It started out as any other day in Gravity Falls. Very little about the town could qualify as 'normal', but the gilded atmosphere still had a sense of regularity. Breakfast meals were set down in front of Preston Northwest and his family, carefully balanced on a silver platter. The taste of the food was still outstanding to anyone not accustomed to the rich lifestyle of having a personal chef, but even at the high levels of aristocracy there were distinguished degrees of wealth. Some had five-star chefs preparing imported food exclusively tailored to their taste. The Northwests no longer enjoyed that luxury.

Pacifica glanced at her phone, twenty-seven text messages from Mabel stood out on among her notifications. At first, they were regarding her interactions with Dipper. Then one time she was invited to hang out with Candy and Grenda. A few days ago, Mabel even asked about her wellbeing. Pacifica had hesitated to reply in the past, knowing that any wrong move she made would be documented and held against her. Though in honesty to herself, she didn't hate Mabel. It's hard to hate someone as cheerful and easy going as the brunette female half of the Pines twins. As annoying as she was at times, like Dipper, she was eager to help, and held her friends' best interests at heart.

The thought of Dipper was still heavy on her mind. There had to be a way to make things right, and though Wendy had briefly mentioned that Dipper was fine, the uncertainty in her voice was disconcerting. Maybe a phone call with Mabel would be a safer bet, less chance of her comments being taken out of context. A tap of a few buttons, and a few distant tones later, Mabel answered.

"Hey Mabel-"

"PACIFICA! I haven't heard from you in ages! You should come to the party this weekend!"

"What party?"

"The party at the Mystery Shack! Our Grunkle Stan wanted to celebrate a new exhibit at the Shack, and we convinced him to throw a party, since it's been so long since the last one. I was going to invite you later, but since you called, what do you say?"

"Well…"

"Come on, it'll be fun! Just like last year!"

Pacifica thought back to last year's party. She may have edged out Mabel's comparable karaoke skills, but not at a fair cost. Perhaps she'd find a way to make it up to her. She paused for a moment, before agreeing.

"Alright. I'll be there. What time?"

"Seven o'clock! This is going to be great!"

Mabel's excited voice resonated through the phone's speaker, leaving a ringing sensation in Pacifica's ears. The "party crown" she won that night sat in her closet, among a wide variety of fashionable clothes…and a pair of jeans and a jacket? That definitely wasn't hers.

The blonde teen carefully examined the clothes, searching through the pockets of the jacket for any clues. A loose piece of paper and a spare pen, marked with a few indentations near the end, as if someone had chewed on it. She unfolded the paper, to find a familiar sight of a disorganized array of signatures. It was the farewell letter to Dipper from the dusk of summer from so long ago.


A loud crackle echoed through the room. Briefly followed by a frantic voice, calling out his name. Dipper rubbed his eyes as he forced himself into consciousness. The walkie talkie sitting next to his bed was loudly broadcasting intermittent static mixed with Ford's voice, serious and concerned.

"Dipper! Do you read me?"

He sighed.

"Yes, great uncle Ford, what is it?"

"Get to the bunker as soon as you can."

Muttering under his breath, the tired mystery solver got out of bed, grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen, and hurried over to the bunker. Step by step, he made his way down inside, finding his great uncle. The man stood stiff, his hand on his holstered gun, as he looked side to side.

As Dipper approached, Ford raised his gun.

"Hold it. Sorry for the precautions Dipper, but I need to be certain."

"Certain? What for?"

"You and your friends didn't happen to see the shapeshifter down here, did you?"

Dipper's groggy mind finally started to make some sense of the situation. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Yeah we did. We trapped it in a cryogenic chamber though."

Dipper saw his great uncle's face tighten, his grip on the gun intensified.

"That's the same thing that I did before I left."

A sudden realization dawned on Dipper. Mabel had mentioned that there was some sort of log detailing how the eccentric scientist had concluded that the shapeshifter was too dangerous, and had to be frozen. However, the same day they had entered the bunker, an empty can of food was found on the floor…outside the lab. His eyes widened in fear.

"Wait, so did he get out?"

The panic was starting to reach his voice.

"I can't be too sure. I checked the lab this morning, and there was no sign of it, in any of the chambers."

Dipper stepped forward, before Ford raised his gun again.

"Hold on. Before this gets too far, I need to make sure you're not the shapeshifter."

Dipper swallowed. The shapeshifter was definitely dangerously capable.

"Just answer a simple question."

He nodded.

"What's the easiest way to deal with a ghost?"

The boy smiled at the question.

"Category one or category ten?"

Ford chuckled to himself.

"Alright, you pass."

Dipper hesitated for a moment, before replying:

"Hey great uncle Ford? Just in case…what was the advice for getting rid of a category one?"

Ford paused for a moment, before realizing. Years later, yet still abiding by his own words. Trust no one.

"Anointed water."

Dipper nodded, as the pair stepped through the access room into the lab. The scene in front of them represented much of the same dilapidated, deteriorating control room that he remembered from a year before. Lights hanging from the ceiling were struggling to resist the charms of gravity. Shattered cryogenic chambers and puddles of water made up most of the cavern. The lights buzzed with electricity, some flickering intermittently.

