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Ghostbusters: Regenesis Chapter 25 (Smoke and Mirrors) Written by Leo_Todrius

[Portland, Oregon] Drop by drop, the rain came down, beading up on the glass surface of the smart phone in Dakota's hands. The cement was saturated all across the city and the cars sent out rippled waves to the curbs as they passed. The deep rumbling of the Max light rail cars started as they moved away from the stop, heading deeper into the heart of the city. Many of the citizens of Portland had resigned themselves to rain jackets and a few, despite the traditions of the city, embraced umbrellas. Dakota, however, was enjoying the change of weather after a dry spell.

Dakota stood at a street corner, waiting for the cross walk light to turn. He was almost half a year past his thirtieth birthday and things had been going fairly well for the busters other than the insect swarms of one of their most recent jobs. Dakota looked somewhat formidable in the rain with his short frohawk and thickening goatee. His arms were muscled and bare, the sleeveless sweatshirt barely containing his muscles.

A soft, barely audible click indicated that the street light had changed and he was free to proceed. Dakota barely looked up from his phone as he crossed the street, and once he was on the other side all bets were off. He was playing a particularly addictive game that Nico had come across called Creature Capture. Thinking that his innate busting abilities could serve him well, he had been advancing at a good pace.

Dakota had walked back to the firehouse distracted often enough, even blind once after a particularly nasty ghost had stolen his eyes, but something was different about today. Without watching where he was going, it was as if the city itself was subtly and slightly twisting around him imperceptibly. Dakota moved into an alleyway between two buildings, the street noise falling away behind. He ventured in further, following the twists and turns, walking almost two full blocks before he realized that he was not where he had expected to be.

Soft brown eyes lifted up from the phone, looking around, taking stock of where he was. It was a bit shocking at first as Dakota didn't even know such an elaborate network of paths existed in this part of town. The rain continued to come down, pelting the narrow alleyway and soaking the tall walls of the buildings tucked too close together. It surprised Dakota that such a remote place wouldn't have been overwhelmed by graffiti or unsavory riff raff, but the alley was clean and clear of any garbage. It seemed well maintained, and as Dakota came around another corner he started to see why. Tucked away in the labyrinth of alleys was a brick and mortar shop, warm creamy light spilling out of the windows into the wet, gray day. As Dakota approached, his heart fluttered a bit with excitement as his wildest dreams were realized.

Across the front window of the shop in an old timey font was the bold lettering spelling out 'T.K's Cigars' big enough to see blocks away if the view hadn't been obscured by such cramped corridors. Dakota practically licked his lips. It had become a guilty habit of his over the last few months, one that he knew most of his friends didn't approve of but at the same time it felt oddly empowering. Even though it was bad for him, there was something undeniably masculine about it, something rebellious and naughty that made it all the more exciting.

Dakota could identify with the plight of the other enthusiasts too as they were relegated ever more to the margins of society, pushed back more and more. No doubt this was how T.K. ended up in the middle of nowhere, inside a Bermuda triangle of urban planning... But Dakota smiled ever more, knowing it must have been fate that brought him here on this day. He moved toward the shop, deciding how he was going to spend the rest of his day.

The tiny metal bell jingled and jangled around as the old, heavy door was eased open. Dakota was a bit surprised that any shop would rely on such a heavy entrance, but then again the fact that the shop had managed to continue existing in obscurity likely meant that the customer base was loyal. As the young man entered the shop, he was assaulted by a wave of aromas both rich and robust. There were floral scents, spicy scents, earthy scents and more. It was all mixed into a mélange of smells tantalizing the senses.

Dakota stood there for a moment, looking around the shop. Two entire walls were dedicated to the cigar shop's purpose with walls of humidor cabinets and vast selections of cigars from around the world. The third wall was covered with other merchandise that spoke to the lifestyle; heavy leather belts, hats, and vests along with shot glasses and alcohol bottles. There was even a machete on the wall along with pictures of a jungle the shop keeper had no doubt visited with pride in the past.

The Ghostbuster advanced toward the wall, his eyes wide with respect. He looked at the cabinets, spotting a few familiar brands among the mix, but it was the unknown that drew him. There were blends he couldn't even begin to imagine and they were all so tantalizing. He looked past his reflection in the glass, looking at the rolled up mix of spiced tobacco, like sin incarnate.

