This is Spaceghost! So-called because he needed to be quickly and easily addressed as an emergent issue for those with the displeasure of meeting him. The device he created appears to anchor his consciousness (and part of his physical body) to an extradimensional superposition.
(Lore on the scene ripper under the cut)
The scene-ripper (a play on seam ripper, since the blade seems to be fashioned after one) can tear a hole in reality. It can alter the structure of a reality, or simply traverse through it to a more desirable universal position depending on the dexterity and control of the operator (so pilot dib).
He made the device while trapped in a nightmare dimension, as no one was there to help him escape it. It was more out of desperation. The scope was useless on its own; he needed to find a way to control the jumps... so he had to work with what he had at his disposal. Which was, luckily or unluckily, a world full of fucked up impossible technology.
He was trapped there for a long time, being hunted down and tortured intermittently while trying to engineer the scene ripper. His work was made easier by the fact he wasn't the only one wanting to leave. Most of the work was done for him, he just needed to understand it and apply it. And scavenge all the parts... and eventually use untested technology on himself.
Point of no return shit was easier to fall into than to step into. It was a lot like putting his arm in a nuclear generator surrounded by a bear trap. When he was able to check on the status of his arm, he found the matter of his hand to be inscrutable. There was a void where his wrist should have been visible on the underside of the gauntlet and a sharp blade manifesting from the darkness. He could no longer remove it... but it did work.
The scope itself also received upgrades more closely tying its functionality to the ripper and operator, but none so costly as that of the gauntlet.
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[Part II of who knows. Part I of kelseystanley's awesome Ghost!Benny AU here]
GCBC picks up a part-time job as museum night security but itâs not as quiet as he hoped it would be
Features: Cops and Astronauts
Warnings: swears
They took bets on their new night security guard. The supervisor gave him a week. The rest of the security guards two weeks. Three and a half weeks later GCBC still came into the museum every night, unreadable as always. He locked up, wished everyone goodnight, and made a beeline for the memorial wing where Benny was undoubtedly bobbing around the ceiling or floating through displays. Such were his nights.
B found Benny an hour later, sitting cross-legged in a corner of the ceiling, frowning pensively at the memorial displays. B coughed and watched Benny as he chewed his lip through his missing teeth, brow furrowed in a worried expression.
"Ahem," G coughed again, shining his flashlight in the corner.
Benny looked up and shimmered abruptly. âOh, hey man,â he smiled, floating down to sit eye level with B.
"Something troubling you tonight?" G motioned for Benny to follow him.
Benny bobbed along as B made his rounds through the museum.
"Nothin really," Benny scratched his head, "except the whole âbeing deadâ thing."
"Sounds rough, buddy," G replied with the lightest hint of a smirk.
Benny grinned wildly. âIâm glad I keep you around. You got a sense of humor.â
B winked and continued along the dark and quiet museum corridors, Benny floating after him.
"Busy day today?" B asked, shining his flashlight into corners. The place was more trashed than usualâ tables were missing their chairs, trashcans were overturned. The custodial crew were obviously in a hurry to leave for the night.
Benny shrugged. âSchool groups mostly. The middle schoolers are the worst.â
"Thatâs nothing new."
"Oh my god these kids today!" Benny agitatedly ran his fingers through his hair. "They run around and knock stuff over and laughing with their light-up little.. phones and games and shit!"
"Theyâre just kids," G offered. He sat on a bench in the hallway, under a mural of Space Corps circa 1983. His knee was giving him trouble but heâd never admit it to anyone else.
"No one gives a shit anymore, man," Benny sat cross-legged in the air in front of B, gesturing to the room around him. "Do you remember how excited you got when you first saw the shuttle launch and the Eagle landing on the moon back in the day?" He sighed exasperatedly.
B furrowed his brow. âI.. I donât think Iâm that much older than you.â
Benny threw his hands in the air. âWell theyâre always showing the landing in the next wing over, go watch it sometime.â He pouted with his chin in his hands and elbows on his knees.
"So thatâs whatâs got you bugged today, huh pal?"
"What? No, I donât care if youâve watched the moon landing or notâ" Gâs kind smirk stopped Benny mid sentence.
"Oh. Yeah I guess. I meanâ" He sighed deeply, silently composing his thoughts.
"What happened, man?" Bennyâs tinny voice wavered and the few display lights in the hall wavered with it. "When did people stop caring? When did space and science and math stop being cool?" He floated down to B, who didnât have an answer for him.
"I saw this girl grow up here. She loved the museum, she loved everything about science. She was gonna grow up to be an astronaut, she said. Last time I saw her a few years ago she had her arm around her partner, moaning about how lame museums were. All that light in her eyes was gone. Whatâs up with that, man," Benny finished sadly, on the verge of absolute tears if he could have managed them.
"Surely not all kids are like that," G suggested.
"No, but too many of them are you know?"
B merely nodded.The conversation turned too heavy for his liking. He slowly rose from the bench, adjusting his belt and brushing the wrinkles from his pants. Best not to laze about all night.
"Sorry your future sucks, dude," Benny read Bâs thoughts too easily and gave him a sheepish half-smile.
"Donât be," B replied. He made his way towards the wing that housed early bi-plane models. Benny bobbed along at Bâs shoulder height, surprisingly silent for once.
"Oh," said B, "I nearly forgot. Brought you something you might enjoy."
He stopped in his tracks in the middle of the room to dig around in his pockets until he extracted an iPod and a small portable speaker. Benny tried to act unimpressed.
