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Ghostbusters: Daybreak

Chapter 4

(Play by Ear)

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

Special Thanks to Nakito

Moonlight seeped through the narrow windows near the top of the basement, pouring across the well used workbench below. It felt cool and remote, disconnected even as it glinted off the scraps of metal and the stripped wire strewn about. The only other major source of light came from the haphazard collection of screens spread out across a makeshift shelf held up with crates and boxes. The screens were filled with endless lines of code, intricate schematics and one muted newscast claiming that the four horsemen of the apocalypse had been seen around the city. Despite all that activity, none of the screens held the attention of the lone living soul in the basement.

A stool swiveled as a man turned back towards the work bench, magnification goggles enlarging his topaz brown eyes as he blinked and refocused on the work at hand. Calloused fingers applied precision instruments to the object held perfectly between clamps, soldering on an incredibly difficult scale. The air was ripe with the smell of the solder, but soon the iron was returned to its resting place and tweezers were picked up in their place. A tiny element was selected from a tray, then put back before another was held aloft.

The dim light from the screens shone through the translucent purple plastic, blocked only by the miniscule capacitors embedded inside. The brown eyes admired the precision of the element before it was lowered into the only empty space in the entire object. It sunk into the slot with such perfection that not even a hair could have fit around the edges. With the slightest tap of the tip of the tweezers, the element was nudged all the way in... and nothing happened. The man reached up and pulled off the magnification goggles, setting them aside, his brow furrowed in confusion. He had done everything right, he had checked and rechecked. He'd engineered every piece, every facet with absolute perfection. Months of work, years of theory, and now nothing? It was impossible.

The inventor stood up, his shirt hanging a bit too loose and a bit too large over his gaunt frame. His long, dark blond hair was tied back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of the way and his face was darkened by stubble he had been too distracted to remove. He crouched down, looking at the object at eye level, trying to focus as if he had the ability to see into the machine, to dissect it, to identify and target the problem with x-ray accuracy. He scrunched up his face, running it all through in his head.

"You don't have to look so disappointed. It's working." The voice was unexpected, startling the inventor as he rose up, seeing a young man leaning against his makeshift shelf... except he wasn't a man, not quite. Sure, he was tall and lean with long dark black hair pulled into a ponytail much like his own, but his eyes were decidedly purple, just like the marks running down his face from his temples to his cheeks before angling back towards the corners of his jaw. The lines continued down his neck before branching off across his pectorals and down along his abdomen. Perfect circles throbbed with purple light on his shoulders, surrounded by darker pigmentation that looked almost like scales or shattered stone. The figure turned his head, his pointed ears highlighted in the moonlight.

"Wh-Who are you?" the inventor asked. The figure smiled softly.

"My dear Aaron, I am the one you summoned." he said, gesturing toward the object in the clamps. The inventor looked at his creation and then back at the figure.

"That's impossible, it's not doing anything." he said. The figure smiled softly again before approaching the workbench. He reached out, his hand showing the same dark cracked stone scales. A sharp tipped finger reached down into the exposed interior of the device before brushing a tiny metal filing off of two circuits. With the short eliminated, a rich reddish-violet light began to pour out of the panels on the side of the object, pulsing like a slow, relaxed heartbeat.

"Things are not always as they appear." the figure whispered, "And sometimes hard work and dedication lead to great accomplishments." he said, looking into Aaron's brown eyes. Aaron blushed and looked away. The figure reached out and lifted Aaron's chin back, looking deeper into those eyes, "The only question left, Aaron, is what you would like to accomplish next."

5 MONTHS LATER

A vast, rippling aurora of pink light stretched across the evening sky in arches and streamers. It had grown steadily, night by night. Even Portland's frequent overcast had not blocked it, serving only to scatter the rose colored hue across the city... but tonight there were no clouds and the aurora was on full display. Nine Mercer stood at the window of his house, his copper colored bangs framing his face, his short cropped ponytail sticking out from the back of his head. A steady chirping buzz came from an instrument sitting on the windowsill, the PKE meter's antenna rising and falling ever so slightly as it documented the nearly impossible levels of supernatural activity outside... but Nine didn't need a PKE meter to tell him how much things had deteriorated.

Having the window open brought all sorts of evidence of just how far Portland had fallen. Dogs barked at wayward spectres, screams carried on the wind from people and ghosts alike. Entire neighborhoods had been abandoned. Schools had been closed. Nearly every monument from around town had decided to either leave their vigil or defend their territory vigorously... and it wasn't just Portland. Nearly every chapter of the Ghostbusters had fallen, leaving the New York and Chicago chapters as the final lines of defense.

Nine's fingers balled up into a fist before he punched his wall, the plaster thumping but not breaking as the incredibly thick navy blue paint managed to keep it all together. It was an old house but well built. It also seemed to have a good history. Even when ghosts got close, they didn't seem to pass through the walls. Some houses were like that. Some seemed to have been blessed by the histories they lived, rewarding their owners for the happy memories and the imprint of a life well lived. It all came down to psychokinetic energy in the end. It was the legacy of the living and the dead. Nine just wished he felt more useful than a corpse.

After another moment of contemplation, Nine went back over to his computer, waking it up from its slumber with a shake of the mouse. He sunk down into his chair as the screen snapped on. With just a few practiced clicks, the webcam light snapped on and a pop up window showed Nine just what was visible in the livestream. Within a few moments a counter started ticking upwards, indicating that at least a few people were watching.

"Greetings to the resistance, and no doubt hello to the OCG agent tasked with ensuring that we have not broken our moratorium on conducting unlicensed acts of supernatural elimination... I bet your evening is going to be very entertaining." Nine said as he picked up a book from his end table, leaning back in his chair. The book had a rich crimson red cover, emblazoned with dark black ink to illustrate a spectre chained up on the cover. Archaic font presented the title as 'Tobin's Spirit Guide.' Nine opened the cover and flipped through the pages that had yellowed with age, the paper thick and sturdy almost like papyrus.