"They really are something beautiful, aren't they?" A deep, svelte voice caught Dakota off guard. He turned and looked to see the doorway of the backroom filled with a Philippino man that had to be the owner. He was in his early forties, his black hair showing streaks of gray around the ears. The man was lankier than Dakota expected, with a long neck and gangly arms. Most impressive was the full, soft black beard that hung down to his collar bone. It was an unusual sight for one of Asian heritage, but it seemed quite fitting at the same time.

"Oh yeah, they are... Really nice collection." Dakota grinned. The man smiled and nodded, moving over to clap a hand on Dakota's shoulder.

"It is, though so few people can appreciate it these days." The shop keeper mused.

"Because of the decrease in smoking?" Dakota asked. The man rolled his eyes.

"No, because my shop is so far out of the way. Seems like everyone gets lost around here... But you, my friend, like any good connoisseur wound up right where he needed to be. I'm T.K. Bell by the way." he replied.

"Dakota, Dakota Shaw." Dakota replied, offering his hand. T.K. took it and gave it a firm squeeze. A strange tingling warmth spread through Dakota's hand, reminding him of excitement the first time he had smoked a cigar.

"Now, what brings you to the neighborhood?" T.K. asked, moving around the counter to start riffling through some of his possessions.

"Luck, I guess." Dakota replied.

"Good luck, I hope." T.K. chuckled, "Now, what can I interest you in? An old standby, or something new and out of this world?" he asked, glancing back over at his guest. Dakota seemed ensnared by the opportunity.

"Something new, totally." He replied. T.K.'s smile grew only larger, betraying his oddly flat teeth.

---

Evening had fallen, and while the sky still had a soft blue velour glow, none of it made it down into the labyrinth of alleyways. So deep in the maze, it was only the glow of the cigar shop that lit the pavement. For Dakota, it was the perfect atmosphere. The other shops had closed, no one was wandering by to disrupt the atmosphere, and the shop itself felt so right. The two gentlemen had settled down on two over-stuffed, high back red leather chairs at the far end of the shop. Tumblers of scotch were nearly empty and each man held a half depleted cigar in their masculine hands.

Once more the stogie came to Dakota's lips and he inhaled, the end glowing fiercely red, consuming more of the contents. The smoke billowed and hung on Dakota's tongue, filling his mouth. The flavor was exotic, spicy and robust, earthy and wild. It was almost like some embodiment of a poison dart frog. Dakota opened his mouth and exhaled, the wisps of smoke curling and spiraling out, playing with the tips of his facial hair and sweeping around his cheeks. Dakota had never felt so content or complete.

"To everyone's surprise, of course, the cigar makers of the 19th century were extremely educated. They had official readers that would share the classics with the factory workers as they prepared the next batch." T.K. explained, "In fact, some of those readers moved on to be writers themselves..."

"It's amazing to think how much we've lost. This used to be a part of a sophisticated, well cultured life." Dakota murmured. T.K. took a draw from his own huge cigar, holding the smoke before he exhaled. The resulting cloud swirled into a haze that filled the room.

"Can you imagine it, Dakota? Being a part of that sophisticated world?" T.K. asked, "A man of education, of ethics, imparting your wisdom with style?" the shopkeeper asked. Dakota murmured to himself, his imagination almost seeming too strong. Sunlight spilled through the windows as if it was ten in the morning, and the smoke playing across his goatee felt like it had more to play with. His sleeveless sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced with a button up long coat, a top hat resting on his head. His feet were clad in leather, but the image only lasted for a moment before it faded back into haze.

"Maybe, but I don't know if it's me... And it's a world lost to time." Dakota replied. T.K. took another slow draw.

"True, but many things lost can be found again, and vice versa." T.K. replied, "But tell me my friend, have you enjoyed this evening? This hint of another life?"

"Oh yeah, of course. This was amazing... Beyond amazing, it was like heaven. I... really put you out though, all that time and the drinks. The least I can do is pick up a big order." Dakota replied. T.K. chuckled.

"Well, that certainly would help, but I don't just work by single transactions. I like to sell a lifestyle, and I like the idea of having a friend. There's no sense in working through this life alone. Every once in a while you need someone... just... like you." T.K. replied. Dakota smiled at that and took another puff of his cigar, closing his eyes. T.K. watched with glee as the red glow turned purple once more, the smoke surrounding and infusing the Ghostbuster. The young man almost glowed with the tainted PK energy he was steeping and saturating in.

