowering his head to feel the bristly hair slide up and down in a curtain against his chest. He shuddered, a wet spot starting to form in his jeans. His other hand fumbled with his belt buckle and fly until he managed to get the fabric to release, barely getting a thumb under the waistband of his underwear before his hard, fat cock slapped his new belly, standing straight up.

A series of snorts left Miles' tusk framed mouth as he curled one hand around his cock and used the other to pinch and tug on his nipple. He began to work his hand up and down, squeezing tight, moving faster and harder without a care to the fact that he was surrounded by windows on three sides. The only people that would be riding high enough to see him would be other truckers, and there was every chance that they would like what they saw. The hog continued to snort and oink as he jacked himself off, feeling his cock rise taller and bloat wider with every stroke.

Without warning or prelude, the truck's engine suddenly revved up, roaring to supernatural life once more. The odometer started to spin higher and higher and deep purple light began to spill out of the dashboard console, swirling up until it connected with Miles' eyes. The brown drained away, replaced by the purple until his eyes glowed in unison with the truck. Beneath him, the bench creaked and groaned as the pounds started to pack onto Miles' frame again. His spine stretched, his arms lengthened and his facial hair seemed to spool out inch by inch to keep up with the rest of his growth.

Every part of Miles had changed; he'd gotten taller, fatter, and far hairier. His ears were porcine and his snout was huge. His beard covered his formerly youthful face and his hat hugged his skull tight. Even his eyes were glowing purple with the light of the truck, making him almost a vehicle to carry its essence. With one hand still working his fat pig prick, he used the other to shift gears, slam a hand down on the steering wheel and start putting his foot down on the gas pedal. As he pressed down, his shoe shredded and split apart, revealing his toes fusing together. The skin webbed and tightened, bringing everything close together as his toenails seemed to soften and spread, forming into wicked cloven hooves. With a few more snorts of satisfaction, Miles picked up speed, laying an elbow on the windowsill of the truck as he listened to the call of the road. There wasn't anything quite like that sound.

****

The cone shaped membrane of the speakers shuddered and shook as they filled the garage of the firehouse with the bleating vocals, heavy percussion and growling riffs of guitar in high fidelity despite the fact that they were all plugged into an old MP3 player. Off to one side of the garage, a red headed nineteen year old bobbed his head to the music, dangly spike earrings swaying with the movement. His youthful face was framed on either side by long crescent shaped bangs and his upper lip was adorned by a modest mustache that hinted at more maturity than he might have otherwise claimed.

Nine moved the socket wrench, tightening the fittings on his special project in time with the music. He had been dubious about using Seth's playlist at first given that the music had come out right around the time he was born, but there was something about it that had a harder hitting freedom to it. He just had to remind himself not to call them oldies around Seth or Grayson when they got back. Feeling the tension in the socket wrench, Nine slipped it off and moved further back.

While normally the Ghostbusters' Ford Explorer Ecto-11 was the only vehicle to grace the firehouse, Nine had filled the time after his graduation working on a secondary vehicle. The spade shaped frame of a go-cart had been stripped, reinforced and painted a vibrant strawberry red. Huge traction tires dominated the back while more standard precision tires sat up front. A seat that reminded Nine a little of his gamer chair sat center just in front of a miniature cyclotron power source that fed both the engine and the long fly swatter like restraint arms that extended from the front of the go-cart.

Nine's green eyes sparkled with pride as he finished mounting the chair and stood back upright to admire his work, though his satisfaction was short-lived as the garage door started to rumble open, rising upwards. Nine quickly moved around the back of the go-cart to the wall, pulled a hydraulic lever that Dakota had recently installed. Two long, double pronged forks slid out of the wall, sliding both under and over the go-cart's frame. When it clicked into place, Nine squeezed a pressure cover and then pulled the lever up all the way. The forks tilted suddenly, lifting the go-cart off the floor and tipping it sideways to hug the blank wall to the left of the stairs leading to the second floor.

Moving quickly to scoop up his toolbox, Nine moved out of the way just as the Ecto pulled back into the firehouse, slowing to a stop at the orange and black striped cement parking spot slab that kept it from running into the cherry wood desk at the far end. The engine popped and dinged as it cooled down from driving so much in the hot sun. The doors opened in near unison, though it was the second youngest Ghostbuster to emerge first. Eli reminded Nine of a surfer with his stringy blond hair and his jovial personality. Eli gave a big stretch of his back, rotating his shoulders a little to try and let out the strain.

“Was it a hard bust?" Nine asked with a grin.

“Not for all of us, Eli was able to get a cat nap." A deeper voice came as Seth climbed out from the driver's seat. Firmly in his thirties, Seth was the eldest Ghostbuster. He'd cut his rusty-brown hair shorter again because of the heat wave, though a thick seven inch long goatee hung down from his chin.

“Hey, it's not like I could help it. When a hundred spectral cats knock you down and curl up on top of you and give you sunshine cuddles, there's not a lot you can do." Eli said in mock-defensiveness.

“And if you think cats hate water, they hate proton streams even more." Another voice came from the other side of the Explorer. If anyone had been ill equipped to put up with the warmer weather, it was Eli's boyfriend Nico. Nico was the same height as Nine and a bit skinnier and paler, but his black hair had been styled into an asymmetrical cut that would make most scene kids envious. The last door of the Ecto shut as the group's leader, Gray, got out.