"Today's lesson is all about the sandman, or more accurately.... Sandmen? Sandpeople?" Nine considered, turning the book around to show an incredibly detailed black and white depiction of a robed ghost with a swollen, washed out looking face, "It is a spirit I fear may have already infiltrated our region. I can only imagine that is the reason that the commission has forbidden anyone to act as Ghostbusters when we are facing more supernatural threats than any other time in history." Nine explained, "But, if it is the work of a sandman, we can be our own salvation. Lucid dreaming, our own imagination and resourcefulness, all of it will help us to wake up and work together toward common purpose."

Nine smiled, feeling rather proud of himself as he reached to end the livestream. It was short and sweet. He saved his deep fives for the weekend, going more in depth into various topics and lore. Nine exhaled slowly as he looked back at the webpage, wondering if any of the viewers had left comments or questions. As he waited for updates that never came, something unexpected caught his eye. The teenager leaned forward uncertainly, trying to focus on what seemed out of place. It would have been easy to miss at first since Nine's webpage was plastered with Ghostbuster jargon, making the targeted ads at the banner and sidebar stand out all the more.

"What in the hell is EctoTech?" Nine asked, clicking on the link. It rerouted to a streamlined, high end site with all the polished webdesign of a designer brand's storefront. There were vague quotes about safety and security along with glossy, professionally produced portraits of what seemed to be a new brand of wrist watch... but the waveform being used as an artistic background to the pictures was more than familiar, it was the baseline reading from a PKE meter.

Nine was on the edge of his seat, squeezed right up to his desk as he poured through the C2 Corporation's website. It was apparently a local company and its flagship product was about to launch. The EctoTech watch claimed to be a ghost repellent, using state of the art PKE technology to ward away the spirits. It even vaguely referenced the 'elite and unethical hoarding of technology' by unnamed supernatural eliminators. Nine didn't know whether it was best to be shocked, offended, outraged or intrigued... but if it really worked, if this watch really did ward off ghosts, it was going to change everything.

****

Night had fallen, but Portland had become the city that never reaped. Everyone had adjusted to the new normal in their own way. Some never left their homes while others revelled in the chaos. The streets belonged to the fearless after sunset. Hooligans, punks and criminals ran roughshod with ghouls, demons and spectres. If there was a single equalizer that brought everyone together, though, it had to be food and the Slice as Nice pizzeria was the king of the midnight craving. Even as headless horsemen had upgraded and currently rode motorcycles down the street, the pizzeria never stopped taking orders.

The harsh light of the yellowed plastic sign was a beacon in the night, shining down on the beat up delivery truck out front and the small courtyard out back where a trio of dumpsters waited. It seemed they didn't have to wait long. The back door swung open as Carl emerged, his hairy arms each hoisting over-stuffed thirty two gallon garbage bags stuffed with the general food waste that a restaurant produced given typical health regulations. Pizza sauce sloshed around at the bottom of the bags, marinating excess dough, meat that could not be re-used and cheese that had gotten too tacky or died out. On the top of all of it, like the crust riding a mantle of magma, were the few pizzas that didn't pass muster.

Carl used his elbow to lift the black plastic lid of the dumpster before hoisting one bag over the edge, hearing it land with a satisfying plop. Carl was in his mid forties, his bald head glinting in the harsh light of the pizzeria's sign. What hair he lacked on his scalp he had more than made up for with a coarse dark brown beard usually kept behind a beard net. The owner-operator paused for a moment to look up at the aurora in the sky, his eyes narrowing a bit as he saw a flying pumpkin being pulled by twin unicorns. He let out a sigh and decided to get back to work, reaching for the lid before his hand instinctively froze.

Sitting there, on the edge of the dumpster, was a particularly robust looking rat. Its dusty grayish-brown fur seemed healthy. Beady black eyes peered out in seemingly every direction while the pinkish ears and pinkish nose quirked, its tiny digits so nimble and dextrous despite their size. A long cord like tail hung off the edge of the dumpster, as much for balance as anything. The rat looked at Carl and Carl looked back. No doubt in the rat's mind it was hoping this human would allow it the veritable feast awaiting in the dark depths of the dumpster. It had grown an affinity for the complex spices used in Slice as Nice's sauce, the particular brand of cheese used, even the occasionally discarded paper cups of fountain drinks. Carl, however, did not appreciate the rat's affections for his cuisine.

"Get out of here!" Carl yelled, though the rat did not move. Carl debated for a moment on what to do. The last thing he wanted was to startle the rat INTO the dumpster and then have to fish it out... Then again, did he have to fish it out? Carl threw caution to the wind and charged at the rat, hoping to get it past its frozen-in-fear state. The sight of the chef coming after him did the trick and the rat jumped, arching through the air and into the night. It had been an instinctive leap, the rat landing on the far corner of the metal rim, jumping again as the plastic lid came slamming down behind him. The creature landed on the ground and took several bounding lunges, making it as far as the corner storm drain - a storm drain the rat had known quite well until recently.

Instead of finding a dark nook to hide in, the rat's paws came down into a particularly thick, particularly viscous blue slime. The rat pulled back, but the slime stuck, crackling with potent energy. The rat's beady black eyes turned glowing blue, a haze of energy radiating out from the edges, the brown fading from the fur until it was bluish black. Images, thoughts and emotions poured into the creature, but it did not simply override the rat's own experiences, it elevated them as well. Its appreciation of food remained, and the creature's processing power expanded, bringing contour and detail to vague connections. The rat's glowing blue eyes considered the meaning of life, the frame of his world, and... a very familiar, very primitive sound lilting through the air. Despite how crude it was, the rat recognized it, and it meant only one thing.

