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Twenty years of fame and long, hard hours was enough to age any man. Eventually the toll grew too much for the four of them. Peter went on to use those PhDs of his in marketing the newly franchised company. Winston took his newfound notoriety and put it to work for him, earning himself a PhD in history in the process. Egon stayed with the company for the research possibilities. Ray went back to his bookstore.
The bookstore was quiet, easy work. He made friends here, learned things, kept an ear to the ground concerning the activities of the paranormal. It was the perfect way for him to spend his retirement.
Of course that meant people always knew where to find him.
Egon came in with his laptop. He plunked it down on Ray's desk. His glasses hid a perpetual maddened glee, a side effect of twenty years of intensely hands-on paranormal research.
"All right, I'll bite," Ray said. "What'd you find?"
"Somebody posted a bounty on OccultNet this morning," Egon said, opening his laptop. Its screen flickered to life, showing the page.
"One million dollars," Ray said. He whistled. "That's quite a payout for just a ghost. What'd the kids find out about this one?"
Egon gave an easy smirk. "I called the others in, we should wait for them."
Ray took the opportunity to look Egon up and down. Years and more than a few disturbing encounters had turned Egon's hair snow white. He still had that barely constrained creepiness that so many researchers in their field displayed. He'd grown thin, pale... research had not kept him from getting creepier. Not that Ray had weathered the years so well, either. He'd gained a few (okay, forty) pounds and had gray specks throughout his hair.
The door jingled as someone stepped inside. Potential customer? Ray craned his head around to see who it was.
"I'm looking for a spell," came a singsong familiar voice. "Something to grant me fame and fortune enough to regain lost love."
"Hi Peter," Egon said.
Peter looked a little hollow. He'd lost weight after leaving active duty and had taken to dyeing his hair auburn to compensate for it thinning. Winston came up behind him, looking pretty good. Of course he'd been the youngest of them all and in the best shape so it didn't seem surprising, or fair, that his sole signs of aging were the requisite belly and white flecks in his hair.
"So what's up?" Winston asked.
"Million dollar bounty on a ghost," Ray said.
Peter shrugged. "Million dollars isn't that much anymore," he said.
"Posted on the OccultNet," Egon said.
That got their attention. The OccultNet began years prior as a legitimate place for researchers to share data, for papers to seek reviewers, for discussion of postulated theories. Over time the legitimate theories had stopped coming and the amateurs took their place. Now it had become little more than another conspiracy theory board, somewhere for armchair sleuths to banter and teenagers to rant about haunted lockers. It was highly unusual for a legitimate bounty to find its way there now.
"Who posted it?" Peter asked.
Egon shrugged. "I had one of the kids trace it. Dead end. The account's an old one. The post was bounced off of /x so there was nothing to trace."
Winston slid the laptop around and scrolled through the OccultNet listing. The ghost was just a kid, maybe in his early teens. White hair. White gloves, boots, belt, mantle. Black jumpsuit. Probably not what the kid would have wanted to end up wearing for eternity.
Peter looked at the account name. It wasn't just a random string like he would expect from something forged. In fact it was somehow familiar... "It's a legit bounty," he said. "I'd bet on it."
"Really?" Ray asked, that old spark of the unknown coming back to his eyes.
"It's in Amity Park," Winston said. "Where have I heard that before?"
"Ugh, forget it then," Ray said. "Amity Park is the base of Fentonworks. We've all heard of Jack Fenton."
"Well, now, wait a minute," Egon said. He had that look again. "Let's not dismiss this immediately. Something tells me this isn't quite what we think it is."
"I wonder what," Ray mumbled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Peter sniggered.
"This is a spectral feud," Egon predicted. "It has to be. Some revenant is using the old OccultNet to make existence difficult for this one. Sounds a bit like a turf war. But why use humans? Ghosts aren't that smart."
"Masters," Peter whispered.
"He doesn't count," Egon said. "Vladimir Masters is a unique undead. No, this isn't his style. Something's going on here, something we're not seeing. We should check out this bounty."
Ray groaned. Winston patted him on the back, offering condolences. Peter looked like he could see that million dollars now...
"But we're not hunting."
"Aww, come on!" Peter whined.
"Two words, Peter," Ray said. "Jack. Fenton."
"We're just going to observe," Egon promised. "No one will ever know we were there. I want to get a look at this Danny Phantom in action."
"Fine," Peter said, his million-dollar fantasy fading in front of his eyes. "But if this is a legit bounty you're buying me pizza."