“Why is it that ghost claws cut even if the rest of the cat goes through you?" Gray asked, still wincing a bit as he moved. His black uniform had been shredded by dozens of tiny cuts, his tawny skin beneath equally cut up. Seth moved over to unzip Gray's jumpsuit, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. Gray kept his arms straight as the over layer was drawn down, revealing the red t-shirt beneath.

“We'll get you cleaned up." Seth said softly.

“Nine, you want to help me with the traps?" Eli asked, moving to the back of the Ecto.

“You're going to help the intern with his basic duties?" Nico asked with a grin.

“Hey, I had to hold the fort down while you were on your hiatus." Nine shot back.

“Fair enough kid." Nico smirked, “Eli did sleep through the mission anyway." Nico grinned, moving to head for the downstairs bathroom. Eli unlocked the back of the explorer, lifting the tailgate before he grabbed the equipment rack and pulled it out. Four proton packs sat to one side, based on the original designs from New York and upgraded with a half dozen modifications to tackle a wide range of different ghost types. The right side of the rack held a collection of other equipment including a combination of the small black box traps and the larger mustard yellow disk traps.

“How's your project going?" Eli asked, bundling up the box traps and carrying them by their cables so he could carry several at once. Nine started to stack the disk traps in his arms like a pile of pizza boxes.

“Pretty good. I think I've got everything attached tight, but we haven't tested the engine since we added all the gear." Nine replied. Eli smiled.

“Well, we'll just take it nice and slow to start with when you do." Eli said. Nine's strawberry blond eyebrow arched, a grin quirking his mustache.

“It's a go-cart, not a slow-cart." Nine smirked. Eli rolled his eyes and chuckled, walking past the desk and down the metal stairs behind into the basement. As he descended, a comforting hum wrapped around him as the creamy gold light spilled up from beneath the metal grates on the floor, washing over the mammoth sized red containment unit at the back of the basement. Eli moved over to open the hatch and reveal the slot for the box traps. He slid the first in, detaching it from its shell before he closed the hatch. A finger scan, a handle pull and the contents of the trap were drawn into the virtual environment inside. The lights flashed red first, then green before Eli opened the hatch, swapped out the core for another and repeated the process.

Nine stood behind Eli, waiting his turn. For Eli it seemed par for the course, but Nine couldn't help but think of how much things had changed in the last year and a half. The world had come to the edge of destruction during his senior year of high school. The resentment of all trapped ghosts in the world had formed into an entity bent on trapping every franchise and branch of the Ghostbusters. Not only that, but most of the containment units had been opened, releasing the ghosts that had been inside. The only ones not breached had been in New York and Portland.

Without the Ghostbusters to defend the world, society had been engulfed. Nine and his friends had tried to stem the tide, stepping in as temporary vigilantes. With Grayson's team returned, only Nine had stayed on to join up after graduation. Miguel had gone on to college and Angel had taken on a job at a nightclub. Still, it was beyond gratifying to see these four men putting the world back together one ghost at a time. Nine looked over at Eli after a moment and smiled a little more.

“Did you say sunshine cuddles up there?" he asked. Eli beamed happily.

“Oh yes, like the perfect amount of sun coming through a window on a lazy summer day. If it hadn't been for the fact that the ghost cats were eating up all the fish in town and putting anyone they touched to sleep I might have asked to relocate them instead." Eli smirked, putting his last trap and cycling it. After he opened up the hatch and slid the core back into his frame, he gave a nod to Nine as he headed up the stairs, looking over to where Seth was applying bandages to Grayson's cuts. Gray hissed a little.

“Don't tell me you're turning into a cat…" Seth murmured. Gray frowned.

“It's the antiseptic." he countered. Seth chuckled gently and moved to place the next bandage, but as he did he saw the cut knitting back together. The wounds didn't just close up, it looked as if they were 'uncutting' themselves. Seth turned his head, focusing on the glowing white eyes of the time wyrm floating at the base of the stairs. While several different Ghostbuster groups had found sympathetic ghosts to help them in their plight, none had ever been quite as powerful as Rerun.

The spirit focused intently on reversing just Gray's injuries and not his memories, one of the silver clock-hand wings behind his back slowly turning. His skin was a rich robin's egg blue marked at even intervals by silver metallic stripes. His upper body was very close to a teenager apart from his pointed ears and solid white eyes, his head covered with shaggy periwinkle hair. He even wore a lime green t-shirt emblazoned with the emblem of an old fashioned hourglass. His lower body, however, was almost seven feet of a segmented worm abdomen that tapered down and ended with a spaded tip.

“Thank you Rerun, that feels a lot better." Gray said with relief. The time wyrm lifted a blue four fingered hand, giving the sign language response 'you're welcome' before he floated back upstairs. Gray watched Rerun go, contemplating. According to Nine, he'd been able to speak out loud when he'd lost his temporal powers and getting them back had meant the spirit had only been able to communicate in sign language again. Gray felt in his gut that it had something to do with the time wyrm's missing fourth wing, but what they could do with that theory was still a mystery.

“Well, now that you're patched up, the big question is what we do next." Seth said, smiling warmly. Gray's brow furrowed.

“The Oregon Commission on Ghosts is coming tomorrow to talk about loaning us out to other states since we've made such progress here. I have to figure out what I'm going to say." Gray said. Seth groaned.