Casting its fear away, the rat bounded back up the street, shooting past the courtyard and around the front of Slice as Nice, heading right for the old black truck. It had been the sort of vehicle that had no doubt been used long before its driver obtained it, no longer able to maintain that glossy sheen that most cars had. The hood was matte black and the edges of the fenders seemed to betray the deepest metal shell, crudely painted black again once more. Only the glowing placard on the roof, a replica of Slice as Nice's glowing sign, signified that it was anything more than a junker. The rat slowed as it approached, sitting up on its haunches, tiny arms resting against its stomach as it looked at the delivery boy with new, enhanced eyes.

Shane leaned back in his seat, a battered blue baseball hat. The bleached cotton white fringe sticking out beneath the curved brim of the snapback contrasted the otherwise dark hair shaved short in the back, though a lonely braid of hair left as a memento to his youth rested across his shoulder. Shane was eighteen, happy to be employed and attempting to learn how to play the flute. His lips were pressed against the mouthpiece as he tried to play, his fingers testing to see if he could elicit notes that sounded more like music than the whine of a midnight banshee.

The rat listened in appreciation, not just for the music, but for the human as well... The young man was the one human that had shown him kindness over the years, sharing willingly what others tried to hide away. The rat lowered back down onto its front paws and approached the truck, the movement enough in the glowing light of the pizzeria to draw Shane's attention. The music stopped and a smile crept across the young man's lips. He carefully and slowly opened the door to his truck, trying not to spook the rat.

"Hey there little guy, ya hungry? I've got a double order of french bread pizza sticks that some guy stiffed me." Shane said with a smile, relieved that the rat had not elected to run away. He reached down into a crinkly paper bag and pulled out a quartet of cheese encrusted, cheese stuffed breadsticks coated with an eclectic mix of spices. His painted fingernails crumbled the breadsticks into little bits and cast them across the prainslicked parking lot as if he was feeding birds. The rat ran over, as it had always done, picking up the little bits with its tiny hands, nibbling with long, blunt teeth, savoring the flavors - no, worshipping them. They were so rich, so intricate, so divine... and this human shared them freely.

The rat wanted so much to share with the human that, yes, he was in fact hungry... and he was thankful. This human wasn't afraid, this human wasn't cruel, this human wasn't selfish. He wished the other humans would fall in line, that they would follow this human's example. The rat looked up at the human, able to truly see him for the first time... His fair face, his kind eyes, and the braid of hair that almost seemed like a tail of his own. That thought sparked something in the rat, a kinship, a connection, a... desire. The rat sat back up on its haunches, looking at the human in a new way.

"What's wrong, getting tired of pepperoni?" Shane asked, although it was only then that he realized that the rat's colors weren't quite right - that its fur was a little unearthly, that its eyes weren't just reflecting light, they were in fact glowing. As hesitation and doubt crept into the delivery boy's mind, the rat could sense it. It was like a glowing ember of love and acceptance was flickering and threatening to go out. The rat could not let that happen.

Once more, the rat dropped back onto all fours and bounded across the parking lot. It used its natural ability to jump seemingly impossible distances, not simply jumping into the battered truck, but onto the human's lap. It ran up his arm before taking a position on his shoulder. Energy crackled from its tiny hands, his claws digging into Shane's shoulder, still tainted with slime. The rat's tail slipped around the back of the human's neck comfortingly, skin against skin. Shane's head slipped back, his pupils turning darker before the black spread across the entire surface of his eyes.

Shane's back arched as the energy crackled through his spine before branching out into his soul. He felt animal instinct in every twitch of his muscle, his stomach rumbling with hunger, his mind tingling with possibility, and ears burning with heat as his heart beat harder and harder. The rat sunk its claws deeper, not just into the delivery boy's shoulder, but his very essence. Now he could thank Shane, now he could share everything with him, now he could make him his best self...

The delivery boy's ears began to grow, stretching outward, getting a bit thinner as they enlarged. Light transferred through the thinning skin, making them glow almost pink. Shane's nose grew rosier as well, his nostrils flaring just a bit wider. His dark black eyes blinked slowly, his mouth hanging open. His normally very nice smile began to shift as his middle teeth began to grow longer, aching and throbbing as they did so. Shane's chest rose and fell with heated breath's, his mind struggling to adjust even as velvet soft fur began sprouting from the collar of his shirt, spreading out across his chest, creeping down and down and down until a fluff of white peeked out from the gap between his shirt and his pants.

A heated breath blasted through his sharpened, enlarged teeth. A pain in his ass forced the delivery boy to adjust his posture, rising up to let a growing, wriggling mass of skin flex its way free from where it had been trapped. No longer pinched or squished, the growing prehensile tail surged outwards, making Shane moan, a bead of precum leaking from his cock as he felt his tail push out inch after inch after inch, slipping out across the truck's seat like an uncoiling python. The sensation was amazing, especially as the base thickened, pulling his ass cheeks apart a little as a downy coating of gray fuzz sprouted and spread across each globe. The fur spread around his hips, connecting with the white fur surrounding his groin.

A pop echoed in the cab of the truck, then another, then a third. Shane's face was pushing forward to make more room as his teeth shifted. His nose blunted, his cheeks twitched as whiskers began to sprout, pushing out from his tender skin. The dark stubble that had been his sideburns pushed out thicker, creeping down his jaw bone, advancing inch by inch before it reached his chin as it pointed, a tuft of black growing out into a slight curve. The black frame of hair gradually faded to gray on his cheeks, over his lips, around his eyes and across his brow. Fur grew up along his ribs, connecting to the ungainly plumes of hair that had grown out longer and longer from his pits.

With every shift, every change, every adjustment, his clothes hung just a little differently. His shirt was baggy and loose on his svelte, lithe furry form but his pants were growing tighter and tighter as his balls plumped and rounded, fur covering his sack. Shane groaned as he felt something hot and slick and wet envelop his cock, climbing up from base to tip until the whole thing was sunk inside something protective, something welcoming, something amazing. The delivery boy's hands slipped down, pulling the waistband of his activewear pants and underwear down, revealing his ample furry balls and his fat, plump furry sheath.

