A/N: And we're back! We're racing towards a conclusion ladies and gentlemen, and I only hope I can strike a decent balance between showing too little and too much of the imminent twist. As aways, you'll have to be the judge.

Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls isn't mine, good people.

The day passed in a blur of suffocating coddling and total security.

Now that she was under the wing of her clones, Mabel wasn't a human being anymore, just a life-sized doll to be fussed over and pampered and cuddled until the end of time. If you were really feeling generous, it might be fairer to call her a pet for the Forger-Wasps to care for in their horribly-cloying way and punish horrifically if she ever strained at the leash.

But of course, that last bit was never mentioned aloud, for the clones never said anything remotely unkind towards her. After all, why would they even need to? Now that they had all of Grunkle Ford's memories, they knew that she'd been given a few choice examples of all the horrible things they could do to her if she ever got out of line, so they didn't bother making any more ultimatums than they already had. Instead, the threat remained hanging over her head, forever unspoken but always hanging over her head, waiting to fall on her.

In the meantime, Mabel found herself given one of the single most uncomfortable daily routines she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. As soon as they'd finished her introduction to life in captivity, one of the clones whisked out her of the cell and carried her – physically carried her in her arms like a baby – upstairs to the bathroom: there, a whole team bathed her at length using medical-grade soaps and shampoo until her skin had turned scarlet from the scrubbing and her hair practically glowed in the dark. Then, as if having an entire team of clones washing her hair and chiding her every time she tried to get out of the tub wasn't humiliating enough, she was then dried off, dressed, carried all the way back downstairs to the lab and given a medical examination that ended with Fabel and McGabel inoculating her for just about every known disease, plus a few nobody had ever heard of. By the end of it, she was a human pincushion, stinging from several dozen injection sites and barely able to sit down without wincing. For good measure, they'd given her lollipops for good behaviour, which was even more excruciating for Mabel because she normally enjoyed extra-sugary candy – but now every bit of confection she earned made her feel like a traitor to the human race.

Then it was off to the kitchen for breakfast, and here the clones didn't even allow Mabel the dignity of holding her own cutlery: they spoonfed her every last mouthful of cereal, even forcing her mouth open every time she started getting reluctant to eat. Fortunately, they stopped just short of strapping her into a high chair and giving her a sippy cup of apple juice, but it was still a horribly demeaning ordeal that only seamed to grow all the more torturous for every saccharine term of endearment thrown her way. Once she'd stopped cringing in embarrassment long enough to give the matter some thought, she found it made sense: they wanted her fit and healthy to carry their Queen, so they couldn't allow her to starve herself. But that didn't make the reality any less miserable, especially since the clones had even managed to drain the fun out of Mabel Juice.

Once that was over with, she was escorted into the living room, where a very nervous-looking Waddles was waiting for her on the end of a leash. There, Mabel was encouraged to enjoy herself, with an unspoken warning that frowns would not be tolerated: so, smiling until her face hurt, she went about playing, watching TV and toying around with art projects – all while under the watchful eyes of the Forger Wasps. Worse still, her chief supervisors were Dabel, Sabel and Pabel, easily recognized by the distinctive clothes; it was one thing to have her own face smiling balefully at her from every angle, but seeing the clones in Dipper's baseball cap and Pacifica's clothes or even a downsized version of Soos's question mark t-shirt was enough to make Mabel's stomach turn.

All things considered, R&R under the Forger Wasps was about as much fun as having her teeth slowly torn out with a pair of barbecue tongs while watching a 24-hour documentary on the history of bricks and every bit as annoying. By the time lunch finally rolled around, she was almost relieved when the clones began shovelling food into her mouth again.

