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Fandom: Denied Operations (X-Over)
Rating: General
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this. It's just for fun.
DENIED OPERATIONS: BUSTED
New York City, 1984.
After the big showdown, they were expecting a ticker tape parade down Broadway. Instead, once they were away from the cameras and the crowds, they were arrested, shoved into a nondescript van with tinted windows and driven to an unknown location.
“Where are we?” Ray Stantz demanded, once the van’s door was opened.
“It smells like New Jersey,” said Venkman. He spoke to the cop who had arrested them. “Hey, buddy! What’s going on?”
“Keep your pants on, pal,” said the cop. He was older, square-jawed, wiry with pale brown hair. His uniform did not fit him that well. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
They were hauled out of the van into a huge parking garage. More men appeared, only these were not dressed as police. They wore severe black suits and mirrored sunglasses, even though they were inside. They flanked the four men, two on each side, and marched them away from the van, toward an elevator.
“You guys aren’t cops, are you?” said Winston.
No one answered. Winston glanced at the others. Ray looked like he was about to wet himself. Egon was frowning. Venkman didn’t look too happy either, especially since their escorts were ignoring his verbal jabs.
They were escorted upstairs, to the 14th floor of the building. The elevator doors opened to reveal a large, empty office space. Windows along one wall were covered by drawn shades. The air smelt strongly of dust. At the far end of the wide space was a door that, at one time, must have led to a supervisor’s office. A pale light could be seen shining underneath it.
As they were marched toward the door, it opened. A woman stepped out of the office. She was slim and pretty with shoulder-length black hair and dark eyes. She wore black slacks and a white blouse beneath a well-worn leather jacket.
Her dark eyes flashed over the four men and her lips twisted into a frown. She gave the fake policeman a hard look.
“Gee, Bill. Don’t you think this is going a little overboard?”
The woman gestured vaguely at the handcuffs and silent guards.
“You heard the boss-lady, Sabrina,” said the cop. “Take no chances.”
“Miss, could you tell us what’s going on?” asked Venkman.
The woman’s brow furrowed. She glanced behind her, into the office. “You’ll find out in just a few moments, Doctor Venkman.”
She stepped aside and the man, Bill, gestured at the door. “Gentlemen, after you.”
They were guided through the door into an office that looked as if it had been hastily assembled from left-over furnishings. There was a leather couch that had seen better days, a metal desk and, behind it, a creaking office chair.
Seated in that chair was a woman. She had dark blonde hair framing an angular, pretty face. Her eyes were brown, gleaming with intelligence, and her mouth was expressive. The woman wore a dark green, sleeveless dress and diamond studs glittered in her ears.
Winston thought she looked like an upper-class WASP housewife. Someone who organized backdoor cookouts or neighborhood rummage sales, not kidnappings.
She studied the four men for a moment, before standing and walking around the desk. Leaning against it, her mouth formed a moue of irritation.
“Well, gentlemen, you’ve certainly made a mess of things.”
“Excuse me, miss,” said Ray. “We just sort of saved the world!”
The look the blonde gave Ray was pitying. “You honestly believe that, don’t you, Doctor Stantz?”
“You seem to know who we are, miss,” said Egon. “Could you tell us who you are, please?”
“And what gives you the right to shanghai us like this?” Venkman demanded.
“I’m Mrs. Stephens,” said the blonde. Her tone was clipped. “As for what gives me the right to bring you four here? How about the fact that I’m going to have to clean up the enormous mess you’ve made.”
“You work for the government,” said Winston.
“It would be more accurate to say that we work with the government, Mr. Zedmore,” said Mrs. Stephens. “The organization I represent operates outside the usual channels.”
“Like the mafia?” said Venkman.
“Nah.” The man, Bill, grinned at them. “Mobsters are like kittens compared to us.”
“Bill...” The brunette frowned, exasperated, at her companion.
“You said you have to clean up our mess,” said Egon. “What did you mean? We defeated Gozer and saved the world. What’s your organizations interest in this matter, Mrs. Stephens?”