*****
Egon and Ray had the current shift. They sat on the rooftop of a building across from the Nasty Burger. This is where the hunters would likely collect to mock each other and make bold claims about who would succeed before splitting up and sabotaging each other. Peter always described it as tribal behavior, as though this were a war and they were all armies.
Ray laid on his stomach, a blanket spread under him to banish the cold of the rooftop. He wore his spectral analyzers, fiddling with the settings to force them to double as binoculars.
"The Extreme Ghostbreakers are here," Ray said. "High on adrenaline as usual. I swear, one of them is going to end up dead before the end of the year."
"Hmm," Egon said.
Ray snorted. "Oh and the Groovy Gang. Because cartoons about talking dogs and a band of hippies are the best models when forming a ghost hunting outfit. Ugh, and they even brought that white tiger of theirs."
"Should have just used a housecat," Egon said. "It'll sense spectral disturbances just as easily, won't eat you in the middle of the night, and you can always just go the pound and get a new one."
"That's morbid, Egon," Ray said, looking again. "Hmm. One of the spectators looks possessed."
"Not surprised. Can't you feel it, Ray? There's just something about this place. Powerful things are hereabouts."
"Hmm. Oh and of course. The Guys in White are here to try and cover everything up. As usual."
Egon opened his mouth to say something but a new voice stole the words he was going to say. "You expected anything different?"
Ray rolled over on his blanket to stare at Egon. Egon looked right back before they began scanning the rooftop around them. Ray adjusted his spectral analyzers, looking for something inhuman who might have said that.
A pair of red glowing eyes appeared in thin air. Around those eyes an outline shimmered into being, a human figure leaning casually on a steel vent. That outline slowly gained form, substance, a knowing smirk. Long gray-white hair tied back, tightly controlled. Wine red ascot accenting a black funerary suit. Arms crossed over his chest in a position of uncaring power.
"Masters," Egon greeted.
Vlad's red eyes blinked out, fading almost instantly into their icy blue. "Spengler, Stantz," Vlad said, meeting basic greeting with basic greeting. "Am I... intruding?"
"Umm..." Ray said, not sure what to say or do. On one hand this was the living revenant, a dangerous creature that honestly considered itself still alive in some capacity. On the other hand they had invited it onto their turf once before as a scientist, before they knew what Masters was, and it hadn't killed them then. It wouldn't now, especially since Venkmen wasn't here.
"Of course not," Egon said. "We're just here to observe. You?"
"Just keeping an eye on my... investments," Vlad drawled.
"You listed the bounty," Ray realized.
Vlad just smirked.
"This is your turf, isn't it?" Egon asked. "That's why this place feels so..." He searched for a word that described how the town felt without insulting the creature in front of them. Tainted? Slimy? Unnatural? He settled for a word that felt a little more neutral, a little more final. "Owned."
"I have no designs on this town," Vlad dismissed. "Not yet, anyway. Its taint is entirely natural. You never know, I may find its... unique charm to be useful."
"So why list the bounty?" Ray asked. "What do you have against this Phantom?"
"I have nothing at all against the boy," Vlad said, watching the action below. Jack Fenton was making a fool of himself as usual. "I don't want him damaged, I just need to keep him and his idiot father busy."
"Busy, you say?" Egon asked.
"I have plans for that one. After all..." Vlad paused before finding himself blushing a bit and breaking out into a genuine smile. The thought still touched him, still warmed his undead heart. He wasn't alone, not anymore. "He's like me."
Ray's jaw dropped while Egon grew calculating. "When you said 'idiot father'..." Egon said.
"He's the Fenton's son," Vlad said. "They don't even know he's a ghost. But then you didn't know I was either when we first met. And if Venkmen were sane you still wouldn't." He looked out over the scene below before gesturing to something or someone in the distance. The sound of spectral shrieks echoed from the sky as three ghostly vultures swooped down onto the collection of hunters.
"So this isn't really a legitimate bounty," Egon realized. "You're just trying to keep everyone busy as a distraction."
"I don't plan on honoring the bounty even if a hunter manages to catch him, if that's what you mean."
"Nor is this really a feud," Ray said. "Or a turf war. Both you and Peter lost the bet, Spengler."
"Bet?" Vlad asked.
"Yeah, they, ah, bet a pizza over what was going on here," Ray admitted. "And since this isn't a feud or a legitimate bounty..."