As soon as she'd finished her lunch, the clones dragged her back down to the lab, put her on a treadmill and took her on a five-mile jog to nowhere. Mabel would have been glad for the exercise if they'd only been willing to just let her out of the house, but of course the wasps couldn't give her any opportunity to escape, not with her own copier clones roaming the forest. So for the time being, all her exercise would be indoors, aided by her favourite music and, eventually, virtual reality. By the end of it, Mabel was just about ready to explode, both from exhaustion and from frustration: more than anything else, she wanted to be outside, to be away from the basement and the mockery they'd made of Grunkle Ford's laboratory, to have fresh air and natural light… but she couldn't complain. She had to be on her best behaviour – not just for her sake or for Waddles' sake, but for the sake of the entire human race. So, Mabel could only smile, nod, and hope that it would all be over soon.

Hours went by and the transition from exercise to leisure grew all the more torturous as the Mabels piled on more smothering measures, interfering in her art whenever it looked as if she might be expressing too much depression for their liking: the moment she started knitting with a darker shade than usual, they'd take away that ball of wool and make her start again; one hint that the sculpture might be going in a gloomy direction, and it was confiscated on the spot.

All things considered, Mabel would have been a lot more composed if she'd had just a little time alone, just enough catch her breath and get her bearings. But no, the clones wouldn't allow her any kind of privacy whatsoever, or any dignity for that matter. At one point, she'd taken a break from R&R to go to the bathroom, hoping that she'd be able to catch at least a couple of minutes to herself, only to find that two Mabels had followed her into the bathroom and were now watching her every move.

They'd even reminded her to wash her hands.

Dinner was particularly miserable: after two meals of spoonfeeding, it seemed as though the clones finally trusted her enough to let her eat unassisted, but if anything, that only made things worse – for now she had to make it look as if she actually had an appetite and was happy to be eating in the company of the monsters who'd just replaced her family and friends. It might have been easier if they'd been eating as well, but the Forger Wasps never ate anything other than the thoughts of their own victims, so dinner was reduced to her eating alone as ten clones stared raptly at her from across the table, smiling endlessly as they bombarded her with the latest phase of their plans.

"We caught Sev'ral Timez a few hours ago; they're being assimilated even now. Do you want to hear their last performance before they become part of our swarm?"

"We might not even have to play at being hitchikers when we head out into the world? Fabel's already working on a design for robot chauffers: we can smuggle dozens of Mabels out to every city in the world and nobody will ever know what our little fleet of cars is up to."

"Once you've proved your good behaviour, we can take you on tour of the cities we've taken. Where would you like to go first? Washington DC? New York? Los Angeles? They'll be so much prettier once we take over."

"Would you like to choose the wallpaper for your cell? It'll be a nice change from transparent Perspex walls."

Eventually, dinner and dessert were concluded and Mabel was allowed a few more hours of "fun" before being escorted back down the basement and returned to her cell for bed. Curtains were drain around the cell to keep out the light, soundproof barriers rose around the walls, and the door was locked, so that the Forger Wasps could continue their laboratory work without disturbing her. Unfortunately, they still had to keep an eye on her for safety's sake, meaning that one of the clones had to be inside the cell with her. And that was just the cherry on the depression sundae for Mabel, the extra dose of fear and humiliation to put the finishing touches on that awful, awful day: as if being tucked into bed like a six-year-old wasn't awkward enough already, as if being separated from Waddles for the rest of the night wasn't enough to make her stomach churn with dread, she also had to put with the fact that there was now a living security camera sitting in the cell with her, watching her sleep.

And even with the cell plunged into coffinlike darkness by the curtains, Mabel could tell that the clone was still there, looming over her in the gloom and smiling that awful phosphorescent grin. All she could do was turn away and lie still, hoping that it would all be over soon, hoping that her plan was working and would pay off very soon… because it had been two days since the infestation had begun.

The people of Gravity Falls had five days left to live.

The next day was more of the same, only even worse.

She didn't even want to get out of bed at that point, but as the Mabels had pointed out, they were there to make sure she was safe and happy on their terms, not hers. So, after a deeply troubled sleep, she was hauled out of her cell for yet another torturous morning routine. More washing, more embarrassment, more spoon-fed meals, more indoor exercise, more half-hearted R&R periods and more excruciating visits to the bathroom.