B fumbled with it for a minute. The Ghostbusters theme burst loudly from the little speakers, filling the entire wing with sound.
Realization kicked in and Benny was doubled over in laughter. The lights flew up and the whole wing was nothing but warm glow and tinny laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.
"God. Iâm gonna make sure youâre fired, asshole. Nice knowing ya," Benny grinned, his previous troubles momentarily drifting. off. He floated next to B, who whistling along to his iPod as he finished making his rounds through the museum.
[So this Cool Anon Person left me this awesome AU and dang I had to write it.]
Features: hints o Coppernauts
Warnings: injuries, swearing, GCBC being a security guard
In 1987 the spaceship Gemini V burned up on reentry. A bit of space debris had ripped through the left wing of the craftâ it was a hopeless mission to try to get home but they tried it anyway. The craft broke up in a field over California. There were no survivors.
A memorial was erected at the air and space museum downtown, chronicling the lives and fates of the brave astronauts who gave their lives in the name of science and exploration. The exhibit was filled with pictures of the crew, of the Gemini V and its mission, a few bits of debris.
The only thing recovered from the wreckage that wasnât entirely burnt beyond recognition was a blue helmet with a reflective yellow visor, cracked straight down the middle. The helmet was a chilling reminder of the loss, sitting on a blue cushion behind plexiglass, a small place card next to it detailing who it had belonged to. It was a somber memorial, but with a tinge of hopefulness as well.
Admist the pictures of the Gemini V was the reminder that in the face of tragedy new technologies advanced that would make the future missions of the Space Corps safer and more successful than ever.
Since the memorial was installed, museum staff insisted that strange things kept happening in that particular wing. Dozens of third shift security guards quit their jobs over supposed phenomena that ranged from lights turning off, strange whistling in empty corners, to the blue helmet smashing violently into its plexiglass prison when backs were turned.
Three security guards left in a month.
ââ-
GCBC didnât want to take the job, but he had a reputation as the toughest cop out there, before his early retirement. But he figured he could use a little extra income to help his aging parents out.
Training night. He met three other security guards in the wing of the museum that housed the memorial.
"So, um. You know the drill, I suppose," the supervisor says, a little nervously. The other two security guards were certainly eager to leave for the night.
"Museum closes at 8. Keep a close eye, uh, over here," she motioned to the memorial wing. B raised an eyebrow over his aviators.
"All right! Looks like youâre all set," she shoved a radio into his hands and was out in a moment, the other security guards trailing after her like timid dogs.
B locked the doors after him and set about wandering around the museum.
"Youâve heard the stories havenât you?" G asked suddenly.
"Thatâs all they are," B replied, eyeing the displays as his boots echoed across the hall.
"Three security guards in a month. Thatâs a little strange wouldnât you say?"
"You sound like Mummy," B mused.
The memorial wing was silent. No ghosts tonight.
He whistled to himself and made his way across the museum.
It was silent for hours, no sound except for Bâs footsteps and Gâs chatter. Lights in several parts of different wings would turn on suddenly. But it was an old museum. B didnât have much patience for mischiefâ he just wanted to get through the night.
A few more silent hours. A light in the memorial wing flipped on.
"Why are you whistling the theme song from Beverly Hills Cop?" G asked.
"Iâm not whistling that, I thought you were," B scowled. He turned off the light. The whistling continued.
B made his way into the display, with hand on flashlight. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and spun around, nearly jumping out of his skin.
It was only himself, reflection staring nervously back at him from the blue helmetâs plexiglass.
"You scare so easily," G said, almost giddily. B merely scowled. He straightened up, and turned right around into someone in a bloodied blue spacesuit hovering six inches in front of him, whistling Axel F through broken teeth.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" B asked, too surprised to say anything else.
The figure shrugged. âWherever the helmet goes, I go.â He floated on his back, thoroughly inspecting B from every angle.
He was at a loss for words. The figureâs voice was faint and tinny, like an old radio broadcast. He had dark circles under his eyes, and bloody scars across his face.
"What year is it now anyway?" The figure asked. He had had enough of inspecting B and floated up to the ceiling, still whistling Axel F.
"Um, 2014," B stammered.
"No shit!!" the figure whistled low, floating back down.
"I gotta say, youâre the first person who hasnât shit their pants when they saw me," The figure crossed his arms and grinned at B.
"I donât think youâre supposed to be here," B said. His hand was on his radio but what good would that do him.
The figure sighed. âLook man, I told you, where the helmet goes, I go. Itâs been 30 years, I certainly canât figure it out.â
He pointed at it, and B switched to better read the card.
This helmet belonging to engineer Dr. Benjamin C. Blue was one of the few items recovered from amongst the wreckage of the Gemini V. It serves a reminder of the brave sacrifices made by the men and women of Gemini V and the Space Corps throughout the years.
"Huh," said G.
"Dude isnât it funny because like my helmet and shit is blue and Red wore red and Yoon wore yellow andâ"
"You mean to say," said B, "that youâve been⊠here for 30 years?"
Benjamin was doing cartwheels above Bâs head. âNaw, dude,â he said, âI was in a basement at Space Corps for a while.â
B groans and rubs his temples. He turns the lights off and makes his rounds through the museum again. Ben is floating after him, still whistling.
"Are you gonna follow me around all night?" B asked.
Ben shrugged. âProbably, I dunno man.â
"Just find another song to whistle," B sighed.
Ben floated after him, excitedly whistling Take On Me.