“We've been working non-stop for months, and it's not like this place is spick and span. We're still getting ten times as many calls as we did before." Seth said.

“Ah, but you're forgetting our big competitor, C2 and their Ecto-Tech." Gray said. Seth closed his eyes, frowning himself.

“No, I'm not forgetting them, I'm pretending they don't exist. There is a difference." Seth growled. Gray smirked and kissed Seth's nose before wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's broad shoulders.

“Just because we're biased doesn't mean they don't have a place. We haven't found any evidence that they're doing anything wrong." Gray reminded him. Seth shook his head.

“What about those stories about people hacking those anti-ghost watches and corrupting themselves?" Seth asked. Gray winced a little but doubled down.

“Any technology can be abused… The PKE resonance equipment we created would be just as devastating if we targeted the new frequencies of anyone that had been changed instead of the human ones. Maybe the OCG can help them figure out safety measures or something. Regardless, we're not the only game in town and there are places that got hit a lot harder by the Man Trap." Gray said. Seth took in a deep breath before he sighed.

“You are, of course, correct, our glorious leader." Seth replied. Gray smiled a little more at that and rested his forehead against Seth's.

“How about… I figure out what I'll say to the OCG in bed with you cuddled up against me?" Gray asked. Seth growled a little at that happily.

“Now that is a compromise I can live with." Seth purred.

“Just tell me you're not turning into a cat." Gray grinned.

“No promises." Seth replied, still holding Gray close.

****

There wasn't anything quite like the smell of weathered cement, new asphalt, rusted metal or industrial grade gravel on a hot day. The old skatepark normally smelled like damp cement given its location in Oregon, but the brighter weather had brought the skaters out in full force. The growl of the hard wheels against the harder ground echoed up from one of the many bowls and dips as the twenty year olds built up enough speed to try flips and tricks. The sound was loud enough that it almost muffled out the persistent beeping of the big rig truck backing up along one side of the park.

One by one, the skaters slowed to a stop, looking up at the truck in confusion and then at each other. The park wasn't what some would call 'officially recognized' anymore. In fact, it had been abandoned after sue happy parents had forced its closure a decade prior. That had only earned the park more popularity with those who didn't mind the idea of unsupervised exercise. The one downside to the property being abandoned, however, was that one never knew when the status quo was likely to change.

“Fuck, Jet, should we get out of here?" One of the skaters asked, his green and black plaid sweatshirt left open in front to reveal his bare chest.

“Shut up, Bruno." a dreadlocked skater chided, “If we leave, we won't figure out if it's safe to come back. Maybe the big boy trucker just needed a place to park for the night." Jet responded, his gray tank top hanging loose on his dark shoulders.

“You're going to go find out?" A blond skater with short shaved hair and thicker sideburns asked dubiously. Jet puffed up his chest.

“You're damn right I'm going to find out." Jet said, turning his back on his team. He started walking across the bottom of the bowl when he saw movement along the side of the truck. A huge figure seemed to be moving along the side of the tanker, looking at it as if he was examining it all. Maybe he'd had a near accident and had to make sure nothing was broken. Jet had made it almost all the way to the far end of the bowl and had even opened his mouth to ask a question when he froze in place, eyes focused on the figure's… tail.

“You chicken out?!" Bruno asked from the dozen paces back, grinning from one pierced ear to the other.

“Pig…" Jet muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

“You pigged out? That doesn't make sense." Bruno said in confusion. Jet turned around as his fury reached critical mass.

“Shut up, Bruno!" Jet said just before there was a thunderous howl of something coming out hard and fast behind him. Jet turned around to see two columns of brownish-purple slime spewing out of the truck, pouring right into the bowl of the skate park. It rushed out in thick waves. Bruno and Cliff yelped in shock, scrambling to the sides of the bowl, climbing out as quickly as they could. Being so much closer to the truck, Jet had no time. He was hit with the slime and knocked under for a moment. Bruno and Cliff gasped in shock, standing at the edge in disbelief.

For several heartbeats, there was no sound or movement other than the slime rapidly filling up the bowl of the skate park. The rails disappeared beneath it, the purple and brown slop rising inch by inch. It rushed into the side areas without slowing. To the immense relief of the two skaters, they saw Jet surface a moment later, clambering for the side wall. They rushed over, each of the skaters taking an arm before they hoisted up their leader. Jet landed in a sticky, dripping heap, covered in the dark goo. He coughed up a wad of slime, chest rising and falling. The tattoos on his arms and shoulders were barely visible through the coating.

“Dude, we thought you drowned, are you okay?" Bruno asked. Jet remained there on all fours, his fingernails darkening where they scraped against the cement ground. His tank top rode up as a nub of flesh slowly pushed out, straight at first before it started to take on a curl and a twist. Jet's hot, wet breaths filtered between two tusks that were pushing out from his bottom lip. He slowly looked up, brown eyes now purple.

“I want more… I'm so thirsty…" Jet growled.

“Dude, that shit is fucking gross! It smells like-" Bruno was cut off as Jet gave an angry snort and bounded over on all fours to the side of the bowl, dipping his head down. He opened wide, plunging his face into it, taking in gulp after gulp of the slop. Each swallow seemed to directly relate to mass that built up on his shoulders, his arms, his legs and his tail. His tank top grew tighter and tighter before it started stretching out over a pot belly he was developing. Jet raked up the slime with his lower jaw, feeling the resistance of the slop against his tusks as they stretched up taller and taller, equally balanced on either side of his new porcine nose.