“You haven’t defeated Gozer, Doctor Spengler,” said Mrs. Stephens. “You destroyed his physical projection, but Gozer is still very much alive. What’s worse is that the door Gozer opened isn’t completely shut.”
“He can come back?” asked Ray, his round face going pale.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stephens. “Of course, this entire situation could have been avoided if you hadn’t brought the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster together in the first place.”
“Hey, lady! That wasn’t our fault! That was that idiot, Peck! When he shut off the containment grid. . . .”
“Which shouldn’t have been active in the first place, Doctor Venkman,” said Mrs. Stephens, hotly. “The ectoplasmic revenants you’ve been containing should have been dispersed. You had the technology to do it, crude as it is.”
“If they could have been dispersed, lady, Egon would have said so,” protested Winston. “Right, Egon?”
Egon said nothing.
The others stared at him.
Venkman took a breath and released it in a burst of irritation. “Egon? You lied?”
“No,” said Egon. “I was unaware that the ghosts could be dispersed when we first constructed the containment grid.”
“And when you became aware of it?” asked Mrs. Stephens, arching her slim eyebrows.
“I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to conduct additional experiments on the entities,” explained Egon. “They were safely stored in the containment unit, and they would have remained there if Peck had not shut off the grid.”
He directed the last, hotly, at Mrs. Stephens.
“Ma’am, I think we’re getting a little off-track,” said the brunette in careful tones.
The blonde woman nodded. “Yes, we are. Thank you, Sabrina.”
“What are you going to do with us?” asked Ray. He glanced at the guards, standing grimly behind them. “Are you going to, um, disappear us?”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “I’m going to shut you down.”
“Hold on!” protested Venkman. “You can’t do that!”
“I can and I am,” said Mrs. Stephens. “Tomorrow, 54 Park West will be declared structurally unsound and scheduled for demolition. That should slam the door on Gozer. Your business license will be revoked. As we speak, government agents are siezing all of your equipment and files.”
“What about the public?” demanded Egon. “You think they’ll just forget about all of this?”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “However, we’ve had some experience managing similar incidents, Doctor Spengler. By tomorrow morning, there won’t be anything left of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and Mr. Peck’s claims of illicit hallucinogens will have some basis in truth.”
“You’re going to plant evidence,” said Egon.
“And feed the public a bunch of lies,” added Venkman.
“Just enough to muddy the waters,” said Mrs. Stephens.
Ray stared at the woman. “You’ll make us into the bad guys.”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “At worst, you’ll be discredited. Exposure to radiation from your unlicensed nuclear accelerators caused hallucinations and psychosis.”
“And our clients?” asked Winston.
“A bunch of gullible nutjobs,” said the man, Bill. “Once the mud starts to fly, they’ll stay as far from you as possible.”
“You’ve covered all the angles,” said Venkman.
Winston thought he sounded tired and just a little impressed.
“As I said, Doctor Venkman, we’ve had some experience managing similar incidents.”
“I have a question,” said Winston. “You could have done all that without bringing us here. Why did you do that?”
Mrs. Stephens looked sad. “I was thinking the four of you might have been viable recruits for our organization. However, having studied your histories, seeing you in action and meeting you, I don’t believe that would be in anyone’s interest. Mister Maxwell will drive you home.”
Clearly, the meeting was over. Mrs. Stephens returned to her seat behind the desk. The man, Agent Bill Maxwell, opened the office door and the four Ghostbusters were led away, back to the van.
Sabrina Duncan shut the door behind them and turned to look at Mrs. Stephens.
“May I ask you something, ma’am?”
“Of course, Sabrina.”
“Why didn’t you recruit the Ghostbusters? What set you against them?”
“I suppose you could say it all came down to personalities,” admitted Mrs. Stephens. “I had my doubts before I met them, but wanted to give them a chance, in person and under duress. Venkman is too undisciplined, Stantz is too idealistic and Doctor Spengler is too inquisitive for his own good.”
