Raymond

Peter

Winona

Winston

1. Begin the story.

Alright, team, gather 'round! The city's gone utterly bonkers, and not in the usual "another subway delay" kind of way. No, this is full-on spectral pandemonium. Lucky for us, you lot decided to answer a rather cryptic help-wanted ad and now find yourselves in a converted firehouse, smelling faintly of forgotten hose water and boundless opportunity. There's Raymond, the brainy one, constantly muttering about PKE levels and looking like he just wrestled a particularly difficult equation. Peter, the smooth-talker, convinced he can negotiate with anything, including ectoplasm. Winona, our resident tech wizard, surrounded by wires and sparks, capable of building anything from a toaster that predicts the future to, well, ghost traps. And Winston, the calm, collected one, who probably just wants to drive the cool van.

Your new headquarters is a glorious mess of prototype equipment, empty pizza boxes, and the lingering scent of ambition. In the basement, a rather sturdy-looking contraption hums – your nascent containment unit, eagerly awaiting its first ghostly tenant. The phone rings, shrill and insistent, slicing through the quiet hum of machinery and the nervous energy in the room. It's a potential client, and judging by the frantic tone on the other end, it's not about a misplaced cat.

This is it. The moment of truth. The city needs you, probably more than it knows. The phone continues to ring, a siren song of supernatural trouble and, hopefully, a paycheck.

There are 19 turns remaining.

2. Raymond: I answer the phone

You, Raymond, with a slightly trembling hand that feels more accustomed to calibrating scientific instruments than handling a ringing telephone, pick up the receiver. "Ghostbusters... uh, I mean, Ghost Elimination Services, Raymond speaking," you stammer, already feeling the familiar pull of social awkwardness. A frantic voice crackles through the line, detailing a rather unpleasant haunting at the Grand Regal Hotel – poltergeist activity, flying furniture, and what sounds suspiciously like a spectral opera singer. Apparently, the manager is willing to pay, and pay well, to stop the nightly cabaret of chaos before the hotel's reputation (and windows) are utterly destroyed. This sounds like a classic Class 3 manifestation, right in your team's wheelhouse, or at least within the range of what your semi-functional gear *should* be able to handle. Peter, ever the pragmatist, immediately starts rubbing his hands together, already mentally calculating the potential profit margins. Winona is already muttering about "proton stream harmonics" and reaching for her toolkit, a glint of excitement in her eye. Winston, leaning against the van, simply nods, a quiet readiness about him. It seems your first official call isn't going to be a dull one.

There are 18 turns remaining.

3. Peter: Let's go. Prepare for battle.

"Right then!" you, Peter, declare, clapping your hands together with a decisive snap that cuts through the residual awkwardness from Raymond's phone call. "You heard the man! Poltergeists and paychecks await! Let's roll out before they start redecorating the lobby with the chandeliers!" You're already envisioning the zeroes on the check, a far more appealing prospect than dealing with, say, your landlord. Winona is already halfway to her workbench, a determined glint in her eye as she starts gathering her array of gadgets, muttering about recalibrating proton pack output. Raymond, meanwhile, is excitedly jotting down notes in his spectral-energy-themed notebook, a flush of academic anticipation on his cheeks. Winston is already heading towards the main bay doors, the jangle of keys in his hand promising the rumble of the modified emergency vehicle. The air crackles with a mix of nervous energy and pure, unadulterated entrepreneurial spirit. You grab a spare spirit trap, ensuring it's charged and ready, because while charm and quick thinking are great, sometimes you just need something physical to *contain* the chaos. It's time to leave the comforting (if cluttered) confines of the firehouse and face the spectral menace of the Grand Regal Hotel.

There are 17 turns remaining.

4. Winona: I drive with all of my crew to the designated location.

You, Winona, with a grin that could power a small city, practically skip towards the monstrous, cherry-red vehicle parked in the main bay. This is your domain. While Raymond babbles about PKE and Peter smooth-talks clients, you make the magic happen – the mechanical, electrical, wonderfully explosive magic. With a flick of a switch, the sirens erupt in a glorious wail that would wake the dead (and probably annoy the living), a symphony of imminent spectral confrontation. You jam the gearshift into drive, the van lurching forward with a satisfying growl, the team bouncing slightly in their seats. Peter is already on the phone, likely trying to upsell the hotel manager on additional services like "ectoplasmic stain removal." Raymond is peering intently at a blinking monitor, occasionally yelping about anomalous energy readings. Winston, bless his practical heart, is just staring resolutely ahead, already mentally charting the fastest route through the city's notoriously gridlocked streets.

