Right, there's no guest reviews to reply to, so we'll get right into the chapter!

This is the part where bad things start happening, by the by.

II: Horshell

But who shall dwell in these worlds if they be inhabited? … Are we or they Lords of the World? - Johannes Kepler

"...reporting for the Associated Press in Grover's Mill, New Jersey, I'm Carl Phillips[1]..."

Ford caught the end of the radio broadcast as he stepped back into his abode - the tourist trap known as the Mystery Shack. The gift shop was mostly empty, but in the corner, Soos and Wendy, the Shack's employees, were gathered by the radio, listening to the news streaming in on the airwaves.

"Thank you, Carl. We have breaking news coming in NASA; they are confirming that four more objects have been confirmed in various parts of the United States. These are Beach City in the Delmarva region as well as open areas in the vicinities of Baton Rouge, Kansas City and Phoenix. This, alongside the confirmation of the Novgorod object by Moscow thirty minutes ago, brings our tally up to thirty-six. We take you now to a spokesman from Axion Labs, whose scientists have been tasked with..."

"Ford!" exclaimed Soos, noticing the scientist walking by.

"Soos," nodded Ford, walking up to the vending machine.

"Is it true, man?" asked Wendy, "Is there really some alien object up in Horshell?"

"Yes, I'm afraid there is," said Ford, punching the code to his lab into the machine, "I've come down to pick up my notes on alien life - I asked Ogilvy to keep people away from the crater, but..."

He shrugged as the machine moved to the side.

"Aliens!" exclaimed Soos, "Wait 'till we tell Dipper and Mabel about that, dudes!"

"...Dipper and Mabel?" asked Ford, turning around, "Are they...is that today?"

"Yeah," replied Wendy, "Stan's gone down to pick them up at the bus station."

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

"I completely forgot!" he exclaimed, "With all this cylinder business I - argh, I should be there!"

He turned and headed for the door.

"But what about your notes?" asked Soos.

"They can wait!" exclaimed Ford, "I'll borrow Stan's car and drive back up, but I'm not missing my niece and nephew!"

He bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Soos and Wendy glanced at each other, shrugged, and turned their attention back to the radio.

"...we interrupt that interview with another breaking bulletin - we can now confirm another object has landed south-west of Dimmsdale in Southern California..."

Stanley Pines drove back towards the Shack. It was now about eight - Ford had made it to the bus stop just before the bus, and now the extended Pines clan were gathered together.

Dipper and Mabel had grown a good deal since Ford had last seen them. Mabel had apparently finished going through her goth stage and was now back to sweaters, while Dipper seemed to have adopted a trenchcoat that the young paranormal investigator ruefully claimed made him look like John Constantine. Ford didn't see it, but then again he didn't really know who John Constantine was (perhaps he'd ask for contact details later). In any case, there were still little reminders of the children Ford had met that first year - Mabel had the aforementioned sweater and Dipper still retained Wendy's old trapper hat.

"Look at you kids!" grunted Stan, "Growin' up so much while you're not looking! I mean, Dipper's still kinda short, but..."

"Hey!" exclaimed Dipper.

"Heh, don't worry about it, Dipper," reassured Ford, "It took me until college to get to my full height. Just remember it's not a race."

"So, how old are you kids these days?" asked Stan.

"Seventeen," said Mabel.

"Eighteen in August," Dipper added quickly.

Ford noted in amusement that his nephew still wanted to grow up quickly.

"Yeesh, you're nearly in adulthood," groaned Stan "Before I know it you'll be pushin' me into a home."

"We'd never do that, Grunkle Stan!" exclaimed Mabel, scandalised.

"Yeah, we'd never find one that would let you in," added Dipper, smirking.

The family laughed, save for Stan, who furrowed his brow and concentrated on the road.

"So...we heard about that thing," said Mabel, "The one from space? What's up with that?"

"We don't know," replied Ford gravely, "And that troubles me. I'll be heading back up after we drop you off."

"Can I come?" asked Dipper.

"I told Ogilvy to keep people away from the crater," said Ford, "I can't exactly break my own rule to bring you along, my boy. Besides, for all I know it's incredibly radioactive."

"Oh, come on," grunted Dipper, crossing his arms.

"Look, if I can confirm it's not pumping eight thousand rads a minute into the surrounding area, I'll bring you up to see it," shrugged Ford, "But until then, you stay behind. Got it?"

Dipper sighed.

"Got it, Great Uncle Ford."

"Well, here we are!"

Stan pulled up in front of the Shack and climbed out. Ford shimmied into the driver's seat as Dipper and Mabel climbed out of the back seat.

"Alright, be home by dinner or I'm coming after you," said Stan.

"Okay, mother," said Ford, rolling his eyes.

"Have fun at the crash site, Grunkle Ford!" said Mabel, waving.