Sabrina nodded. “What about Winston Zedmore?”
Mrs. Stephens smiled, wanly. “He is far too loyal to his friends. He wouldn’t be able to keep them out of his life and vice versa. They would inveigle themselves into our midst and what then? Can you imagine those four surviving an encounter with someone like Jason Voorhees? Or dealing with the Spectacular Optical Corporation?”
“They did stop Gozer, ma’am,” pointed out Sabrina. “When push came to shove, they did save the world.”
Mrs. Stephens’ answer was clipped.
“They got lucky.”
* * * * *
True to Mrs. Stephens’ word, when the Ghostbusters arrived at the firehouse the place had been cleaned out. They were dropped off a block from the building by Bill Maxwell, who removed the cuffs one at a time.
“Adios, fellas,” said the spook, then pulled away, vanishing into traffic.
When they reached the firehouse, their receptionist, Janine, rushed out to meet them.
“They took everything!” she shouted. “These government guys showed up with warrants and . . .”
“We know, Janine,” said Peter, glumly. “Any messages?”
“You know?” Janine glared at Venkman. “How do you know? Where have you guys been? The fight’s been all over the t.v.!”
“Any calls?” repeatd Peter.
Janine frowned. “Well, no, but. . . .”
“Let it go, Janine,” said Ray.
He patted her arm in passing, as he headed into the firehouse.
“I’m going to bed. Tomorrow....” He hesitated. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Confused, Janine turned to Egon and Winston.
“Guys, what happened out there? Is everything all right?”
“No,” said Egon. “It isn’t.”
He brushed past her without another word.
“Winston, what the hell is going on?” demanded the receptionist.
“We’re out of business, Janine. The Ghostbusters are done.”
“What?”
“The government’s shutting us down,” said Winston, wearily. “We’ve been busted.”
She stared at him, over the rims of her large glasses. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Yeah,” said Winston. “Grab the help wanted section of the paper and start looking for another job.”
THE END
Rating: General
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this. It's just for fun.
DENIED OPERATIONS: BUSTED
New York City, 1984.
After the big showdown, they were expecting a ticker tape parade down Broadway. Instead, once they were away from the cameras and the crowds, they were arrested, shoved into a nondescript van with tinted windows and driven to an unknown location.
“Where are we?” Ray Stantz demanded, once the van’s door was opened.
“It smells like New Jersey,” said Venkman. He spoke to the cop who had arrested them. “Hey, buddy! What’s going on?”
“Keep your pants on, pal,” said the cop. He was older, square-jawed, wiry with pale brown hair. His uniform did not fit him that well. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
They were hauled out of the van into a huge parking garage. More men appeared, only these were not dressed as police. They wore severe black suits and mirrored sunglasses, even though they were inside. They flanked the four men, two on each side, and marched them away from the van, toward an elevator.
“You guys aren’t cops, are you?” said Winston.
No one answered. Winston glanced at the others. Ray looked like he was about to wet himself. Egon was frowning. Venkman didn’t look too happy either, especially since their escorts were ignoring his verbal jabs.
They were escorted upstairs, to the 14th floor of the building. The elevator doors opened to reveal a large, empty office space. Windows along one wall were covered by drawn shades. The air smelt strongly of dust. At the far end of the wide space was a door that, at one time, must have led to a supervisor’s office. A pale light could be seen shining underneath it.
As they were marched toward the door, it opened. A woman stepped out of the office. She was slim and pretty with shoulder-length black hair and dark eyes. She wore black slacks and a white blouse beneath a well-worn leather jacket.
Her dark eyes flashed over the four men and her lips twisted into a frown. She gave the fake policeman a hard look.
“Gee, Bill. Don’t you think this is going a little overboard?”
The woman gestured vaguely at the handcuffs and silent guards.
“You heard the boss-lady, Sabrina,” said the cop. “Take no chances.”
“Miss, could you tell us what’s going on?” asked Venkman.