The streets blur past, a kaleidoscope of confused faces and quickly scattering pigeons. The cityscape, usually a mundane collection of brick and glass, feels different now, charged with an unseen energy that only your equipment can truly register. You navigate traffic with the practiced ease of someone who’s probably rewired their own car’s engine while stuck in it. The Grand Regal Hotel looms in the distance, a grand, slightly ominous silhouette against the setting sun. Its windows seem to wink with an unnatural light, hinting at the spectral performance within.

There are 16 turns remaining.

5. Winston: "Did anyone else see that weird light coming from the hotel windows?"

You, Winston, ever the observant and grounded one, your eyes scanning the approaching silhouette of the Grand Regal Hotel, point a finger towards its upper floors. "Hey," you say, the rumble of the van and the dying wail of the siren doing little to mask the slight unease in your voice, "Did anyone else see that weird light coming from the hotel windows?" It wasn't just the reflection of city lights; this was something else, an unnatural pulse of luminescence that seemed to emanate from *within* the building itself. Raymond, startled from his intense study of the PKE meter, peers up, adjusting his glasses. "Anomalous spectral emissions," he mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, a frantic excitement building in his tone. "The energy readings are spiking! This isn't just residual haunting, this is actively manifesting activity!" Peter, momentarily pausing his vigorous negotiation with the hotel manager about liability clauses, glances over, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his usually unflappable face. Winona grips the steering wheel tighter, her grin replaced by a focused intensity. This wasn't just a gig for cash anymore; this felt like something significant, something potentially beyond a mere Class 3. The van pulls up to the curb outside the grand, imposing facade of the hotel, the strange light still faintly visible from several upper-story windows, beckoning you into the unknown.

There are 15 turns remaining.

6. Raymond: We park, and I go in, holding an EMF reader and a spirit box to talk to the entity or entities in the hotel.

You, Raymond, are practically vibrating with a mixture of scientific curiosity and nervous energy. The strange light from the hotel windows and the spiking PKE readings have elevated this from a routine ghost-busting gig to a potentially groundbreaking case of actively manifesting entities. This is precisely the kind of anomaly that keeps you up at night, fueled by lukewarm coffee and the faint scent of ozone from your workbench. You grab your trusty EMF reader and the spirit box, their familiar weight somehow both comforting and exhilarating. As you step out of the van, the air feels thick, charged with an unseen presence that prickles the hairs on your arms. Peter gives you a brief, theatrical nod, a silent acknowledgment of your role as the spectral scout. Winona offers a quick, "Be careful, Raymond! Keep an eye on those readings," her voice filled with a mixture of concern and professional interest. Winston, ever the steady anchor, simply gives you a reassuring glance before scanning the street, ensuring no lingering mundane threats are present.

The lobby of the Grand Regal Hotel is eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaos described by the manager. Ornate furniture is scattered as if by an invisible temper tantrum, and a single, elegant chandelier sways gently, casting dancing shadows across the opulent but disheveled space. Dust motes hang heavy in the air, catching the faint, unnatural light that still filters down from the upper floors. You switch on the EMF reader; its needle immediately jumps, buzzing excitedly like a caffeinated bee near a flower patch. Then, you power up the spirit box. The device crackles with static, cycling through radio frequencies, but then, faintly at first, a whisper emerges, almost buried beneath the white noise. It sounds like a name, repeated over and over, a mournful, disembodied echo in the grand, silent lobby.

There are 14 turns remaining.

7. Peter: What did it say, Raymond? Ask what its name is, if it's friendly, and why it's here.

"What did it say, Raymond?" you, Peter, call out from the entrance, your voice cutting through the sudden, oppressive silence of the lobby. You stride in, a charged spirit trap held loosely in your hand, ready for anything – or nothing. The air here is definitely *different*. It's heavy, cold, and smells vaguely of decay and old rose perfume. You ignore the scattered furniture; frankly, you've seen worse from overly enthusiastic rock bands after a gig. Your focus is entirely on Raymond, who looks like he's just seen a ghost... well, more than usual. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, fixed on the crackling spirit box. "Ask what its name is, if it's friendly, and why it's here," you instruct, trying to inject a sense of calm command into the situation. You've dealt with difficult clients, temperamental artists, and auditors; surely a ghost can't be *that* much trouble, right?

