Halloween Battle in Shibuya

Protect the Emergence of Technological Species (PETS): Orbit 789,621, Demonic Attack, Third Planet, System 502 BT/1.32

Speeding through the underground, the train stroked the rails in a song against the drone of conversation from the costumed passengers. I hummed and rocked my head to the beat as I stared out the glass of the door at the brick walls of the Ginza line. Tonight was October 31, so the train was packed. Their destination was the last stop, Shibuya. Young, in fancy getups, and gaudy makeup, they were all in the Halloween mood.

Six of us had been ordered to prepare for a battle against alien demonic forces. In order to increase our aggressiveness, all of us had agreed to choose the essence of a great baseball player to add to our positronic brains. Needless to say we loved winning, and the best victory was in a battle to the death.

I seemed to be the only one traveling alone and from an older decade. Dressed as a baseball player, I cradled a bat to my chest in that packed train. There wasn’t a number or name on the uniform only a D for Detroit just like in those early days. Unthinkable now when egotism is rampant and acceptable. At times, it’s even desired and loved. Blame the media? To someone like me, it’s all in the nature of the mind.

Speakers announced Shibuya station was seconds away followed by lurches and screeches as the driver slowed down. Finally, the train stopped, the doors slid open, and everyone spewed out. I expelled every molecule of stale human scented air in my lungs, and took a deep breath of the cool filtered air.

Down the stairs and out of the station, I was in front of the famous intersection. Mesmerizing flowing lines of flashing color, a tingling sphere of voices, and a mingle of odors from beer and fried food assaulted my senses. What was lacking was the noise of traffic for it had been banned from the area.

Every three hundred years or so, some demon thinks it has what it takes to destroy this world. What I’m trying to figure out is why after ten thousand years they don’t know better. What abomination will it be next time?

I thumbed the number for Central.

“Cobb reporting. Arrived at focal point. All’s well.”

“Roger.”

I switched on the hologram map and selected the icon for the team. Five Jack of Lanterns popped up under the visor of my cap. Searching visually, I easily found them, for each of us had agreed to wear a baseball uniform. Just for joy, I took off my cap and waved it high. The response was instant and unanimous. Perhaps, some in the mass wondered about six old fashioned baseball caps waving above the heads of the crowd.

The hour of midnight was near and I could sense the ominous opening between worlds, aka wormhole, appearing in the center of the intersection. I keyed in the code to transform my bat into a wand and grinned as writhing snakes of power snapped into being.

The grin didn’t last. A hurricane wind swooshed everything out from the intersection. A witch with a death skull, waves of shadow hair, and flaming eyes held a wand of twisted lavender as she opened her arms skyward. I shielded my eyes from purple smoke and bolts of lightening.

I heard her shout, “Trimetrogon”!

The smoke curled outward as ghouls rose from the pavement.

The crowd cried out in awe, applauded, and held their phones forward to record and upload onto the internet. The poor stupid innocents thought it was all a show. That didn’t last long. Screams sent chills through me, as the ghouls, galloping like apes, slashed and bit into the crowd. Ruth, DiMaggio, Shoeless Joe, Gibson, and Williams, were all swinging away. Puffs of dust marked the places where the ghouls met their end.

We were getting the upper hand until the witch attacked us.

“Trimetrogon!”

Balls of crackling energy streaked toward Ruth and DiMaggio. They batted them away sending them to crash into the skyscrapers. Explosions rained concrete and glass. Ruth missed one. Shards of red hot titanium and bubbling silicon burned through the pavement. Ángels of black smoke rose over his grave.

I stabbed an arm upward. “Direct your attack on the witch.”

Beams streaked from four directions, slammed into the witch, and caromed away leaving her unharmed. At least, we saved DiMaggio.

I looked for cover. “Get behind the buildings! Kill the ghouls until Central gives us a plan.”

Keeping track of where the others were going, I sprinted toward the nearest large building. A ghoul was chasing a small group. Swinging my wand, its bolt found its target. It burnt a neat smoking hole though its reptilian torso. Another ghoul done for. But, I didn’t feel like cheering. Seconds ago, the same bolt would have turned it into dust. They were becoming more resistant.

“Trimetrogon!”

A tremendous explosion rocked the ground. A building with a dozen stories leaned over with a groan of folding steel followed by a thunderous crash and ashy plumes as it smashed into the pavement. DiMaggio’s icon vanished. The witch was getting stronger. It could only mean the hole in the barrier between worlds was growing thus giving her more power.

“Move in a circle around the intersection. Don’t let her know where you are. Go, Go, Go!”

“Trimetrogon!”

A ring of smaller explosions blotted out the night sky, buildings, and everything else. The ground shook as blocks of asphalt and concrete slammed down. The stench of burning tar and flesh, thick and heavy, disgusted me. I checked the hologram. Williams, Gibson, and Shoeless Joe were all miraculously still kicking.

It’s funny how when so many things are happening a plan just pops up. This one was too drastic to inform Central. I knew many wouldn’t approve even in war. I say end it as quick as you can.

I closed the line to Central and spoke to my team, “Hey, you wimps, get back to the intersection. Gibson! I’m going to conjure you a baseball. When I give the word, throw it as hard as you can at that bitch. Williams, Joe! When I unleash my attack, give her all you’ve got.”

On my cap’s visor the Jack of Lanterns converged on the intersection’s perimeter. I saw the baseball appear in Gibson’s hand, and launched a bomb at the witch. Williams and Joe followed my lead. As soon as the explosions shrouded their target, I shouted, “Gibson, show your stuff!”

Gibson fired that baseball faster than the real Gibson had ever done, but still that witch caught it. It didn’t matter. I’d set the singularity to pop into being as soon as the baseball hit something.

The witch managed to say the first syllable of her spell before she was sucked into the singularity. Then, there was a maelstrom, the wormhole closed, and the ghouls turned to dust.

That singularity would strengthen as it appeared in her world and consume it and its sun. Somewhere soon a supernova was going to light up the Milky Way. In hundreds or maybe thousands of years from now humanity (if it’s still around) will see it, and won’t understand.

Well, we lost two of us and thousands of people. What did they lose? Billions? I call that a probable win.

It’s said on this planet that war doesn’t solve anything. I think I just proved that wrong.