A grin crossed the changing rat-boy's face even as it pushed into a muzzle. His fingers reached out, pausing as he saw that his painted nails had grown out into long, sharp claws. He wiggled them, seeing how dextrous they were, how formidable and tactile, and then he stroked his sheath. He quivered with delight, and so too did the rat on his shoulder, their experiences connected and joined. A gush of faintly ectoplasmic precum erupted from his sheath before a fat, purple cock head emerged, followed by inch after inch of veiny plump cock.

Clawed, rat fingers wrapped around it and began to slide up and down. It seemed that marinating in the sheath had allowed him to grow longer and bigger in short order. As more of his mouse meat emerged, he wrapped a second hand around his length, pistoning up and down. With no restraint, no resistance and wild abandon, the changes accelerated further. The fur wrapped and coiled around his legs, his feet rippling and shifting until long, sharp claws tore through the tips of his shoes. His tail twitched and flailed on the tuck seat. His ears stuck out from the sides of his baseball hat and his blacked white fringe matched the fur on his chest and stomach so well.

The rat on Shane's shoulder loved the shared experience, admiring and enjoying the perfectly sublime creature that Shane had turned into. He smelled like a rat, he looked like a rat, and yet he looked like himself at the same time. He looked like what a kind, generous creature should be... but that wasn't all that the rat had wanted. Thanking Shane was one thing, but he had wanted the other humans to follow in his example, to follow him, to follow suit... to become like him... Appreciation turned to ambition and the rat dug into Shane's shoulders harder.

A moan escaped the delivery boy's shoulders as he came, sending out rope after rope of thick rat jizz across the steering wheel and dashboard of his truck. He shuddered and panted as he came, his balls already feeling as if they were refilling for another salvo... but as much as Shane wanted to keep going, he knew he had work to do. He had something to deliver to the people - not a pizza, but a purpose. A clawed hand reached over and lifted the flute from the seat of the truck, bringing it to his lips. The silhouette he cut was profound, with his stylish fringe sticking out from beneath the brim of his hat, to his mouse muzzle, to the little tuft of a goatee hanging down from his chin.

Sound erupted from the flute once more, but this time it was not simply noise. It was music, elegant and profound, spilling from the truck in wave after wave. The music was strange, as if that combination of notes had never been heard before by humans. It seeped outward, carrying farther than it should, carrying on the wind. Shane and the rat on his shoulder were connected, amplifying their desires and ambitions, turning it into an entirely new form. The music crawled outward, pouring into any ear that would listen, and in moments the door to Slice as Nice shuddered as Carl stepped out, not even entirely sure why he had in the first place, but his feet wouldn't stop. Led by each measure of the music, Carl advanced forward toward the truck.

A growing smile spread across Shane's muzzle as he looked at his employer now working for him. The music changed, the tune going from a general melody to a rather specific solo. Instructions were shared acoustically and Carl obeyed. His bread net was pulled away from his face and discarded. His chef's apron was cast aside. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the paunch he had developed and his shoes were stepped out of, one after the other. Socks sunk into the puddles on the ground, feeling the coarse grit of the asphalt, but still he did not stop.

Carl unbuttoned his pants and let them slide down before he removed his stretched out underwear as well, leaving a trail of clothing until he stood there before Shane, naked, his dad-bod revealed for all to see. Shane licked his lips before he presented his feral rat cock, still playing music from his flute. Carl crouched down, his stomach growling with a placed hunger as his lips spread over Shane's fat rat head. He began to suckle and slurp with a hungry, greedy tongue, his head bobbing up and down faster and harder.

The music fluttered slightly until Shane got a handle on it once more, focusing his music. As he watched, Carl's ears bloated outwards, rounding and stretching from his bald head, making him look more rat-like in moments... but that was nothing compared to his bearded face stretching out each time he pulled back, his muzzle growing in like taffy being stretched. Shane moaned hard, his cock starting to leak again. Carl guzzled it down lewly, reaching out to brace himself, his fingernails pressing and pushing out into claws, digging into the seat of the truck.

As the music flowed in one ear and out the other, stripping away Carl's personal tastes with it, he suckled and savored the pre, his stomach bloating outward, rounding and plumping. His pectorals got heavier, his arms and legs thicker, and his ass cheeks quivered as his own rat tail began to unspool, pushing outward behind him. It descended inch by inch until it hit the ground and even then it kept going, curling and coiling a bit. The fur continued to spread across the man's burly shoulders until only a wriggling pink nose, fleshy ears and his meaty hands were bare. The claws poking out through his distended, wet socks hinted that his feet had followed suit.

Shane broke the music just long enough to cum, rewarding his first convert with a maw full of his own special kind of 'cheese'. Carl gulped it down, whiskers twitching before he panted for breath, obedient and eager to obey. Shane looked at the new rat, seeing the hints of who he had been before even through his new visage... His face fur was thickest and the fur on his head was short. There was something about him, even with beady black eyes that hinted at the man he had been, but now he served a higher purpose. He would not persecute rats, he would help them. He would feed them and pleasure them. He was the perfect follower for Shane - except that name wasn't quite right, not any more. The delivery boy with the ghostly rat on his shoulder searched their collective memories until they settled on the perfect new identity. They... were the piper.

****

Gentle ambient music filled Miguel's ears, clinging loosely to a central melody coming from a piano. While he had not invested a lot in many things, he cherished his earbuds. Even on long, cold, sleepless nights, they brought him as much comfort as his blankets. The eighteen year old was curled up on the bay window cushion, turning the little nook into his own bed. Even with the curtains closed, he could see the haze of pink dancing above Portland. Miguel's hair had been growing out and nearly reached his shoulders, the black tips dyed a robust purple instead of the blue he'd had for the previous year. Maybe it was an attempt to assert himself after everything that had changed.