Raymond fumbles slightly with the spirit box, adjusting the dial with trembling fingers. "It... it whispered something," he says, his voice a hushed whisper itself. He holds the device closer, and for a moment, only static fills the air. Then, clearer this time, the faint, melancholic sound returns. It's definitely repeating a name, a soft, almost mournful lament. It's "Eliza." As the name echoes in the silent lobby, the strange light from the upper floors intensifies for a fleeting second, casting a harsh, unnatural glow that makes the shadows dance like macabre puppets. The EMF reader in Raymond's hand begins to shriek, its needle vibrating wildly as if trying to escape the device itself, indicating a surge of spectral energy radiating from the grand staircase. It seems Eliza is making her presence known.

There are 13 turns remaining.

8. Winona: I talk to Eliza and say that the owner of the hotel is a very nice guy and if she is willing to be kind he can rent her an apartment

"Eliza," you, Winona, repeat, your voice calm despite the screaming EMF reader and the prickling sensation on your skin. You step forward, past the worried-looking Peter and the wide-eyed Raymond, towards the grand staircase. You've always believed in the power of a practical approach, even with the incorporeal. If this Eliza is trapped here, maybe she just needs a change of scenery, a little spectral real estate. "Eliza," you try again, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the crackling static and the mournful echoes of her name, "the owner of this hotel is a very nice guy. If you're willing to be kind, he could rent you an apartment. A nice one, maybe with a view?" It's a long shot, but your prototype particle thrower is feeling particularly heavy in your hands, and you'd rather not have to use it if you don't have to.

A sudden gust of cold wind whips through the lobby, despite the sealed doors and windows, sending dust motes swirling like tiny, confused ghosts. The swaying chandelier above you lurches violently, its crystals chiming a discordant, terrifying melody. The strange light from the upper floors pulses with renewed intensity, bathing the staircase in an unsettling, emerald glow. The whispering lament of "Eliza" shifts, becoming louder, tinged with something that sounds suspiciously like anger. On the landing of the grand staircase, a shimmering, translucent form begins to coalesce, a figure draped in what looks like a tattered, old-fashioned gown. It floats a few feet above the marble steps, its form indistinct but undeniably present, radiating an aura of profound sadness and fury. It seems Eliza isn't interested in being a tenant.

There are 12 turns remaining.

9. Winston: I tell Eliza that that's not nice and that Winona tried to help her, so now I must exorcise her.

"Hey now, that's not very nice," you, Winston, step forward, planting your feet firmly on the marble floor. The spectral figure on the staircase, shimmering with angry emerald light, is a far cry from the ethereal whisper you'd heard moments ago. Winona had just offered a perfectly reasonable solution, a chance for this Eliza to upgrade her ghostly living situation, and this is the thanks she gets? Your heavy-duty gloves feel suddenly less like hand protection and more like instruments of impending spectral unpleasantness. "Winona was trying to help you out," you continue, your voice resonating with the kind of no-nonsense authority you usually reserve for arguing with stubborn vending machines, "and now you've gone and gotten us all riled up. So, if you're not going to be neighborly, I'm afraid we're going to have to proceed with an exorcism." It might not be the scientific term Raymond would use, but it gets the point across.

The figure on the stairs lets out a sound that's a chilling blend of a shriek and a sob, and the chandelier above your head begins to swing with violent abandon, its crystals raining down onto the floor like icy tears. The strange light from the upper floors pulses again, brighter and faster this time, and the very air in the lobby grows colder, biting at your skin like a thousand tiny teeth. Peter ducks behind a sturdy-looking armchair, while Raymond grips his PKE meter as if it were a lifeline. Eliza is clearly not interested in your offer of a spectral apartment complex and seems to have taken your "exorcism" suggestion as a declaration of war. Get ready, because this is about to get messy.

There are 11 turns remaining.