“They're dumping toxic waste, we gotta tell somebody…" Cliff murmured.

“But what about Jet?!" Bruno asked.

“I'd say he looks as happy as a pig in shit." Miles commented from behind them. Bruno and Cliff turned, gasping in shock at seeing the hog trucker. Both tried to run, but Miles caught Bruno by the collar and held him in place while giving Cliff a swift cloven kick that sent him toppling into the pool. Bruno tried to struggle free from the hand clutching him even as he heard Cliff splashing and spluttering behind him, though the sound quickly turned from panic into something that sounded more like frenzied eating.

“People are going to find out about this, somebody's going to stop you!" Bruno grunted. Miles slowly smiled, a grin looking all the more ominous with his huge hog tusks and his glowing purple eyes.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much, Bruno? Silence is golden." Miles said before he tilted his head, smiling a little more, “In fact, that gives me an idea." he said. The latino skater continued to try and break free of the hog's clutches, but he gasped as he heard the trucker's jeans unzipped and was hit with a raunchy, salty, smell of a big sweaty dick. His eyes widened in shock as he saw how big Miles was. The trucker's cock had to be as big as Bruno's forearm.

Miles pushed Bruno down to his knees in front of him with one hand and used the other to aim his hog dick. With the slightest relaxation of his muscles, his cock unleashed a tart, tangy, acrid stream of amber piss that hit Bruno square in the face. He scrunched up to try and avoid it, but even with his eyes shut and his mouth tight, he could feel the warmth saturated his face, his shirt, and then his pants. It felt like it wasn't slowing or letting up even as it formed a puddle around his knees.

The trucker watched as Bruno's dark hair grew out longer, getting oilier and thicker. His upper lip darkened with a mustache and longer hairs started to sprout from his chin, stretching down centimeter by centimeter. One ear twitched as it stretched into a point, fanning back from the side of his head. Miles redirected his cock to give it a good dousing then he splashed the other side. Bruno tried to hold out, his cheeks puffing up a little before he gasped for breath. The second his lips parted, the trucker's golden cascade hit him in the mouth.

For an instant it tasted wrong, as dirty and rancid as anyone would imagine it to be, but the flavor was so strong and tart that it seared into Bruno's brain. It sizzled and sloshed, fizzed and splashed. It tasted like rebellion and confidence, it tasted like the kind of man Bruno wanted to be. He opened his mouth and collected more, eyes watering at how good it was. He opened wider and took a gulp, then another, grunting and then snorting before he grabbed onto Miles' cock with both hands. He pulled it to his mouth, stretching his lips around the immense head. He relaxed his throat to let it spray right down the center, only gulping when the backlog filled his cheeks.

Miles let out a happy oink of pride as he felt the pig drink so greedily from him, watching Bruno's dirty hair reach his shoulders, his mustache dipping down on either side of his mouth. He also felt the faintly cool embrace of two new tusks as they rose up from Bruno's lower jaw, framing the cock he was nursing from. Bruno leaned forward, all his weight on the cock he clung onto even as a corkscrew tail popped up from between his butt cheeks. While Bruno wasn't nearly as hefty as Miles, his once flat posterior had rounded out into a cute bubble butt that was now dusted with a light layer of black fuzz. His smooth stomach distended a little from all the piss he was drinking and the fingers holding Miles' cock darkened as his fingernails stretched out into little hooflet caps.

“Damn, that's good… I always have to take a good piss after a long drive." Miles murmured, leaning his head back. A breeze blew through his blondish-brown beard, carrying the scent of sweat and piss and sin through the air. Cliff had managed to climb out of the skate park bowl, three hundred pounds heavier than he'd gone in. The bristled boar had sidled up next to Jet, gulping away at the slop with his new porcine snout and hog tusks. It wasn't bad work, but three little piggies was hardly the delivery his truck was meant for. There were many more hungry souls out there that needed his swill, and only he could deliver it to them.

****

Tucked beneath the firehouse living room and off to the side of the garage, the Ghostbusters' laboratory had become an almost sort of war council as Gray went through the reports coming in from Washington about the lingering threats they were facing after their recent return from the Man Trap's limbo. Each ghost Gray added to the list seemed to bring his shoulders down into more and more of a hunch.

“So we've got the Ghost train and the Ghost Subway, both of them unrelated… It hasn't stopped raining in Seattle for the last ten days." Gray considered.

“That's not unusual for Washington." Nico grinned, leaning against one of the drafting tables holding equipment schematics.

“That isn't unusual for Oregon either." Eli smiled.

“They think it's centered on a class five depressive spirit. Everyone that gets soaked with the rain claims they've been filled with a melancholy and depression that doesn't lift until they've fully dried out." Grya clarified.

“Do we have some kind of indie rocker ghost hanging around the Space Needle or something?" Nico asked.

“Whatever it is, the local chapter is spread too thin. They need help." Gray replied.

“To be fair, everyone still needs help. We've got our own backlog. We've got our intern running as secretary while we go case to case. How do we triage?" Seth asked, his arms crossed. Gray exhaled a little.

“It's obvious we can't leave Portland unattended, there's still too much going on, but the request has come to us to help so we'll help. Normally I'd split us down the middle, but Portland is in better shape and we've got Nine and Dakota for an emergency here. Seth, would you be up to keeping a watch on things here while the rest of us try to get Washington in line?" Gray asked. Seth's face seemed to tighten, looking even more menacing thanks to his earrings and his long goatee.