"Oh I'm sure the boy would claim this is a feud," Vlad drawled. He laughed, soft and evil. "He doesn't even know what a 'feud' is. Now if you'll excuse me I should probably, ah, spice things up a bit."
Ray and Egon watched in fascination, their instruments surreptitiously recording as Vlad stepped back from the edge of the rooftop. Black rings appeared around his waist, moving up and down to shred the human disguise worn by the revenant.
He'd died young, that much was readily apparent. His skin was tinged blue, a telltale sign of suffocation. He wore what might once have been hospital scrubs, altered by time and vanity into something more menacing. A white and red cape hung from his neck, possibly connected to some sort of symbolism that the revenant had either adopted or was forced into very early on.
He kicked off of the rooftop easily while the spectral vultures kidnapped two teenagers. The Ghostbusters watched as Plasmius taunted a third teen, one who reacted by transforming into the target Phantom and flying up to meet Plasmius in a very one-sided battle.
There were two of them now. Two living revenants. The unique undead was no longer quite so unique.
*****
The No-Tell Motel on the outskirts of Amity Park was not to their usual standards but at least it was cheap, it had a TV and if Peter didn't think about what was living in the mattress the beds were fairly comfortable. He laid on one of the beds reading the local hot sheets while Winston flipped through the channels for something useful. He found the news and what looked like an awkward weatherman attempting to report on ghost activity. Apparently there had been activity right near where Egon and Ray were scouting.
"Hey, look at that," Winston said, pointing out the video.
Peter squinted before remembering he had his reading glasses on. He pulled them off to see two very human-shaped ghosts fighting in the air. The big white and red one easily whooped the black-clad kid before tossing him into the middle of the pack of ghost hunters. The white one laughed then disappeared, fading into mist and drifting away.
And that was the scene earlier tonight in front of the Nasty Burger. This is Lance Thunder, really regretting not taking that job in Chicago.
"No wonder their hot sheets are so legitimate," Peter mused, holding up the local newspaper. "Ghost reports make the third page news here."
A key in the door brought the attention of both of them. They both relaxed when Ray and Egon walked in, both of them looking worn out.
"How'd it go?" Winston asked.
Egon pulled out a laptop and started plugging things into it. "We ran into Masters tonight," he said.
"Oh?" Peter sat at attention. "So how is that insane excuse of a lightning rod doing?"
"Peter, today we saw the most amazing thing," Ray said, a little giddy. "Masters was there, Vlad Masters. You know how we always theorized that his human form is just a disguise. Well, we were right! We saw what the revenant really looks like! Transformed right in front of us! It's amazing and he still looks so human but you can see how he died, it was suffocation in water, had to be, his skin is blue like adipocere but he doesn't look slimy at all. There's no way of knowing without asking him but from the looks of it you can still see what he wore when he died! We were right, Peter, living revenants really do give up growth as spectral entities in favor of expanding and developing their human personae!"
"Tell him about the best part," Egon said, too focused on the data to spare a glance.
"And there's a second one!" Ray crowed. "A second living revenant! That Danny Phantom kid, the one the town calls 'Inviso-Bill' keeps a disguise as human as Masters does! And it's a damned good one because he's the Fenton kid! His parents are ghost hunters and his father was shooting at him with as much compassion as you'd expect a fox to show a rabbit!"
Another knock on the door broke Ray out of his excited description. Winston got up and opened the door as Egon's PKE meter started squealing, the needle spinning in its housing.
At the door was a dead man. His white hair stuck up at all angles, his skin was green and hanging off of his spectral bones. An old-style singing telegram uniform fell half-rotting from his undead form, fading into the spectral tail that seemed common among the ghosts of this area.
The ghost held a stack of pizza boxes. It silently offered them to the flabbergasted men.
Winston took the offered pizzas. The ghost then turned around and wandered off as though this were a perfectly normal occurrence.
The desk was dominated by Egon so Winston put the pizza boxes on a bed. Attached to the top box was a note. Winston picked it up and read it aloud. "'Consider this the settling of your little bet. Now stay out of my affairs.' It's initialed 'VM'."
"Masters," Peter growled.
The four of them looked at each other, then at the pizzas, then at each other. They smelled really good but none of them wanted to be the first to try a ghost-delivered pizza sent by an insane revenant. Finally Ray sighed and opened a box. The works, no anchovies, no mushrooms. He took a slice and bit into it.
It was pretty good pizza.