Ghostbusters: Who You Gonna Hire
On a radiator-clanking March morning in 1984, Nate wakes in an Alphabet City walk-up with a dead woman's voice in his head and a brass-and-bakelite device older than he is wrapped in oilcloth on the closet shelf. Helen Caroline Mitchell built proton-stream containment in 1924, nobody believed her, and her residue has been waiting fifty-six years for a bearer the Charter would choose. Now Nate can stream positrons from his bare palm, see every haunting the city hides, spawn traps from empty air, and file the exact paperwork that keeps a regulator named Walter Peck off his back. The catch is that the work shortens the worker, and the city is climbing toward a Sumerian god on a Central Park West rooftop while four famous men in jumpsuits chase fame and a paycheck. He is not here to replace them. He is here to make sure fewer of them die, to keep his name off the news, and to never, ever tell Janine the truth one second later than he must.