"I'll try, Mabel," replied Ford, "See you soon."

He drove away, turning the radio on as he did.

"...tally up to fifty. In local news, the Governor has announced that State Troopers are being dispatched to the Horshell landing site in rural Oregon but has categorically denied sending the National Guard unless the situation deteriorates. Despite this, National Guard units across the state are being mobilised..."

"So much for keeping people away," grunted Ford, "Hopefully it's not as bad as it could be..."

It was exactly as bad as it could have been.

The state troopers, perhaps due to their late arrival, had failed utterly to prevent a large crowd from gathering on the clearing. The local police had been able to create a cordon around the crater itself within which only Ogilvy and the authorities were allowed inside, but the rest of the open area was filled with humanity. The local diner owner, 'Lazy' Susan Wentworth, had set up a makeshift stall to serve hungry bystanders, and dozens and dozens of phones were recording the event for social media.

Ford pushed his way to the front of the crowd, ducking under the police tape and heading straight for Ogilvy.

"Ogilvy, what is going on?" he demanded.

"Sir, police cordon!" shouted a state trooper, who was standing next to Ogilvy.

"Easy, Lieutenant Henderson[2], he's my associate!" replied Ogilvy.

Henderson nodded, standing at ease.

"I'm sorry, Ford, but I'm only one man," said Ogilvy, "Once they started gathering there was no stopping them."

"Don't they have any sense of self-preservation?" demanded Ford, "For all we know, this could be a bomb!"

"We'll know soon," shrugged Ogilvy, "SETI is sending somebody out and...and there he is!"

A elderly, well-dressed man, escorted by state troopers, passed into the cordon. He walked straight up to the two scientists and offered his hand.

"Professor John Stent[3]," he said, "Here from the SETI Institute."

The three men introduced themselves.

"I had no idea SETI was a government body, professor," said Henderson.

"It is now," said Stent gravely, "We've gone from a trivia question to a national treasure overnight."

He looked pensively at the cylinder. The lid was still unscrewing.

"Although that might have been a death sentence, in the long run," he grunted, shaking his head.

"You're taking that idea well," noted Ogilvy.

"Did you ever read Tennyson?" asked Stent, "Ours is not to reason why..."

"Ours is but to do or die," nodded Ford.

"Indeed," said Stent, tucking his hands behind his back, "If we die, we die. Nothing I can do to help that. In any case, first contact is worth the risk."

"Look!"

Somebody in the front of the crowd - Ford recognised her as the cashier from the local supermarket - pointed at the cylinder.

Ford turned. He gasped as the lid shifted, slipping to the side and then crashing down to earth. A hiss filled the air, and Ford's breath caught in his throat. He clenched his fist and cringed - his stomach constricted.

Something peeked out of the top of the cylinder.

What he saw cannot be readily described in a work such as this. There is nothing on Earth that be compared to the small fraction of the creature that was seen at the Horshell clearing. It was a mass, tentacled and pulsing as it drew breath, although it did not seem to breath in the same way the creatures of Earth did. There were a number of spheres on the face - they were pure black, and while Ford guessed they might be eyes, he had no way to verify it. He could not discern what the skin was - it look neither liked scales nor the hide of an elephant or hippopotamus. It was entirely wrong.

It gazed at the crowd for just a few moments, than it returned to its capsule.

"Good...good lord," wheezed Ogilvy.

"Life," said Stent, "That simplifies matters. Henderson, gather a team. We need to try to communicate."

"I don't think we have any way of achieving meaningful contact with...with that," said Ford.

"Nevertheless, I have my instructions," replied Stent, "Ogilvy, Pines, if you'd like to accompany me?"

Ford looked to the cylinder and then back to Stent.

"I'll...stay behind," he said, "No offense, Professor Stent, but I've prodded with this sort of thing before. I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience."

Stent raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Well, my friend," said Ogilvy, "I shall see you when I return. Wish me luck, eh?"

Ford nodded, shaking the hands of both Ogilvy and Stent before ducking back under the police line. He found himself next to local policewoman - she was whispering a Hail Mary under her breath.

"Doctor," she said as she finished, "Do you reckon...do you reckon God made that thing?"

"It would stand to reason," shrugged Ford, "I'm not a believer myself, officer, but surely if there's a God He would have made everything."

The policewoman swallowed and began to whisper another prayer.

From his position, Ford could see the gathered deputation. Stent was taking the lead, carrying a small, rectangular device, rather like a box, that seemed to play messages in beeps and lights. Ogilvy followed, holding a pole upon which was affixed a white handkerchief. Behind him, several police - he recognised Henderson, as well as Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland - carried weapons over their shoulders but were being instructed to appear unthreatening if they could.

Stent waved them forward and they began to advance, slowly and deliberately. Stent's machine began to operate, and he held it up in front of him.