10. Raymond: I perform exorcisms

"I... I perform exorcisms?" you, Raymond, stammer, looking from Winston to the increasingly agitated spectral figure on the stairs. Your mind races, not with ancient rites or holy water, but with complex equations, particle physics, and the delicate calibration of your equipment. "Well, not *exactly* exorcisms, Winston. More like... focused spectral energy neutralization and containment. It's a highly specialized field, you see, involving calibrated proton streams and temporal displacement fields within a localized psychokinetic energy vortex!" You adjust your glasses, attempting to project an air of scientific authority despite the fact that your hands are still shaking slightly. The figure of Eliza lets out another chilling wail, and this time, a heavy ornate painting crashes down from the wall behind you with a deafening *CRACK*, sending dust and plaster flying.

"Whatever you call it, Ray," Peter mutters from behind the armchair, peering cautiously over the top, "just make it stop doing that." The chandelier above you continues its terrifying dance, and the emerald light radiating from Eliza intensifies, casting long, grotesque shadows that writhe across the disheveled lobby floor. The air grows even colder, and you can see your breath misting in front of your face. The spectral energy is reaching critical levels, overloading your PKE meter, which is now emitting a continuous, high-pitched whine. Eliza is no mere residual haunting; she's a powerful, actively manifesting entity, and her anger is rapidly escalating. It's clear that witty remarks and offers of spectral apartments are no longer sufficient. It's time for science.

There are 10 turns remaining.

11. Peter: "Raymond, Winona, forget the talk, let's use the particle thrower and containment unit!"

"Raymond, Winona, forget the talk," you, Peter, exclaim, pushing yourself up from behind the armchair. The crash of the painting and the escalating spectral energy have certainly put a damper on your earlier confidence. This Eliza isn't just a mild nuisance; she's a full-blown Class 4, maybe even a Class 5, spectral event if you don't get a handle on it. "Let's use the particle thrower and containment unit!" You point towards the spectral figure on the stairs, your hand holding the spirit trap steady despite the chaos. The whole "rent her an apartment" idea, while noble of Winona, is clearly not working, and Raymond's scientific jargon isn't exactly calming the volatile atmosphere. It's time to get down to brass tacks, the kind that involves calibrated proton streams and portable containment units.

Raymond nods, snapping out of his scientific reverie, and Winona tightens her grip on the particle thrower prototype. The spectral figure of Eliza on the stairs lets out another ear-splitting shriek, and the emerald light around her flares, sending a shockwave of cold air through the lobby. More objects begin to rattle on the walls, and the chandelier above you groans ominously. It's now or never. You need to coordinate, to act as a team, and fast, before the Grand Regal Hotel lobby becomes less of a haunting site and more of a spectral demolition zone. The air is thick with palpable fear and potent paranormal energy, and the eerie silence that follows Eliza's shriek feels more menacing than any noise could.

There are 9 turns remaining.

12. Winona: I quickly check the calibration of my particle thrower, adjusting the settings based on the PKE readings.

With Peter's urgent call to action echoing in the disheveled lobby, you, Winona, waste no time in shifting gears from spectral housing options to high-energy proton streams. Your fingers fly across the console of your particle thrower prototype, swiftly checking the calibration. Raymond's frantic "PKE is off the charts!" confirms your suspicion that Eliza is no ordinary Class 3 spook. The readings are spiking, fluctuating wildly between a dangerous Class 4 and a truly terrifying Class 5 manifestation. You quickly adjust the settings, fine-tuning the device based on the chaotic influx of psychokinetic energy flooding the room. The hum of the particle thrower intensifies, a low growl of harnessed energy, ready to unleash its spectral-snaring power.

The chandelier above you continues its frantic swing, a metallic pendulum of impending doom, scattering shards of crystal across the floor with each violent arc. The emerald light from the staircase pulses like a malevolent heart, and the spectral figure of Eliza solidifies further, her tattered gown whipping around her as if caught in an unseen gale. The air crackles with raw, unstable energy, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. Winston stands ready, his gaze fixed on the staircase, while Peter grips his spirit trap, his earlier sarcasm replaced by a look of grim determination. The time for talk is over. It's time to put your engineering genius to the test against this furious phantom.

There are 8 turns remaining.