think we should go back out and talk to him, and the Boss, and see what they have to say.”
“What makes you think we’d be allowed to leave the building?” said JC. A sudden quiet fell over the group as they all thought about that. JC looked around, making sure they’d got the implications. “We’re not alone in here. The shells in the lobby were being directed by someone else. I think it’s in our best interests to find out who—or what—and do something about them, before they figure out a way to do something about us.”
“We can’t cope with something this big on our own!” said Melody. “We need reinforcements! And my equipment!”
“And weapons,” said Happy. “Really big, illegally modified weapons.”
“We can’t wait,” said JC. “We’re moving through unknown territory, and the clock is ticking.”
“Clock?” said Happy. “What clock? No-one said anything about a clock!”
“There’s always a deadline, in cases like this,” JC said easily. “We need to understand what we’re dealing with, before it comes looking for us. Those ghost shells worry me. They don’t seem to have anything to do with the drug trials at all.”
“Ghosts are usually some kind of reminder,” said Kim. “Something from the Past, imprinting itself on the Present. Pushing reality aside to make themselves seen and heard. Either as a recording, or as a manifestation. Those shells . . . were all that remained of people. But with the personality removed, what reason did they have to remain? Why are they still here? Sorry, I’m thinking aloud . . .”
“You carry on,” said JC. “You’re making more sense than the rest of us.”
“Somebody is keeping the shells here,” said Kim, nodding thoughtfully to herself. “The men were killed to be made into ghost shells, so they could be . . . supernatural attack dogs?” She scowled prettily. Her form had become dimmer, almost transparent, as her concentration moved from manifestation to hard thinking. Her feet dipped in and out of the floor as she drifted slowly up and down. “Ghosts continue to exist, to serve some purpose. To pass on a message, to deal with unfinished business like revenge or unrequited love. All rational and emotional needs . . . but those shells were empty of anything like that. They’d been hollowed out, so someone else could use them. Which means someone—or thing—still in this building has power over life and death.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me now,” said Happy. “Weaponised ghosts? And a hidden evil mastermind behind it all? I hate those.”
“But where could it be hiding?” said Melody. “This building is supposed to be empty.”
“I think . . . I don’t believe anything we’ve been told about Chimera House,” said JC. “I think someone is still here, someone—and I do believe it’s a person, not the sort of Thing we sometimes deal with—with their own agenda, and their own purpose for these unethical and highly illegal drug trials. So we are going to find them, dispense vicious beatings on general principles, and then drag them out of here and find some proper legal authority to hand them over to.”
“But, but, that isn’t the mission!” insisted Happy. “We were sent in here to gather information, not bring evil masterminds to justice.”
“Come on, Happy,” JC said cheerfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I had it surgically removed,” Happy said coldly. “It was endangering my life.”
“It’s true,” said Melody. “He did. I’ve got it in ajar at home, on the mantelpiece.”
“Our mission,” said JC, in that calm and entirely reasonable tone he knew drove his companions absolutely batshit, “is to put a stop to what’s happening here. That hasn’t changed. Who’s running this team, Happy?”
“You are,” muttered Happy.
“And why is that?” said JC.
“Because no-one else wants to!” said Melody. “All right, we get it!”
“Good,” said JC. “So stop
“What makes you think we’d be allowed to leave the building?” said JC. A sudden quiet fell over the group as they all thought about that. JC looked around, making sure they’d got the implications. “We’re not alone in here. The shells in the lobby were being directed by someone else. I think it’s in our best interests to find out who—or what—and do something about them, before they figure out a way to do something about us.”
“We can’t cope with something this big on our own!” said Melody. “We need reinforcements! And my equipment!”
“And weapons,” said Happy. “Really big, illegally modified weapons.”
“We can’t wait,” said JC. “We’re moving through unknown territory, and the clock is ticking.”
“Clock?” said Happy. “What clock? No-one said anything about a clock!”
“There’s always a deadline, in cases like this,” JC said easily. “We need to understand what we’re dealing with, before it comes looking for us. Those ghost shells worry me. They don’t seem to have anything to do with the drug trials at all.”
“Ghosts are usually some kind of reminder,” said Kim. “Something from the Past, imprinting itself on the Present. Pushing reality aside to make themselves seen and heard. Either as a recording, or as a manifestation. Those shells . . . were all that remained of people. But with the personality removed, what reason did they have to remain? Why are they still here? Sorry, I’m thinking aloud . . .”
“You carry on,” said JC. “You’re making more sense than the rest of us.”
“Somebody is keeping the shells here,” said Kim, nodding thoughtfully to herself. “The men were killed to be made into ghost shells, so they could be . . . supernatural attack dogs?” She scowled prettily. Her form had become dimmer, almost transparent, as her concentration moved from manifestation to hard thinking. Her feet dipped in and out of the floor as she drifted slowly up and down. “Ghosts continue to exist, to serve some purpose. To pass on a message, to deal with unfinished business like revenge or unrequited love. All rational and emotional needs . . . but those shells were empty of anything like that. They’d been hollowed out, so someone else could use them. Which means someone—or thing—still in this building has power over life and death.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me now,” said Happy. “Weaponised ghosts? And a hidden evil mastermind behind it all? I hate those.”
“But where could it be hiding?” said Melody. “This building is supposed to be empty.”
“I think . . . I don’t believe anything we’ve been told about Chimera House,” said JC. “I think someone is still here, someone—and I do believe it’s a person, not the sort of Thing we sometimes deal with—with their own agenda, and their own purpose for these unethical and highly illegal drug trials. So we are going to find them, dispense vicious beatings on general principles, and then drag them out of here and find some proper legal authority to hand them over to.”
“But, but, that isn’t the mission!” insisted Happy. “We were sent in here to gather information, not bring evil masterminds to justice.”
“Come on, Happy,” JC said cheerfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I had it surgically removed,” Happy said coldly. “It was endangering my life.”
“It’s true,” said Melody. “He did. I’ve got it in ajar at home, on the mantelpiece.”
“Our mission,” said JC, in that calm and entirely reasonable tone he knew drove his companions absolutely batshit, “is to put a stop to what’s happening here. That hasn’t changed. Who’s running this team, Happy?”
“You are,” muttered Happy.
“And why is that?” said JC.
“Because no-one else wants to!” said Melody. “All right, we get it!”
“Good,” said JC. “So stop
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