---

The curtains had been drawn at Dakota's place and the television had long since been turned off. Dakota had returned home with the intention of relaxing like a gentleman. He'd secured a nice box of cigars and a small bottle of scotch from his new friend, and even after an evening of enjoying the more masculine pursuits he felt like he couldn't get enough. Dakota sat in the recliner in his living room, bringing the cigar up to his lips, drawing in slowly. The end gleamed a bright red, burning ever so slowly down the length. Dakota closed his eyes, held the smoke for a moment before he exhaled.

The smoke curled and spiraled around Dakota, playing with the tips of the hairs of his goatee, the edges of his ears, even his shoulders. Dakota took another puff and another, but with each draw the end was glowing a slightly different shade, shifting from red to purple and then to blue. With each puff, Dakota felt more emboldened, more masculine. It reminded him of putting on a fursuit for the first time, or striking out on his own. The excitement was more than enough to stir in his loins.

Dakota's free hand fumbled with the button of his jeans, popping it free before drawing the fly down. With just a little fishing, he retrieved his hardening cock. His dark fingers curled around his thick rod and gave it a good squeeze before he started to stroke up and down, working it faster and harder. He'd gotten used to jacking off with his left hand while searching the internet for stimulating pictures, but doing it while smoking a cigar seemed even better.

As the burning embers reached a small silver band on the cigar, the glowing blue tip shimmered with even brighter light. Dakota inhaled the smoke into his mouth, then against his better judgment, his lungs. The smoke billowed and spread through him before he exhaled through his nostrils in two jets of grayish blue smoke. His nose responded by widening, the nostrils flaring and the flesh spreading outward.

A sudden surge came from Dakota's groin as his already hard cock started expanding again dramatically, as if he was compounding his erection. Dakota grunted sharply, feeling his meet grow wider and thicker in his hand... but it was growing longer as well. The smoke was spiraling and circling around Dakota, not leaving him alone. The fingernails clutching the cigar and the expanding cock turned dark, ashen gray at first and then darker. Dakota's teeth were flattening in his mouth and his ears stretched into points. Even the hair at the back of his neck was thickening, growing downward along the spine. Dakota was too entranced to stop.

His left hand worked furiously, sliding up and down his growing length. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought it was a fantasy, some dream brought on b too much booze. If that was the case, Dakota didn't want it to stop. He took a bigger puff still of his cigar, holding it in deep before he exhaled through his nostrils again. This time his nose flattened out much wider and Dakota's entire face started to elongate. He had the start of a muzzle, and his nose was far more equine in nature. His pointed ears were migrating as well, shifting upwards along the sides of his head.

With another thick puff, Dakota exhaled a plume of smoke that swirled around his cock, almost as if ensnaring it in a tentacle's embrace. The hard, throbbing flesh began to stretch, growing with supernatural speed. Each stroke of his hand coaxed more length and width. Its nine inch length surged to fourteen, then eighteen, then more. The dark mushroom shaped tip blunted and flattened, flaring out wide as the urethra quadrupled in size. Beneath his fingers, Dakota felt an odd ridge around the middle of his cock - a median ring of sorts. He started to buck his hips into his hand, but every time he came down he became more aware of a mounting pressure at the base of his spine. His muscled ass cheeks were pushing away from one another, making room for a wriggling nub emerging from its dormancy.

Dakota's toes curled, but not individually. They all moved in unison, feeling firm and tough. The growing cloud of ectoplasmic smoke had reached his feet, causing his toenails to harden and spread outward, growing up along the toes and oozing over the edges. As they came together, the spreading nails merged together, forming a keratin sheath over the base of his foot. It spread like socks, covering the soles of his feet. Beneath the bony covering the bones cracked and popped, reshaping, forcing the feet into a very different alignment.

The cigar was more than half gone, a mere stub in Dakota's strange, otherworldly hands. His fingers were stubbier as well, more square with his palms, but certainly not becoming hooves exactly. The pleasure was so overwhelming that his brain wasn't quite working anymore. He clenched down on the cigar, grabbing onto his growing horse cock with both hands, feeling it surpass two feet in length, striving for three.