A chirp interrupted the music for a moment, a notification coming in. Miguel reached onto the windowsill and lifted his phone, his eyes snapping shut as his finger triggered the screen to wake and bombard him with bright white light. After a moment he dared to open his eyes again, letting them adjust. The ambient music still played in the background, but his eyes sought out the notification. To his surprise, it came in the form of an email. Curiously, his fingers tapped it, bringing up the app. When his inbox loaded, he was even more surprised. The email had come from the Portland Public Schools account after a few months of absolute silence.

Miguel rolled onto his back, resting the base of the phone against his chest for a moment before even reading the email. It had seemed as if the world had come crashing down all at once. Within days of being ordered to cease Ghostbusting, state and city governments across the country had been forced to adopt laws and restrictions to keep people safe from the burgeoning paranormal threat. Ghosts fed off of psychokinetic energy and therefore were drawn to places with lots of people or historical importance. The schools had closed shortly thereafter, stranding Miguel and his friends in their senior year. Now, months later, an email...

Swallowing his reflection, Miguel looked back at his phone and opened the email. It was written in the usual flowery, diplomatic and politically antiseptic language designed to be inoffensive. It sympathized with the hardship of parents first and foremost. That, at least for Miguel, rang hollow. His father had been gone for three years and it was only the kindness of Angel's mother that kept a roof over his head. Miguel swallowed his bile and looked back at his phone, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. The shock had built gradually, with familiar phrases piling up until Miguel sat up in bed, a blanket draped over one shoulder, his pierced nipple glinting in the dim light of his phone.

"What in the hell?" he murmured, reading a passage that some school administrator had compiled, trying to explain how ghosts worked... and how it was going to be safe to return to school the following monday thanks to new equipment operating on the principle of PKE. The return was optional for the first two weeks as a pilot program. The EctoTech had been a generous donation by the owner and operator of Portland's own C2 corporation as a way to give stability back to the community. Miguel blinked in disbelief, looking across the room where Angel was deep asleep, his tawny chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm.

****

Sunlight had crept across the silver clouds, building little by little until the new day could not be ignored. The wild of the night had faded somewhat as the city's heartbeat changed. The citizens woke for a new day, their dreams fading like the night and taking the power of that untethered imagination with it. Many of the ghosts that had run roughshod over the city disappeared like nocturnal beasts, waiting for their next opportunity, leaving only the most pernicious to haunt during waking hours. Still, many had not slept well, leaving coffee shops bustling with activity.

As espresso, cold brew and potent teas brewed, lilting notes echoed from the hollow cavity of a well loved guitar. A long haired young man played with calloused fingers, strumming on the strings as he practiced his melody. A bandanna kept his long mane out of his eyes as he looked down, watching his fingers slide up and down the long neck of the instrument. Gabriel had been coming to the shop each morning since the schools closed. While everyone was waking up, he was putting a cap to his sleepless night.

The music was evocative, almost romantic with just a bit of cuban flare. Gabriel was quite good, although it had taken him a little longer to realize that his solo had become a duet. The guitar was no longer alone. It had become the skeleton to a richer song, a more robust song, one where each strum he played carried the lilting tune of a flute. Gabriel's ears perked at the music as his fingers seemed to start moving on their own, his tune shifting to blend into the flute's. Gabriel's eyes fluttered shut for a long moment and when they opened again, they were solid black.

The scruff that framed his cheeks began to grow out thicker, his skin puckering slightly before clear wiry whiskers began to emerge. Gabe's ears stretched wider and fuller, rounding outward. His nose twitched, the ochre tones bleaching from the tip as it took on a pinkish hue. The sounds of the coffee shop had fallen silent as well as the baristas were swept away by the music. Fleshy, thick rat tails descended from beneath their aprons as claws tore through their sensible work shoes. Their faces stretched out into muzzles as fur swept across their skin. Their pants bulged as their anatomy was enveloped and transformed. Even the air shifted, smelling of fur and flesh and pheromones.

Gabe rose to his feet, though they did not remain that for long. His toes stretched longer and longer as his toenails hardened and curved. His flip flops were pushed from his feet as they became paws. Fur stuck out from the ankle of his pants and his forearms were enveloped in the soft fuzz. His large, round ears twitched and his ass cheeks hugged the thick rat tail that slunk down lower and lower behind him. The baristas opened the front door of the coffee shop, allowing the flute music to flutter in. They stepped out onto the street, joining the growing crowd of rat-people following their leader. Gabriel followed suit, playing away on his guitar even as his face popped and snapped, contorting into a muzzle that would have enough room for his sharp, curved teeth - more or less.

Shane continued on down the street, playing his music, feeling the swelling power of his people. He could smell their musk on the wind. He could feel the beating of their hearts. He could feel their life, their energy, their connection flowing through him. The rat on Shane's shoulder nuzzled his neck, basking in that communal energy. There was safety in size and numbers both. They had at least thirty five now. Shane's song had been joined by a guitarist and a drummer, only amplifying the piper's melody. As far as the rat was concerned, it was all music to his ears.

****

The long, restless night had led to an even more restless morning for Miguel. He'd tossed and turned, barely slipping into unconsciousness. His dreams had been mostly lucid, though they'd become stranger in the last few minutes. He'd dreamed of being in a field of tall, tall grass... of springing from spot to spot, balancing precariously, always in search for cheese... At the mere thought of it, his whiskers twitched. Then, the realization that he had whiskers that twitched shook the eighteen year old awake.

Miguel sat bolt upright, panting in confusion, reaching up. Sure enough, his fingers felt wiry, spry whiskers extending from his cheeks. Looking down, he also saw a fleshy tail draped over the edge of his window box bed. Miguel jumped up, but the tail followed, and the feet that landed on the floor were anything but normal. Black claws clicked on the hardwood floor and Miguel's ears twitched. He looked around in panic, but Angel's bed was empty. Miguel's heart was racing so fast. It was the complete antithesis to the ASMR ambience playing through his earbuds. The sound of ocean waves, summer cicadas and a wind chime all filtered lightly into his ears.