“I don't like it. We just barely got everyone back, it seems like an unnecessary risk." Seth said. Gray moved over and reached to rest one hand on the center of Seth's chest.

“Says the man that walked on a dead world as a child and chose to become a Ghostbuster." Gray said. Seth let out a soft huff.

“If you want to be all brave and noble about it, cheater." Seth murmured before he leaned down to give Gray a soft kiss. Gray returned the affection, reaching up to caress Seth's dark brown hair with his hand.

“I'm going to add the rain gear to the Ecto just in case." Eli said. Nico winced a little.

“Good thing most of our equipment is water resistant." he added, following after. As the door clicked shut behind them, Grayson and Seth were left alone.

“I'll come back to you, I promise." Grayson said. Seth nodded.

“I was reading a book recently that pointed out that the fate of others is not our choice." Seth said with a shred of profound wisdom before he looked right into Gray's eyes, “But it is your choice, so be careful." he added. Gray let out a wounded laugh at that and stretched up to give Seth's cheek a quick kiss before he, too, moved to start getting ready for the road trip ahead. Seth remained behind, exhaling slowly. He hadn't yet been able to put into words how it felt to escape from the Man Trap. On the one hand, they'd lost and they'd lost terribly… but at the same time, the environment they had been trapped in had seemed to digest the excess psychokinetic energy that they'd accumulated over their time busting ghosts. Seth had been struggling to stay as himself for years, picking up more and more qualities from the creatures he'd turned into. For the first time in years, he felt whole and stable again. That meant that the only thing he could actually miss ws Grayson. Seth very much wanted to remain whole.

****

Despite the fact that summer had technically ended, its lingering effects had a definitive impact on the dress code around the fraternity. Among its many members, it seemed that their wardrobe had been limited to tank tops, shorts, baseball caps and sandals - tank tops optional. The afternoon sun kissed a rainbow of skin tones spread across equally fit bodies. It was a pantheon of young men in their prime, enjoying life's first taste of freedom without any of the responsibility. It was also a collection of eighteen to twenty-two year old men living together without a shred of maintaining hygiene.

While several of the Fraternity brothers were focused on the barbecue out back, grilling hamburgers and hot dogs to the best of their ability, others were gearing up for the weekend in other ways. Chet jogged down the old cement steps at the front of the frat, his curly auburn hair shaved short on the sides while the front was left to cascade in a thick fringe up front. The straps of his purple tank top stretched over broad, defined shoulders and plump pectorals as he moved. He had been in a hurry but he slowed down when he noticed several huge metal barrels sitting out front. They looked a little bit like giant kegs, but the nozzles seemed to be dribbling something far thicker, almost the consistency of shampoo.

“What the hell?" Chet murmured, his brows furrowing as he tried to figure out what the containers were, his brain straining a little at the effort.

“You don't like my gift? I thought frat bros loved to get wasted." A deep, gruff voice said from behind. Chet turned around, getting a brief glimpse of a huge hairy hog of a man, his bushy blond beard hanging down from beneath his tusks and snout. Miles' cloven right hand grabbed Chet by the head and pulled him into his left armpit, pinning the young man's face in a wet, warm, tangy forest of pit hair. It stung and tingled against the young man's face as he was trapped, his nose squished up against his face from how hard Miles was holding him.

Miles felt the little man squirming and wriggling, but he also felt the fight draining out of him as his brain was marinated in the stink of a true hog. Chet's short hair grew back out, taking on its thick curls and waves, descending down the back of his neck inch by inch. Where the sun hit the auburn, it blanched out to streaks of blond, giving the frat bro a wheat field mullet. After another good few seconds, Miles let Chet go, the frat bro stumbling back. His new snout snuffled and sniffed, tiny tusks poking out from his bottom lip, sweaty stubble covering his boyish cheeks.

“Now… Where do you keep those little red plastic cups? Your bros need something to drink." Miles growled with contentment.

****

There was certainly something about college that felt like High School with the training wheels taken off. Miguel sat at his computer, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard of his laptop as he tried to turn his thoughts on the recent reading into something coherent. He only paused long enough to brush wisps of his black and turquoise hair away from his face. The work wasn't too hard yet, although he was only a few weeks into his freshman year. He felt as if he had lucked out on his random roommate assignment as well since his roommate was almost always away at choir, debate or parties. That left Miguel mostly to himself.

The room had only been filled with the sounds of typing and the faint hum of the laptop's cooling fan, but from that quiet came a buzzing-hum. There was only a split second delay before the hair stood up on the back of Miguel's neck. It was a sound that he'd grown far too accustomed to hearing during the Ghost Apocalypse. It was the sound of a PKE meter detecting a supernatural presence. Miguel stood up and started rummaging through the piles of papers and knick knacks on his shelf until he uncovered the PKE meter. The arms were steadily stretching up higher away from the body of the device, the screen throbbing with green indicators growing ever more insistent about the urgency of the situation.