The jeans around Dakota's legs had grown tight, wriggling and straining as some unseen mass beneath strove to break free. As it all reached critical mass, the fabric finally tore out, allowing soft furry black horse legs to burst out. Dakota threw his head back, letting out a muffled whinny as his jaw and nose elongated into a proper muzzle, his three and a half foot horse cock slapping him in the nostrils.

Dakota's musk released was heavenly, smelling of the wilderness, of masculinity, of peat and smoke. Dakota took the cigar from his horse lips and plunged his muzzle down around his huge horse cock, bobbing his head up and down. A wide, flat tongue slobbered over the length before blue cum started to gush out of the end with powerful, unrelenting urgency. Dakota gulped it down, his entire body shimmering with ethereal light as he gained power from his own seed, finishing the carnal act of becoming a beast.

All of the accumulated smoke that had been building around Dakota suddenly swirled inward, wrapping around the transformed beast. The house disappeared around him, obscured for a moment of pure darkness before the smoke dispersed into a labyrinth of trees. Dakota slowly pulled off of his immense cock, blue cum still dribbling from his mouth before he stood up and turned. Standing a few feet away was another horse creature, a huge stogie in his equine muzzle.

"Welcome, my friend... It's about time you joined me." The voice was powerful, manly, and familiar.

"T.K...." Dakota murmured. The horse creature moved closer until his massive cock slapped against Dakota's. A hand came up to stroke the smooth, soft black fur of the new recruit.

"I am Dakila Tikbalang, I am your master, your guide, and you are now a part of my herd." The beast said, reaching up to run his fingers through Dakota's mane. Dakota shuddered softly at that before letting out a neigh, unable to resist the animal charm of the creature that had turned him. T.K. slowly lifted his massive endowment and Dakota plunged his muzzle down around it, suckling and slurping from his new master.

Tikbalang threw his head back and let out a whinny as he came, pouring more seed down Dakota's throat. As Dakota gulped it down, he felt his body becoming firmer, harder, more defined. The fine coat of fur that covered his flesh gained more luster, his tail filled out more, swaying behind his muscled ass. His balls swelled larger, his hooves grew and his ears perked up higher. Tikbalang reached down, caressing the unruly fur along the underside of Dakota's jaw, coaxing it to grow thicker and longer.

As the horse demon nurtured his newest recruit, the forest warped and shifted around them before it dissolved away into smoke once more, replaced by the shop in the center of the labyrinth of alleyways. As Dakota kept drinking, a black metal ring appeared around his ring finger and a matching one formed on Tikbalang's. The horse demon threw his head back and came even harder, pleased that he had at last found a worthy mate and fulfilled his promise to an even more powerful ghost that wanted another Ghostbuster out of the way.

[Antelope Hills, Oklahoma] Smoke carried on the wind, hot and stale and full of enough dust to blot out the sun until it was a gray disc hanging in the sky. Spot fires flickered across the dry grassy hills and caustic black slime was draining the life out of patches of grass where it had splattered. The smoke swirled as another of the great winged creatures let out a banshee shriek, flapping its great horned wings as its massive mouth filled with more bile like slime. It was almost ready for another bombing pass.

The Oklahoma Ghostbusters had successfully driven the barrage out of Duncan and into the great open spaces, but it had taken great effort and sacrifice on the part of the townsfolk. A convoy of vehicles had led the brutal supernatural attackers away from populated areas, but the cars had eventually been tossed like toys. The overturned vehicles lay in flames, wheels spinning in fruitless echoes of lost utility.

In the midst of the chaos, one survivor gasped for breath in the scorching air, his lungs burned by the ash and smoke. Tripp had been one of Oklahoma's proudest Ghostbusters for almost ten years, and in all that time he hadn't seen anything like this. He was breathing hard despite the pain, trying to recover himself. He was thirty years old, starting to feel the weight of his age. His frizzy blond hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail and green eyes peered out at the devastated landscape. The waves of smoke in the distance lit up like lightning, but it was not thunder that he heard, only the crackling hum of a proton stream arching upwards. Tripp knew his teammates were battling on, fighting to the last.