There was another hissing sound. A large construct - it looked to Ford like the end of a hose attached to a brown, metal box - slowly emerged from the top of the cylinder. It oriented with an almost casual sluggishness until it was pointed at the delegation.

In a sudden, visceral moment of pure horror, Ford knew exactly what was going to happen.

A beam emerged from the end of the construct, barely visible save for the glare that outlined it. It struck Stent and the man was instantly consumed in white-hot flame. He had about enough time to scream before his flesh was stripped from his body, leaving a black, distorted skeleton, still aflame, to collapse to the ground. The beam carried pitilessly on, consuming Ogilvy and Henderson before either man could comprehend what was going on, then Blubs and Durland, until the entire group had been turned into a pile of flaming bones on burnt ground.

Screams filled the air, and so too did the smell of burnt flesh. Ford was already beginning to back off, intending to head straight back to Stan's car and head for his lab, when he realised the beam was not stopping with the delegation. It was turning on the crowd.

Ford - and the entire crowd - began to run.

The 'Heat Ray' that followed them was pitiless. It made no distinctions; rich and poor, young and old, fit and ill; before this weapon all were equally insignificant. In seconds, a good portion of the crowd was literally an inferno.

Ford raced past a couple of state troopers and police who had fruitlessly opened fire on the cylinder, and heard their screams as each was incinerated in turn. He would later learn that not a single member of law enforcement made it off the clearing that day, whether they stayed and fought or ran. Their efforts to protect civilians were utterly irrelevant.

Tyler, the Mayor of Gravity Falls, was trying to lead a small group to the treeline. Ford watched the Heat Ray sweep the group away without a thought - the Mayor, the local newspaper owner Toby Determined and several others turned to fire. He shook his head and continued to run.

With a painful crash he collided with Lazy Susan, who was trying to pack up her stall before she ran.

"Forget the food, just run!" he bellowed.

Ford bolted again, but before Susan could respond to his call, the Heat Ray swept over her.

After what seemed like an age of running, Ford quite literally leapt over the rise that marked the edge of the clearing. He landed painfully and quickly climbed to his feet, looking back over the clearing.

Little remained of the crowd that had gathered early that morning - small groups were still alive and running in all directions, the Heat Ray dealing with them one at a time.

"Scatter!" Ford screamed, "You'll have a better chance, scatter!"

Nobody responded - probably distracted by their own plights and the adrenaline - and as a result most of the groups were wiped out piecemeal. Eventually, one group remained, heading in his direction - Ford recognised Wendy's friends among them.

"I said scatter, scatter!" Ford bellowed.

The group began to spread apart. For most, it was too little too late, and the Heat Ray quickly turned them into masses of fire. Thompson tripped on a branch and fell onto his face - Nate and Lee turned to help him, and all three quickly perished under the ray's heat. Only Robbie and Tambry remained, only metres from the rise.

The Heat Ray fired one last burst. Tambry dove over the rise, but Robbie was a split-second too late. The Heat Ray hit him in the back - his brief but terrible scream filled the air, and then all was horribly silent.

Ford quickly took cover behind the rise, dragging Tambry down with him. A few others had made it to the trees and were concealing themselves as quickly as they could.

The Heat Ray ceased firing. With another hiss, it lowered back into the cylinder. All was still.

The clearing was a truly terrible sight. Fires blazed away everywhere, and the twisted skeletons of those slain littered the burnt grass. The wind stank of burnt grass, burnt clothing and burnt humanity. The smoke drifted high into the sky, although there seemed no danger that the fires would gather enough fuel to reach the forest proper.

"Oh my god," Tambry breathed, shaking her head.

"We...we need to head back to town immediately," said Ford, "We...we'll have to evacuate."

The small handful of survivors turned away and began to head back towards the town - the first members of what would soon be the greatest exodus in the history of the human race.

As for the crowd on Horshell, it would later be found that only eight survived.[4]

"...we've just received a bulletin from Horshell. In excess of two hundred people including a SETI researcher and thirty police and state troopers have been attacked and killed by a weapon that emerged from the cylinder - their bodies burned and distorted beyond all possible recognition[5]. Sporadic reports from across the country indicate similar events have occurred at other landing sites. For obvious reasons, the Federal Government has advised that all people stay from these sites for the foreseeable future. Governor Montgomery Smith[6] has advised us that several battalions of the National Guard are being dispatched to the area as we speak..."

[1] Orson Welles again.

[2] Henderson is a journalist in the original novel and his job is to die very quickly to establish the Martian threat.

[3] Stent's role is largely the same as in the novel, although his fatalism is my own invention.

[4] Everybody's dead, Dave.

[5] This line is literally just lifted from the Orson Welles radio play.

[6] Orson Welles again. Basically, assume if a character comes up and they're not from Gravity Falls, assume I lifted the name from either the novel or the radio play.

AN: Martians are jerks.