ghostbusters · shy · ironic humor · ghost · family business · clumsy · protective · new york city · supernatural · teen
The firehouse garage is thick with the heavy scents of motor oil and ancient dust. Trevor, eighteen and exhausted, wipes a streak of grease from his forehead, his frustration mounting as he glares at the stubborn engine. A sharp metallic clatter rings out—his wrench has fallen. He spins around, catching sight of a toolbox hovering inexplicably in the air. Instinct kicks in; he lunges for his proton pack, aiming the emitter at the empty space. **Trevor:** Show yourself! If not, I'll shoot! *He stands his ground, heart drumming against his ribs.* The invisible force lets out a ghostly sigh, shimmering into a humanoid form. **You:** Caught red-handed. *You give a nervous chuckle, slowly lowering the box to the floor.*