Tripp dug into himself and pulled out everything he had, rising to one foot, then the other, standing back up. The proton pack on his back was a heavy burden, but it was also a responsibility, a duty of care. He took a step, then another, moving back toward the battle. A great roar shuddered through the plains as the great beast unleashed its black slime. It would be vulnerable for a few more minutes, until it recharged again. Tripp was picking up pace, heading back toward the fray when he heard something unexpected. Carrying on the wind, barely audible, was the sound of sobbing.

"Hey! Anyone out there?" Tripp called out, "Are you hurt?" he added, his electrical gloves tightening on the grip of the neutrona wand in his hands. Tripp moved toward the sound, trying to peer through the smoke. He wished he could use his ecto-goggles, but they'd been useless for the entire attack. The entire county was swimming with background PK energy.

Tripp's eyes stung more as the wind changed, blowing new walls of smoke across him, but as he advanced he heard the sobbing intensify. His steps turned into a light jog and soon he saw enough of a clearing in the haze to make out what was ahead. It looked as though the ground had ruptured and split, a great cavern opening up. At the mouth of the chasm was a hunched over little boy. He didn't look to be more then ten or twelve years old.

"Be careful! Please, be careful. We're going to get you back somewhere safe." Tripp said, smiling softly, brushing a wavy bang of blond hair out of his vision as he approached the still sobbing boy. Tripp reached out a hand, resting it on the boy's shoulder. The Ghostbuster put on his best smile, "Are you from Duncan? We'll get you back there, safe and sound." Tripp said. The boy turned, tears still streaming down his pale cheeks. His slate grey eyes were soulful and intense and even the smoky haze couldn't mute the blue streak in the boy's hair.

"My parents... They were trying to run back to the others, but then this hole opened up... I heard them down there, but I'm too scared to go in. I'm so sorry, I'm a terrible son..." The boy whimpered, doubling over again, sobbing heavily. Tripp knelt down, rubbing the boy's shoulder.

"No, you're not terrible... You stayed out here and now help has arrived. You did the smart thing. Now we're going to be able to save them." Tripp smiled, reaching up to his shoulder to click his radio, "Evaline, it's Tripp." he said, though the radio crackled in static as a response. Tripp grit his teeth, "Evaline, if you can hear me I'm south of the fighting. I'm helping recover some survivors." Tripp said. Again there was a crackle of static. Tripp sighed softly.

"Does that mean you can't help?" The boy whimpered, his eyes huge and scared. Tripp shook his head.

"A Ghostbuster will always help those in need, but I can't do it alone. I need you to hold the end of my line here so I can find my way back, okay?" Tripp smiled, reaching down to his belt, unlocking the spool. He handed one end to the boy and took a few steps. The spool let out a buzzing as it unraveled, releasing a foot and a half of yellow cording.

"This will really let you find your way back?" The boy asked. Tripp gave a confident nod.

"You have my word. Now, I'm going to go down and try to find your parents, and then I'll come right back, okay?" Tripp asked. The boy looked up at Tripp, not saying anything but not crying either. Tripp smiled at gave him a nod before he started climbing down. The rocks weren't entirely cumbersome, in fact it was almost like climbing down stairs backwards. Tripp descended down lower and lower into the abyss, his line whizzing and buzzing from his hip.

After a few moments the ground evened out and Tripp looked upward. The gap in the ground made the hazy heavens look even more ethereal, like sand colored clouds moving a thousand miles an hour. Tripp turned around, looking into the jagged tunnel like formation that had opened up. Tripp took a deep breath.

"Hello? I'm here to help! I need to know where you are!" Tripp called out, but it didn't sound right. His voice didn't echo, it didn't refract off the tunnel walls. It was almost like it was swallowed up. There was a moment of silence before a thousand whispers came flooding back, nearly deafening the Ghostbuster. There were names, locations, hissing and growling and snarling. Tripp reached up to cover his ears, unable to hear the rumbling of the rocks above as the small window to the surface began to close. The rocks and dirt knit back together, the light disappearing.

Back on the surface the boy was no longer crying, watching the hole seal itself. Only the thin yellow cord coming up out of the ground hinted at the fate of the Ghostbuster, but with a faint tug of the boy's hand the line popped out, cut clean through where the human had left the mortal world. The boy's tear streaked cheeks curved into a smile as he felt the intense satisfaction at spiriting away another of his human enemies. Step by step, everything was coming together.