Miguel clutched the meter firmly in his hand and turned towards the door of the dorm, watching the arms sag. He turned back around towards the window and watched them stretch out higher. Cautiously he approached the window and pulled the curtains back just enough to peek outside. His back stiffened as his eyes locked onto the source of the threat, having no need to use the Meter to confirm. The campus fraternities sat across a courtyard from the general dormitories. The fraternity directly across the way was a heritage building stretching back many decades, looking as if it had been hewn out of beige sandstone - or it would have if it hadn't been dripping with purple slime. Even the Greek letters on the side of the building had been broken and rearranged to form the word 'pig'. Outside, muscled and fat frat bros were charging at each other to wrestle and hump and grind, each of them sporting pig snouts, wingback ears and curly-q tails. Miguel let the curtain slowly ease shut before he grabbed at his phone, dialing swiftly. It only took a ring and a half before there was an answer.

“Ghostbusters, what is the nature of your supernatural emergency?" Nine's voice came from the other side.

“Nine! Thank god," Miguel sighed with relief.

“Miguel?!" Nine said, sounding happy, “What's wrong?"

“There's some sort of outbreak down here… One of the frats, they've turned into pigs…"

“I mean, my mom said never to trust a college boy…" Nine said.

“No, literal pigs! Well, I mean, not animal pigs. Pig hybrids. They're tearing up the courtyard, being pretty blatant in their activities, and I don't think it's going to stay put for long. We need all of you down here now." Miguel said, gasping as he heard some sort of explosion outside. He peeked back through the window just enough to see that one one of the campus flame pits was filled with a bonfire far larger than it had been built to contain and whatever they had used to ignite it had flung shards of burning detritus across the lawn.

“There aren't a whole lot of us right now, but whatever power we can muster, we're on our way. I won't let you down, Miguel. Just keep your phone close, okay? I'll get there as fast as I can." Nine said before the line went quiet.

“Okay." The freshman said softly to himself, setting the PKE down as he let the curtains slip shut again. He moved over to save his paper and close his laptop, deciding to lock the dorm room door and turn out the light. If the frat started to recruit, he didn't want it to look like anyone was home. He just had to last long enough for Nine to get there from Portland, but that was still quite a drive. With the laptop off, Miguel realized he could still hear one sound - the PKE meter.

He turned back and looked at the waggling arms, the screen presenting the fact that whatever was happening was getting worse and worse by the second. A pang of guilt struck Miguel's heart. Had he fallen so much that his own safety was more important than that of others? He had been a Ghostbuster for the larger part of a year. Even if a Ghostbuster was disarmed, they didn't lose their instincts or their tenacity. It wasn't the time to hide; it was the time to discover the root cause of all of this.

Miguel moved over to his closet and slid the door open, rifling through everything until he got to the back of the closet. A grin crossed his face as he pulled out a teal vest emblazoned with the crisp red, white and black patch of the Ghostbusters on the left breast right above where his heart was. He pulled the vest on, grabbed the PKE meter once more and moved for the door. He took a short, shallow breath to steel himself before he unlocked it and slipped out into the hall, his mind already calculating how to get around the edge of campus without letting any of the pigs spot him.

****

It was a worst case scenario. More than half the team was out of state and they had taken the Ghostbusters major means of transportation with them. Seth stood at the wood desk with the phone held to his ear, his jaw set and his eyes tight enough to crinkle the skin at the edges. Nine could nearly hear the veteran buster's teeth grinding before he opened his mouth to speak again.

“This is an emerging threat near a dense population center. It doesn't just affect the university. There are reports coming in from all along the I-5 corridor and 99 West. We know the commission has ghostbusting equipment, we helped you develop it. It's time to use it." Seth said. Nine cringed a little as Seth's face tightened even more, “No, that isn't a proactive approach to protecting against supernatural responses, that's a passive approach…" Seth growled, “If you aren't going to help with the ghosts, can you at least call the National Guard to try and cordon off or quarantine the area? Yes? Good…" Seth muttered before he hung up the phone, jumping a little as he heard a heavy metal thud.

The sound had come from the mechanism that lowered Nine's go-cart down to the garage floor. With another heavy clang, the forks had been retracted, leaving the vehicle to rest on its heavily treaded tires. Nine reached over and lifted a switch cover, pressing his thumb down on the red rubber button beneath. There was a shudder, a building series of clicks and then a thick hum as the cyclotron spun up. Behind the seat, four cycling reddish-orange lights pulsed as the power built.

“Nine…" Seth said softly, although he didn't really have much to follow up with. Nine smiled and shrugged.

“This thing only seats one, and I figure you have a better shot of figuring out an alternate method of transportation. Somebody has to get out there and get eyes on the scene… and Miguel is my friend." Nine said, pulling a flag from the wall that he'd made to help with visibility for the otherwise low riding vehicle. He slotted the pole into a slot off center from the driver's seat. Seth shook his head.

“I know… Go, just be careful. Rule one of Ghostbusters is supposed to be not to bust alone. I'll get there as fast as I can." Seth said. Nine grinned, leaning over to grab a pair of goggles from the wall rack, pulling them on.

“I know you will." he said before dropping down into the comfortable seat of the go-cart. Seth hit the garage door control and as the late afternoon light spilled into the garage, the go-cart lurched forward before pulling into traffic. A slightly higher pitched version of the siren from the Ecto-11 cut through the air outside, and as it pulled into traffic Seth saw a decided illegal home made license plate titled 'ECTO-GO' on the back. Seth made a mental note to put in for that officially the next chance they got.

“God, I hope I don't have to wreck my own car…." Seth murmured, thinking about filling his vehicle with the sorts of equipment they were going to need.