"Angel?" Miguel called out, wandering out of the bedroom and down the narrow stairs, peeking into the kitchen. No sign of Angel or his mom. Angel checked the bathroom next, hesitating when he saw his reflection. He reached up to feel his mouse ears and whiskers. They looked pretty cute with his grown out hair, but this wasn't the time and real life wasn't some kind of instagram filter. Miguel swallowed gently and moved back into the house, though he slowed when he realized that the front door was open - not just open, wide open.

The young man moved to the doorway and looked out past the porch and down the tiny cement steps, seeing a shocking sight before him. The entire neighborhood, every last resident, were out in the streets... and they were changing. Hands twitched as claws grew in, clothes rumpled as tails grew out. Faces contorted into muzzles. They all seemed quite friendly with each other, rubbing and bumping, frolicking, moving to some unseen tune. Miguel looked around until he spotted one grayish-black rat boy with dreadlocks, the fur on his chin a little longer than one would expect, and an exposed manhood that was far more equine than human.

"ANGEL!" Miguel exclaimed in recognition before darting down the steps and into the street. As he moved away from the house, the reception on his earbuds cut out. The ambient oceanscape crackled, fizzled and dropped away, replaced with a melodic, haunting tune. Miguel's eyes widened as the music caught a hold of him. Sensing his presence, the rat boy that had once been Angel moved over. Miguel's mouth hung slightly agape as the blackness spread from his pupils to cover his eyes. The music was so beautiful, so perfect. Now Miguel's dreams made sense... He was meant to be a field mouse, frolicking and free.

Miguel had not been wearing much in the way of clothing to begin with, making his transformation all the more visible. What sparse hair he had under his arms grew in longer and thicker by the second while patches of black fur peeked out from his juvenile pectorals. The waistband of his boxers had hidden his more developed bush, but the hair creeping up from the underwear was soft and full. It crested to his navel before climbing higher, connecting to the thatch on his chest. Patches erupted from his elbows before spiraling down his legs.

Even as his feet wrenched and twisted, bones and ligaments and cartilage reworking themselves, he couldn't help but be drawn towards Angel and the source of that amazing music. While everyone around him were shifting and changing, the leader of their group was so far beyond them all. The piper played on his flute, his bleached cotton white hair ruffling in the breeze. His eyes were so glassy and yet so deep. His song was so rich and yet so simple. He was a contradiction, a paradox, an epiphany.

Miguel's ears swelled larger, flatter and rounder. His earbuds toppled out, clattering to the cement, proving no obstacle to the piper's tune. Shane kept playing, feeling the notes flow through him. The weight of the haunted rat on his shoulder was comforting, even fulfilling. It was as if he'd never been complete before. The piper's fingers moved up and down the firm length of the flute, coaxing out the music with a delicate and yet masterful touch. The suggestive nature of it gave him an idea and a grin crossed Shane's muzzle - at least as any could while playing.

The hypnotic tones became a little more lurid, a bit of spiciness working its way in. The rats moved closer, celebrating their communal connection. Furry body rubbed against furry body, clawed fleshy hands intertwining. Dark noses bumped, whiskers twitched, heads tilted and muzzles parted before tongues began to dance to the forbidden music flowing through them all. It seemed only right that Miguel found his way to Angel, the two connecting despite the changes.

Angel looked down at his roommate, his friend, practically his brother. There was almost a foot of difference between them. Angel felt a commanding power, a presence, a passion. He looked down into the mouse boy's eyes before he wrapped an arm around him, dipped him back and moved in to pepper his neck with nuzzles, kisses, and then nibbles. Miguel's back arched and his tail went straight out as he felt those sharp, curved teeth grazing his neck. It was so exotic, so romantic, and so right.

The two were far from the only ones enjoying their new station, the mood music encouraging kisses, nuzzles, gropes, then more. Miguel's boxers had already been riding low from the growth of his tail, but Angel's clawed fingers grasped the waistband and yanked them down to reveal the furry, meaty, bubble butt beneath. Angel turned his partner around and swept in from behind. The blunt, broad flat flare of his horse cock brushed along the underside of Miguel's tail until it found his quivering mouse hole. Miguel let out a soft squeak, his muzzled face scrunching up in anticipation. That was all the welcome that Angel needed.

With a strange pop and then an easy glide, Angel speared into Miguel. Miguel's stomach bulged slightly, filled with well more cock than any meal he'd ever eaten. Angel began to slide in and out, picking up pace, going faster and harder. He was far from the only one, though the Piper had taken a bit of interest. Angel was the only one that had not fully transformed into their new perfection. Some element from before had remained, had clung on... But he behaved like a rat, he heard the song of the others. For the Piper, that was enough.

****

If there was one primal drive in the universe, it had to be hunger... The quest for survival hinged on keeping the body running and it was no different between mouse or man. In the Piper's case, it was a little bit of both. Their growing army had descended on one of Portland's food pods for sustenance. The smell of the food was rich and robust, full of savory spices and cheeses, of soft drinks and beers, of meat and vegetable and anything they could get their paws on. It was a veritable paradise. Shane chewed through a hunk of discarded cheese he'd founded behind the Mexican truck before crumbling some off to feed to the rat on his shoulder. The glowing blue eyes closed as he gobbled down his own sustenance.

It was a rare break in the music, but its sway still held over the gathered rats. Trash cans rumbled as they were tipped over, allowing the ravenous crowd to tear through everything inside. It seemed that size did come with some advantages after all. The first to feed had satiated their hunger for food before, apparently, falling onto their other hungers. Soft squeaks of delight came as the rats began to pair off once more. The Piper walked among them, watching with pleasure as his converts fucked and sucked and fed and grew healthy and bountiful. He reached out, running his clawed fingers along their furry backs, stroking an occasional tail, although his enjoyment came to a rather abrupt hesitation when he heard a rather obnoxious diddy blaring from nearby.