The woman’s brow furrowed. She glanced behind her, into the office. “You’ll find out in just a few moments, Doctor Venkman.”
She stepped aside and the man, Bill, gestured at the door. “Gentlemen, after you.”
They were guided through the door into an office that looked as if it had been hastily assembled from left-over furnishings. There was a leather couch that had seen better days, a metal desk and, behind it, a creaking office chair.
Seated in that chair was a woman. She had dark blonde hair framing an angular, pretty face. Her eyes were brown, gleaming with intelligence, and her mouth was expressive. The woman wore a dark green, sleeveless dress and diamond studs glittered in her ears.
Winston thought she looked like an upper-class WASP housewife. Someone who organized backdoor cookouts or neighborhood rummage sales, not kidnappings.
She studied the four men for a moment, before standing and walking around the desk. Leaning against it, her mouth formed a moue of irritation.
“Well, gentlemen, you’ve certainly made a mess of things.”
“Excuse me, miss,” said Ray. “We just sort of saved the world!”
The look the blonde gave Ray was pitying. “You honestly believe that, don’t you, Doctor Stantz?”
“You seem to know who we are, miss,” said Egon. “Could you tell us who you are, please?”
“And what gives you the right to shanghai us like this?” Venkman demanded.
“I’m Mrs. Stephens,” said the blonde. Her tone was clipped. “As for what gives me the right to bring you four here? How about the fact that I’m going to have to clean up the enormous mess you’ve made.”
“You work for the government,” said Winston.
“It would be more accurate to say that we work with the government, Mr. Zedmore,” said Mrs. Stephens. “The organization I represent operates outside the usual channels.”
“Like the mafia?” said Venkman.
“Nah.” The man, Bill, grinned at them. “Mobsters are like kittens compared to us.”
“Bill...” The brunette frowned, exasperated, at her companion.
“You said you have to clean up our mess,” said Egon. “What did you mean? We defeated Gozer and saved the world. What’s your organizations interest in this matter, Mrs. Stephens?”
“You haven’t defeated Gozer, Doctor Spengler,” said Mrs. Stephens. “You destroyed his physical projection, but Gozer is still very much alive. What’s worse is that the door Gozer opened isn’t completely shut.”
“He can come back?” asked Ray, his round face going pale.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stephens. “Of course, this entire situation could have been avoided if you hadn’t brought the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster together in the first place.”
“Hey, lady! That wasn’t our fault! That was that idiot, Peck! When he shut off the containment grid. . . .”
“Which shouldn’t have been active in the first place, Doctor Venkman,” said Mrs. Stephens, hotly. “The ectoplasmic revenants you’ve been containing should have been dispersed. You had the technology to do it, crude as it is.”
“If they could have been dispersed, lady, Egon would have said so,” protested Winston. “Right, Egon?”
Egon said nothing.
The others stared at him.
Venkman took a breath and released it in a burst of irritation. “Egon? You lied?”
“No,” said Egon. “I was unaware that the ghosts could be dispersed when we first constructed the containment grid.”
“And when you became aware of it?” asked Mrs. Stephens, arching her slim eyebrows.
“I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to conduct additional experiments on the entities,” explained Egon. “They were safely stored in the containment unit, and they would have remained there if Peck had not shut off the grid.”
He directed the last, hotly, at Mrs. Stephens.
“Ma’am, I think we’re getting a little off-track,” said the brunette in careful tones.
The blonde woman nodded. “Yes, we are. Thank you, Sabrina.”
“What are you going to do with us?” asked Ray. He glanced at the guards, standing grimly behind them. “Are you going to, um, disappear us?”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “I’m going to shut you down.”
“Hold on!” protested Venkman. “You can’t do that!”
“I can and I am,” said Mrs. Stephens. “Tomorrow, 54 Park West will be declared structurally unsound and scheduled for demolition. That should slam the door on Gozer. Your business license will be revoked. As we speak, government agents are siezing all of your equipment and files.”