****

The wind whipped through Nine's strawberry-blond bangs, the turquoise flag emblazoned with the Ghostbusters emblem whipping around behind him. The siren that Nine usually loved so much had gotten a bit tiring after about thirty miles, but the Ecto-Go's low profile had made it necessary from a safety perspective. On the plus side, he'd made record time heading towards Corvallis and it had been quite nice not to have to worry about gas mileage. In fact, Nine was making far better time than he should have. The traffic hadn't just thinned out, it had disappeared entirely…

When the hairs had started to stand up on the back of Nine's neck, he gave into instinct and pulled suddenly to the next lane just as the dark shadow of the lumbering truck would have fallen across him. Falling back alongside the cab, it was impossible not to hear the deep, constant growl of the truck. Nine could see his own reflection in the chrome of the tusk like grill on the front before he looked up to the window, seeing the grinning face of the hog driving the monstrosity.

Nine kept one hand on the wheel, the other moving to sweep fingers across a variety of relays and switches. The long flyswatter like arms at the front of the go-cart crackled with energy and four traps powered up along the frame. One thick eyebrow arched on the hog's face as he looked down at the little vehicle with a bit of respect. It was keeping up a furious pace and he could feel the power radiating from it. Anyone capable of driving something like that would make a fine road hog…

Miles reached up, thick fingers slipping over the cable that ran to the horn. The hog gave it a sudden tug - but the truck didn't honk. The cable released valves and thick plumes of black smoke suddenly spilled out of the truck on both sides, billowing outward and fumigating the freeway. Nine coughed and sputtered, getting some of the acrid burning smell in his lungs, though the burning seemed to fizzle and bubble and climb up into his sinuses until he felt a bit… good? He felt very good, actually. He felt like taking off his shirt and lounging about with a good beer and a good fuck and-

“God damnit…" Nine murmured, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal even as he felt his toes starting to fuse inside of his shoes. The Ecto-Go pulled ahead of the smoke, though just barely. Nine sniffled a little, reaching up to wipe his nose, feeling how blunt and swollen it had gotten. He grunted a little more before he reached under the seat and pulled a lever. A compartment opened up behind the go-cart just as Nine swerved in front of the truck. With one last heft of his now hoofed foot, he pulled ahead as several ball shaped devices rolled out of the back.

Miles let out an oink of protest as the objects rolled under his truck, but he had no idea how to prepare for what was coming next. The balls erupted in a flare of protonic energy that shot out and crackled around the truck. The oblong tanker didn't just light up, it wobbled. A squeal erupted, not from Miles, but from the truck itself. Its headlights blinked, more smoke poured out of the exhaust, and the highway started to splinter and crack as spikes came out of the truck's tires. Nine bit his bottom lip, seeing the angry truck in his miniscule mirror.

“Okay, that's the first time I've seen a truck with road rage." Nine murmured.

“Get back here you little piglet!" Miles roared out of the driver's side window of the truck, switching gears. Once more the truck rumbled and growled as it accelerated, gaining on the go-cart. Nine winced and looked ahead before cursing, swerving suddenly out of the way of an abandoned mini-van on the shoulder of the road. The truck plowed into it, an explosion ripping upward in rolling plumes of smoke and flame. Nine used the opportunity to break hard on one side, spinning the go-cart around with a small plume of his own smoke as the rubber etched a crescent shape onto the cement and he came skidding to a stop in the opposite direction.

Facing his opposition head to head, Nine knew this was the moment to stand his ground. He let go of the steering wheel and instead grabbed onto recessed handles under the arm rests. The hum of the Ecto-Go's engine changed as the power was drawn away from the engine itself, focused and funneled. The swatter arms crackled and sparked, a few jolts arcing between them before the energy was suddenly released. Ruby and citrine proton streams erupted from the ends, swirling and entwining with one another, striking the truck. The energy crackled across the cab of the truck, though it seemed to dig into the cargo more.

A horrifying screech came as the truck slammed on its breaks, a sonic boom sounding as a tire burst, then another, then a third. The vehicle shimmied and shook, swerving side to side before it started losing speed. Nine winced as it came closer and closer, electing to take his foot off the break. Even slowing down, it wasn't slowing enough. The truck rammed into the go-cart, pushing it back several car lengths before it rolled haphazardly out of the way. The truck lurched forward a few dozen more yards before it wheezed to a stop.

Nine murmured a little, unbuckling his seatbelt before he pushed himself up from his seat, stepping down onto the roadway. His muscles were tight from the long drive, let alone the stunt work he'd had to try his hand at to get the vehicle to stop. He reached up to lift his goggles from his eyes, blinking a bit, watching cautiously as the door to the truck opened. A shadow fell across the cracked pavement before Miles landed, huge cloven hooves clicking as they hit. A faint hint of smoke blasted out from the nostrils of his snout as he turned angry dark eyes on the pipsqueak that had brought his road trip to a standstill.

“You should have ditched that rinky dink little thing and hitchiked with me. You could have been puffing away on a cigar, your pig prick being sucked off by skater pigs or frat bro-hogs, my personal little piglet. Instead you had to put me behind schedule." Miles growled, though a lewd smile slowly crossed his lips. Though I like the mustache. Is that my work, or did you grow that on your own?" he asked.