A shadow briefly leaped past, before one of the flickering lights gave way and collapsed onto the ground. Both Ford and Dipper grew tense, the former reached for his gun once more. A small draft rocked the leftover debris of the lab, raising the tension further.

Within a moment's notice, it struck, pinning the older of the pair to the ground. Ford struggled against the grip of the fiend, as the menace shifted into its true, horrifying self. He fumbled for his gun, tucked inside his coat, but the shapeshifter kept his arms pinned to the ground. Dipper stood a few feet away, watching helplessly as great uncle grimaced, face to face with the creature he had been researching.

Suddenly, darkness filled the room, followed by a loud shriek. The shapeshifter accidentally collapsed one of the remaining ceiling lights. A buzz of electricity fizzled out, leaving only the dim illumination of the control room and random equipment lights.

"Great uncle Ford? Are you there?" Dipper called out, while fumbling for his flashlight.

A defeated groan emitted from beside him.

"I don't remember what I was thinking when I designed this lab…"

The pair shared a quick chuckle, before reassessing the situation.

"We need to make sure it doesn't flee the bunker, who knows what havoc it could wreak on the surface!"

Dipper nodded, and quickened his pace towards the control room. Before he could reach the decontamination room, Ford blocked his path. Or was it the shapeshifter? What if Ford was the shapeshifter? The shapeshifter never turned into Ford before, despite having seen him in their earlier encounters! Dipper felt his heart rate accelerate, and his mind stopped listening to his surroundings.

The next thing he realized; he was being shaken strongly out of his anxiety. His great uncle stared into his eyes, greatly concerned. It was all too familiar to him. Maybe even reminiscent of his fears before hiding his journals, over thirty years ago. Grabbing his great nephew's hand, he pulled him out of the bunker into the sunlight. If there wasn't a concern about Dipper's health before, there was more than a grain of doubt now.


Dipper relaxed on his bed, sipping a cup of tea to try and soothe his nerves. Trying to keep his mind off of more dark matters, he revisited his own journal, looking through the pages. Before he could get through more than a page, a knock on the door resounded, followed by a friendly face sticking through the doorway. Grunkle Stan's expression was as discontent as normal, if slightly softer.

"Hey kid, old Sixer's told me you've been having some trouble lately?"

He nodded in response, not one to elaborate.

"Relax, my brother has dragged us all through some tough times. But as much as I enjoy others in pain and misery, you're still family. Come on, let me show you something."

Dipper followed him outside, to be met with the familiar red shine of his Grunkle's car. He was about to get in the back seat, when Grunkle Stan halted him.

"How about we mix it up a bit? Get in the driver's seat."

Dipper froze for a bit, and started to protest.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You want to learn to drive before your sister does, or what? Not man enough?"

Grunkle Stan smirked, seeing Dipper's determination grow. The young boy eagerly sat down in the driver's seat, reveling at being at the wheel of an automobile.

"So…how different from a golf cart is it, exactly?"

Dipper reached for his journal, about to write down the minute details.

"You don't need a journal to remember all this, jeez. If an old man can remember it, I'm sure you'll do fine. Just remember that the gas pedal is the only pedal you need! Works great for outrunning the cops, tax collectors, rent collectors, and toll collectors! Can't force me to pay for crossing a bridge if I'm already halfway across it. Whose idea was it anyway, to force me to pay taxes and build a bridge, then charge me more money to cross that bridge? That kind of scam should be left to the professionals, namely me."

Dipper decided that his grunkle's advice wouldn't be of much use, but the opportunity was too special to pass up. He gently pressed on the gas pedal, willing the car to move forward. Within a few moments, he figured out how much force he needed to apply to engage the car in movement. Grunkle Stan didn't look too excited though.

"Is that how you're planning on driving around? You wouldn't even beat me walking down the street at this pace!"

The underage driver let out a slight groan at Stan's comment, but decided to pick up the pace. Flooring the accelerator, the engine roared and the car started moving faster. Stan smiled, seeing the concentration on Dipper's face.

"That's more like it! Drive it like you stole it!"

The comment seemed like it might have more truth than humor in it, but Dipper was too focused on staring ahead. The dirt road leading to the Shack was about to meet the main road, and he started braking slowly. The car barely slowed, so he applied more pressure. Suddenly, the brakes locked, and the car lurched forward.

"Woah, watch it kid! This car's an antique, don't scratch it." Grunkle Stan's smile faded for a moment, watching out for his car's safety. "I told you, only use the gas pedal…"

Grumbling to himself, Grunkle Stan grabbed the arm rest. He glanced sideways, noticing Dipper's forehead starting to glisten with sweat.

"Had enough already kid? Or are you ready to take a spin on some real roads?"

"Which one of these is the turn signal?"

Grunkle Stan let out a hearty chuckle, before replying gruffly.

"If the rich crackhead drivers in their fancy sports cars don't feel compelled to spend the effort to reach for their turn signal, you don't need to either."

Grinding his teeth, Dipper accelerated. The tires spun, before catching. The self-proclaimed Stanleymobile swiftly cornered, and raced down the now paved road.