“What about the public?” demanded Egon. “You think they’ll just forget about all of this?”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “However, we’ve had some experience managing similar incidents, Doctor Spengler. By tomorrow morning, there won’t be anything left of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and Mr. Peck’s claims of illicit hallucinogens will have some basis in truth.”
“You’re going to plant evidence,” said Egon.
“And feed the public a bunch of lies,” added Venkman.
“Just enough to muddy the waters,” said Mrs. Stephens.
Ray stared at the woman. “You’ll make us into the bad guys.”
“No,” said Mrs. Stephens. “At worst, you’ll be discredited. Exposure to radiation from your unlicensed nuclear accelerators caused hallucinations and psychosis.”
“And our clients?” asked Winston.
“A bunch of gullible nutjobs,” said the man, Bill. “Once the mud starts to fly, they’ll stay as far from you as possible.”
“You’ve covered all the angles,” said Venkman.
Winston thought he sounded tired and just a little impressed.
“As I said, Doctor Venkman, we’ve had some experience managing similar incidents.”
“I have a question,” said Winston. “You could have done all that without bringing us here. Why did you do that?”
Mrs. Stephens looked sad. “I was thinking the four of you might have been viable recruits for our organization. However, having studied your histories, seeing you in action and meeting you, I don’t believe that would be in anyone’s interest. Mister Maxwell will drive you home.”
Clearly, the meeting was over. Mrs. Stephens returned to her seat behind the desk. The man, Agent Bill Maxwell, opened the office door and the four Ghostbusters were led away, back to the van.
Sabrina Duncan shut the door behind them and turned to look at Mrs. Stephens.
“May I ask you something, ma’am?”
“Of course, Sabrina.”
“Why didn’t you recruit the Ghostbusters? What set you against them?”
“I suppose you could say it all came down to personalities,” admitted Mrs. Stephens. “I had my doubts before I met them, but wanted to give them a chance, in person and under duress. Venkman is too undisciplined, Stantz is too idealistic and Doctor Spengler is too inquisitive for his own good.”
Sabrina nodded. “What about Winston Zedmore?”
Mrs. Stephens smiled, wanly. “He is far too loyal to his friends. He wouldn’t be able to keep them out of his life and vice versa. They would inveigle themselves into our midst and what then? Can you imagine those four surviving an encounter with someone like Jason Voorhees? Or dealing with the Spectacular Optical Corporation?”
“They did stop Gozer, ma’am,” pointed out Sabrina. “When push came to shove, they did save the world.”
Mrs. Stephens’ answer was clipped.
“They got lucky.”
* * * * *
True to Mrs. Stephens’ word, when the Ghostbusters arrived at the firehouse the place had been cleaned out. They were dropped off a block from the building by Bill Maxwell, who removed the cuffs one at a time.
“Adios, fellas,” said the spook, then pulled away, vanishing into traffic.
When they reached the firehouse, their receptionist, Janine, rushed out to meet them.
“They took everything!” she shouted. “These government guys showed up with warrants and . . .”
“We know, Janine,” said Peter, glumly. “Any messages?”
“You know?” Janine glared at Venkman. “How do you know? Where have you guys been? The fight’s been all over the t.v.!”
“Any calls?” repeatd Peter.
Janine frowned. “Well, no, but. . . .”
“Let it go, Janine,” said Ray.
He patted her arm in passing, as he headed into the firehouse.
“I’m going to bed. Tomorrow....” He hesitated. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Confused, Janine turned to Egon and Winston.
“Guys, what happened out there? Is everything all right?”
“No,” said Egon. “It isn’t.”
He brushed past her without another word.
“Winston, what the hell is going on?” demanded the receptionist.
“We’re out of business, Janine. The Ghostbusters are done.”
“What?”
“The government’s shutting us down,” said Winston, wearily. “We’ve been busted.”
She stared at him, over the rims of her large glasses. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Yeah,” said Winston. “Grab the help wanted section of the paper and start looking for another job.”
THE END