“It's not delivery, if that's what you mean." Nine said, watching the hog get closer and closer, step by step. Nine's eyes widened a bit, realizing that he wasn't just hefty, he was tall too… but the bigger they were, the harder it was to run. Without any attempt at hiding his transition, Nine spun around and broke into an open sprint for the Go-Cart. Miles let out a furious yell as he tried to follow after Nine, but Nine had lured him too far away from the vehicle. Nine lunged over the armrest, landing awkwardly in the seat before he pushed the pedal down again. The cart had used up most of its power, but it had enough to roll forward toward the tanker attached to the back of the truck.

Taking the last split second to flatten himself down as much as he could, the go-cart came to a sudden stop as the rear tires wedged under the rim of the truck and the flag snapped off, clattering to the ground. Nine had barely a few inches to move and yelped as he felt the go-cart suddenly jerk a few inches. Miles had grabbed onto its bumper and was pulling with all his enhanced strength. Nine closed his eyes, stretched out his left foot as far as he could and hit it against the only pedal on the car not connected with the engine.

Four pairs of yellow and black striped trap doors swung open as the gleaming white light of their ion fountain shot upward, enveloping the truck. As the light passed through the tanker, the metal seemed to grow more and more translucent, revealing the sloshing and swirling purple slime inside. The tanker deformed, warping and stretching. Nine let out a sharp yell of shock as the tires around him began to turn in various directions, metal spikes digging into the ground, trying in vain to hold on - but it was too late.

A deafening howl came as enough of the truck was drawn into the traps, creating a chain reaction. The tanker swirled and split, spiraling down into the receptacles. Tires burst into clouds of smoke, metal compressed and contracted until it swirled in ribbon like streamers. The traps worked for what felt like an eternity until the tanker was gone and the cab of the truck skidded and screeched towards him. Nine held on for dear life, his hair still blasting his face.

The front of the truck seemed to tighten up, smoke billowing out from the grill, the headlights clenched in a furious show of resistance, but with one last honk of the truck horn, the last of the vehicle was pulled apart into constituent elements of metal, plastic, smoke, and light. The four columns of light emanating from the traps lifted upwards, sensing several seconds without drawing anything else in before they snapped shut. All four devices chirped simultaneously as red lights illuminated, indicating that they had secured their contents.

Nine remained there for a moment, not yet opening his eyes. He smelled burnt rubber, cement, gasoline, and the faint ozone of evening. Finally, Nine opened his eyes to see a rather confused looking young man wearing worn out jeans and not much else, his hair mussed up and his eyes seeming to be returning from a state of mental fog. He looked around a little, then at Nine, eyebrows lifting as he looked at its unconventional design.

“That your ride?" Miles asked. Nine gave a lop-sided smile.

“I built it myself." he said. Miles gave a weak smile in turn.

“I can tell… I mean, not in a bad way." Miles corrected himself awkwardly, taking a breath as he reached up to rub the back of his head, “Uh, do you know how far we are from Woodburn? Last thing I remember I was headed to look at a truck on the side of the road, I'm not sure how I got here." Miles said. Nine climbed out of the go-cart and moved over to rest a hand companionably on the twenty-two year old's shoulder.

“You, my friend, were taken for a ride." Nine said, glancing up to see a convoy of emergency response vehicles headed their way in the distance.

****

The lights rose and fell outside, cutting through the darkness as traffic got back to normal. Thankfully it was much warmer inside of the truck stop restaurant. The booth seats were oversized and comfortable and the laminated tabletop held the remaining evidence of the warm meal and hot coffee that had been consumed after the incident. Miles sat on one side next to Seth while Nine and Miguel sat on the other. Miguel set an old red leatherbound book down and flipped through the yellowed pages where scrawlings of monstrous creatures were counterbalanced by painstakingly written field notes.

“It is called a Zeitgeist." Miguel explained, “A poltergeist based on a mood or defining trait of an era." Miguel said. Miles held his coffee cup tighter in both hands.

“But what does that say about us? About me?" Miles asked.

“Trust me, no ghost is a fair litmus test." Seth shook his head, “This type of ghost can come from a seed and get twisted. Maybe there was someone out there, or several someones, that embraced that contradiction in themselves of not being what society expected but loving themselves anyway… And when you get a taste for that acceptance and the freedom that brings, it can turn into a hunger for more."

“But when those commission guys were talking to the frat guys, they remembered everything that happened. Why don't I?" Miles asked. Nine leaned back a little, straightening up taller in the seat.

“Possession can be weird… Sometimes people are aware of everything that happened like there was a backseat driver, and other times it's a blank. Maybe it's good you don't remember in this case." Nine said. Miles looked at his coffee cup and then back up at the others, his face betraying the awkwardness of the forming thoughts.

“I know this is going to sound terrible, but… I think I want to be a truck driver." he said, waiting for them to cut him off with what a terrible idea it was, but instead the Ghostbusters continued to listen. He swallowed, “I was just sitting around and feeling sorry for myself before, waiting for life to happen to me. When it did, I wasn't even there for it… But I know they have schools for driving truck, and it's something I could do, at least for a while. Make some money, see the world out there." Miles said.

“Nothing wrong with that." Seth said with a nod, sipping his coffee.

“And if you ever need to talk about anything, you know who to call." Nine smiled. Miles looked reassured at that and went back to polish off the last of his pancakes. Outside the traffic continued to roll along the freeway, steady and stable, a never ending stream of human energy and ingenuity cutting its way across the continent.