It was crass, predictable, and nearly enough to shake Shane loose from the collective essence he had become as the Piper. The rat dug in deeper into his shoulder, feeling their connection falter and flicker. Shane's glassy eyes blinked as they remained the Piper, but it was still enough to draw the being's attention. The jingle was from Slice As Nice's rival, Pizza Parlor. Shane had mocked it even before he had become a delivery boy, but now? HIs taste in music had grown more sophisticated. Still, its biting presence had done one thing - it had drawn the Piper's attention to the lone television sitting on the counter of one of the food trucks.

Step by step, the being moved over to the television, reaching out to run his clawed paw over the surface of the device. Rats had not made time for such technology, but humans relied on it to share and connect. Piper wanted nothing more than to connect to his audience and Portland was a big enough city to have several television stations. A smile crossed the Piper's muzzle once more as he drew his flute up to his lips and began to play. The notes were clear, melodic, intricate and beautiful. The rats of the food pod ceased their feasting and rutting, rising up to full height. They began to gather as the Piper turned, leading the way on towards downtown. It was time for the performance of a lifetime.

****

The chirping of phones unanswered echoed through the studio. A wall of screens flickered; some were stuck at the end of the digital loop, others playing the same commercial over and over again. The water cooler burbled innocuously and the only other sound came from the soft, gentle huffs as the former weatherman furiously jacked off his new, proud, rathood. The flesh was so long, so slender, so firm and so full. His suit was rumpled and torn with patches of fur coming out from the shoulders, his well groomed hair now slick fur on top of his grey head. Black glassy eyes blinked, relieved that his existence had been so altered, that he had been granted a reprieve from the mundane life of a human and blessed by the sweet song of the Piper.

Shane stood, taking a rare break from his tune, looking out at the studio before him. It seemed so strange in person. On television it always looked like a cozy living room with a stone facade for the walls and a view of Portland behind... but there was no ceiling, just harsh lights. Then again, it was a stage and stages were meant to be performed on. There was a flutter in Shane's heart - or was it the rat's? Both? Was it stage fright? Was it the idea that so many people would hear the beautiful music they had to share? Or was it... a hum in the air, something vibrating that wasn't at all music. It was... electrical.

A shadow cast across the entrance to the shade a moment before a figure stepped out, garbed in a sleek black uniform. A red and white patch stood out in stark contrast from the shoulder, a ghost looking startled to have been trapped behind a ring and cross. He had to be strong to carry around the huge blue metal tank strapped to his back, the shape curving up and over with prongs above his head. Shane's eyes swept up the muscled, thick, strong body to the stern face looking back. A quirk crossed his lips as he brought his flute up and began to play his music. Surely one last human would be no obstacle to his big debut... but the figure did not move, did not change, did not so much as twitch. He only smiled.

"Sorry, not a fan." Dakota said, though his voice sounded strange in his own head thanks to the thick noise canceling headphones resting on his head. A finger depressed a switch on the slime blower before bright pink slime erupted from it. Shane lunged out of the way but the slime engulfed the weather man, soaking him through. His fear and doubt and hesitation, in fact every negative emotion he had felt about life in the last year were washed away, drowned out by a sense of contentment, safety, acceptance and love. The fur seemed to dissolve as the slime washed over him, leaving his fine suit ruined but a happy, sloppy smile on his face.

The piper grunted, bearing his sharp, curved teeth before he darted back the way he had come. He navigated obstacles with inhuman agility, bouncing from spot to spot, squeezing through gaps that seemed almost too small to fit. Splatters of slime peppered the floor behind him as Dakota barreled through, sending chairs flying and tables flipping over. The piper broke through the outer door and trudged down the steps. His crowd of assembled rats seemed confused and disoriented, but the Piper could fix that. He lifted his flute and began to play, but this time it was no lullaby.

Notes came out swiftly, building into a dramatic, fast tempo song. It sounded like a battle anthem and it was rallying the rats. They turned to charge the studio. All they had to do was relieve Dakota of his headphones, to let him hear the music. Dakota stopped at the entrance and hosed down the steps, then the guard rails. The rats slipped and skittered. One rat with long black and purple fur jumped over the obstacle with shocking agility. Dakota flipped the switch and with a thwick-thwick of his blaster, a slime tether hit the flying rat and a nearby lamp post. The tether contracted and yanked the rat back, sending him in a pendulum swing arcing back and forth.

Shane's lips pursed in concentration as he tried to change the music, to change the tune, to change the outcome of the entire performance, but his hands stung as a slime tether hit his flute and yanked it away. The music fell silent. Both Shane and the rat watched with glassy, glowing eyes as the flute clattered against the side of the studio and shattered. The two blinked in stunned shock at how abruptly it had all come to an end. That moment of shock was all Dakota needed. He pulled goggles down from his head, reached up to the neck of the slime back and pulled the release. The heavy hum grew heavier as the compressor worked overtime and the massive cannon-like head of the pack opened up and began to spray out a thick monsoon of slime.

The haunted rat squeaked as droplets began to land on its fur. It felt its awareness, its presence, its ambitions dulling and fading. Energy crackled, conducted through the slime, jumping from the rat to Shane to the asphalt below. The blue began to diminish from the rat's eyes but the creature still looked up at Shane, at the delivery boy, at the human that had shown him such kindness, watching as his muzzle contracted, his whiskers dissolved, his ears shrank. Only stubble remained along his cheeks, a hint of the fur he had once sported. The rat felt the instinct to run, to hide, to flee... but even as its body was blanched of the ectoplasmic influence, it knew it was safe with Shane, safe with the delivery boy.... At least as safe as it could be. After everything, the last thing the rat wanted was to be alone.

