Now, you are probably wondering who you’re tittle-tattling to and what kind of things we have chosen to do. If not, then go talk to the other spirits. If you're not completely into us, then stop wasting our time, love. If yes, be our lovely guest!
We are the Specters.
The Order enlisted a number of spirits, usually those who perished in violent or unsolved deaths in The Mortal World, to create what we are now. We are not siblings nor are related by blood, we are just a group of strange wayward spirits connected by The Order to help solve crimes and mysterious disappearances of both the dead and the living. Not all living though, we wouldn’t want to deprive mortal investigators of their work. Only those who are involved in the death of a person, usually in cases of murder, assassination, and massacre where foul play is suspected to have happened. For instance, if we've proven that the murderer had the intent to perpetrate the act and without any justifiable motive, we’ll report it to The Order. With our very special skill set, we’ll execute the punishment they assigned us to do and let The Order consume their souls. However, if we find out that the cause of death is relatively understandable (e.g. an adult child deciding to discontinue a parent's life because of too much pain), we become lenient. We’re not exactly heartless, aye?
To make things sound more amusing, we are supernatural detectives and bounty hunters whose main purpose is to capture and eliminate rogue supernaturals that meddle with human affairs in order to maintain the balance between The Void and The Mortal World. So, rather than doing what other spirits do, we decided to put ourselves in this "sacred" mission and come back to life—to your “exciting” world, rather. It’s not like we have a choice either. If we won’t do what we’re assigned to do, The Order can make us cease to exist in a flick of a finger. And we don’t want that. No one wants that. We still have a lot of things to do in your world. Order pizza, watch a live football game, say hello to The Queen, build a railway, or assassinate a willfully incompetent president. You know, the usual mortal things. Perhaps, grab a Subway bite with you—that is, if you can find us.
​
.png)
(Click an image to view each Specter's biography.)
As non-citizens of your world, we appear rather, well, human-like. A bit disappointing, isn’t it? But ordinariness is rather scary. It is hard to pick us apart from the living. There are of course, telltale signs of our ghostly condition. No, we aren’t accompanied by a swirling mist or fog and no, we don’t secrete or trail ectoplasm. However, keen-eyed folks will notice that our movements leave a brief after-image. It’s not immediately apparent and almost unnoticeable in the dark. Did you think the constantly dimmed lights in our house are for mood lighting?
​
We retain our original appearance from when we were alive whenever we return to the Highlands; but in the Human Realm, we disguise ourselves into our Hosts--to prevent conflicts of the past from reverberating. However, no matter how much human we make ourselves look like, traces of our humanness is long gone. Possession of a Host—bodies of the modern world on the brink of death—might be a blessing, but more often than not, there are people who give us a second look, with a trace of familiarity etched in their faces.
​
It’s not uncommon for old folks to walk up to us and ask if they knew us. They probably do. After all, the disguises are simply a mirage and underneath those wrinkly eyes are sharpness greater than those of a hawk, and they're technically closer to death and our past lives than anyone could ever imagine. However, we can’t disclose the truth easily. Because chances are, they knew us a decade or a century ago—and we can’t really nod, smile, and say “yes” when our features stayed the same even when we are expected to be old, grey, and to decay, right?
​
But then again, wouldn't it be a surprise to see a presumed-to-be dead man or woman wandering around? In any case, the best option we are left with is to move from one town to another, hoping our faces (as well as that of our Hosts) and memories are not stored in someone else’s memory. Praying this little thing won’t stop us from doing our job in The Mortal World.