Dakota's boots squished their way down the slime covered steps until he was in the parking lot. He turned one way, then the other. Only one or two of the rat population tried to flee and slime tethers worked as effectively on them as anyone else. Warning lights began to flash as the pack ran out of its precious cargo. Dakota tried to be a little more careful with the last of it, remembering to hose down the rat that he'd hung from the light post. As the last dribbles dripped from the pack's emitters, there was a general wriggling in the parking lot - a parking lot that looked like it had been hit with a slime tsunami.

The crowd of rats had been returned to their humanity. Some had clothes, some did not. There were men and women, old and young, all looking around in a general confusion - all except for Shane. He stood meekly in the middle, remembering what he had done... what they had done. He reached up to his shoulder, a hand petting the anxious, nervous rat. At the touch, the rat nuzzled against him, its heart beating so fast, its claws still anchored in his shoulder. Dakota looked around, making sure there was no stray whisker or mouse ear before he pulled his headphones down. Shane blushed a bit at the situation, slime dangling in thick strings from his baseball hat. Dakota moved up, sizing up the delivery boy and the rat, assessing their threat.

"A little help?!" A familiar voice exclaimed. Dakota turned, seeing Miguel hanging from a slime tether, dangling from the light by his hip. Dakota sighed softly, shaking his head.

****

Thunder... Thunder again... Oregon was known for rain, maybe even more than its fair share, but Nine never had remembered quite that much thunder. The aurora danced above the clouds, making them glow against the night's sky almost as if some massive alien ship was hovering just above. Splotches of pink and purple were sparked with flashes of electric blue and eerie purple. The rain came down in heavy drops, soaking into his red sweatshirt until it was a dark burgundy color. His long split bangs stuck to his face, almost stinging against his cold, clammy skin. He'd made it almost all the way to his destination until he paused, seeing another individual standing on the opposite street corner, just as miserable as he was. Nine smiled.

"Hey Miguel." Nine said, waving. Miguel squished his lips up a bit in a sort of meek expression before giving a small smile of his own. He had chosen a black sweatshirt and torn up grey jeans, though the purple in his hair really stuck out. Nine looked both ways before jogging across the street. Miguel turned and the two fell into step, walking down the slight dip in the road that ran alongside Angel's house.

"Did you hear about what happened?" Miguel asked. Nine nodded.

"Dakota warned me... I guess I was plan B, but he was way better prepared. I think he said something about moving his bed down into his basement where it was better shielded." Nine said. Miguel shivered a bit, half at the thought of living in a basement and half because it was so wet and dark. The two teenagers passed beneath the pale glow of the street lights, feeling no warmth or comfort from them.

"Did you see that email from school?" Miguel asked. Nine's green eyes widened.

"Oh my god, yeah! I tried looking up about that EctoTech stuff. I need to get my hands on some of that stuff. It sounds pretty advanced! I think I've forgotten everything from last quarter at school, too. I'm going to be so far behind." he groaned.

"At this point I think anything would help, but what I don't get is how they got away with it." Miguel said, slowing to a stop, looking up at Nine, "The OCG specifically and directly told us to stop Ghostbusting, and then this company comes up with the same sort of tech and they're so confident in it that they're using it as a way to open the schools up with practically no notice."

"Miss Martin's going to have a lot harder time now that an officially licensed Ghostbuster is back on the scene. It's just a matter of paperwork for him to make us official too." Nine beamed. Miguel shook his head a little.

"It still feels weird." Miguel said, "It's like they're playing with a different set of rules. They aren't the first offshoot to try and play around with PKE tech, and it's pretty much never gone well. Remember when you told me about those Ghost Smashers? They just blew up ghosts rather than trapping them and all that energy pooled together into one Megaspook? What if this C2 company's just going to make things worse?"

"If they do, and if our school is going to be ground zero for it, I guess we just have to be ready to deal with whatever goes down." Nine said, "After all, we're the Ghostbusters." he said, putting an arm on Miguel's shivering shoulder, "Now, for the love of god, can we go dry out and warm up somewhere?" he asked. Miguel grinned and nodded, leading the way back to Angel's house.

****

The door to the apartment swung open unbidden, shuddering as it rammed into the edge of the kitchen countertop. It wasn't the first time as the wood was a bit dented where the corner always seemed to impact. Shane was far more focused on the precious cargo in his arms as he moved in, carrying a large terrarium. He made it through the narrow kitchen and over to the low, flat coffee table, lowering the tank down into its temporary home.

Sensing an end of the rather awkward journey, the terrarium's occupant edged out from beneath the arch of wood. The rat looked around with its beady, glassy eyes, seeing the apartment outside of it. Everything seemed so comfortable, so cozy, so much like Shane. The delivery boy crouched down, his dark stubble clashing with his bleached white hair. He looked through the glass at his new pet rat and smiled.

"It'll be okay, Piper. You're going to be safe and warm and well fed. I'm going to make sure you're always okay." Shane said before he slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it, riffling through before he slid the lid of the terrarium open. The interior of the tank had been tricked out with a variety of terrain, but it had made sense not to overload it before he at least got it back to the apartment. The rat watched as an exercise wheel, water bottle, a bowl and other accoutrements were set in place.

Every instinct told Piper to flee, to run, to jump, to hide - every instinct except one. Even with the ectoplasmic influence washed away, the rat knew it was safe with Shane. Even if it couldn't understand his words, it remembered his kindness, his gentle nature, his willingness to share and feed him. The rat watched its glassy world enriched by the new additions and, upon smelling something close to food, he waddled over to the bowl and began to crunch his way through some pellets.

Shane smiled with such great relief and warmth at how well his friend was adapting to the captivity. He made sure everything was just right before he eased back and sunk down onto the couch, spreading his legs wide. He reached up to scratch behind his ear, wincing a bit as some dried pink slime flaked off. No doubt he'd be finding it in the hard to reach places for some time. The delivery boy reached for the end table out of habit, to pick up his flute... a flute that no longer existed. He wrinkled his lips a bit, looking back at Piper, wondering if maybe it was time to pick up a different hobby.