In fact the only major difference lay in the fact that this time around, the medical exam ended with her being given a heart-rate monitor to wear, and nobody would explain why. Either they were getting ready for the next big push towards making her immortal, or the Queen was scared that Mabel might be in danger of having a heart attack.

But Mabel didn't complain. She'd seen the way the clones had hovered over Waddles whenever it looked as if she might be in the mood to rebel in any way. She'd seen the way they'd leered at her whenever she tried to protest the treatment. So she had to be on her best behaviour, and not just for the sake of Waddles' life: if she was right about how her plan was going, she couldn't afford to let the Forger Wasps suspect her of anything, not when her big chance as saving the day was so close at hand. So she only smiled, nodded, and thanked her jailers for everything they did.

Truth be told, that might have been a little less irksome if the Mabels hadn't been so cloyingly saccharine about the whole thing: stroking her hair, patting her head, showering her with condescending endearments, and doing everything short of giving her a dog treat every time she cooperated. And by now, she really didn't like being touched by these things: she knew they couldn't infest her like they had everyone else in Gravity Falls – and wouldn't even if they could – but that didn't stop her skin from crawling every time one of the clones hugged her.

But there was one bright spot in the morning, one moment that made all the myriad aggravations worthwhile: while she'd been sitting in the lab, waiting for Fabel to finish processing the latest round of tests, her eyes had strayed in the direction of the air vent on the wall – and noticed that the bolts had been removed. If the cover had simply been unscrewed, and not simply ripped clean off the wall, it meant that the Forger Wasps hadn't discovered her plan.

She didn't let her gaze linger too long, though: just because the Queen could watch her through the eyes of every other clone in the house didn't mean she wouldn't read her memories, and Mabel didn't want anyone wondering why she seemed so interested in the vents all of a sudden.

It took a lot of effort to ignore the vent from then on, though, and Mabel was almost glad to be out of the lab when the time came for the examination to end. Unfortunately, that left her wondering what was going on with the other copier clones for the rest of the day; on the upside, it at least left her with something to think about for the rest of the day… but it did prove a little aggravating since she had no way of figuring out what was going on.

Just what was her diversion team up to?

"Echo team charlie bravo ninja jones alpha two-step, come in. Charlie bravo ninja jonnies alpha two step, come in please."

"This is banana foxtrot dingo malarkey banjo ICBM kaput fungus vamoose, receiving your transmission."

"…are you using made-up words or am I?"

"I think we both are."

"Oh. Er, anyway, this is the diversion team speaking. Where are you right now?"

"Still exactly where we've been for the last twenty-four hours. I'm just glad we don't have to go the bathroom. It's a bit boring and the silverfish are a pain, but hey, we've made a new friend down here so it's not all bad. Where are you?"

"Up in the trees. The Forger Wasps haven't found us yet and the raincoats are keeping us dry, so all good so far. How's Mabel doing?"

"Barely holding out. I've only been able to see about half of what's going on over here, and it looks as if she's about to start eating her own ears. I haven't seen her this upset since she was going out with Gideon."

"Can we get on with this diversion, then?"

"No, not time yet. She isn't ready: they've got to have her completely under her thumb, or she's got to make them think she's under her thumb. Absolute last resort, remember?"

"But it's been over a day already!"

"I know, but she said that we should give it at least three if the Mabels hadn't secured her by then."

"How the heck are we supposed to know if she's under their thumb or not?"

"Well, I think they'll have started trusting her by then, enough to leave her unattended for a while. It'll take a while, but we've just got to trust that it'll happen eventually. If it doesn't work out... oh."

"What?"

"I think something's going on now…"

"What? What is it?"

"They're giving her something! I think this could be our shot!"

"Alright, just give the word. As soon as the coast is clear, make sure she's got a free hand and be ready to move on her signal…"

Early afternoon found Mabel hunched over a table, scrawling aimlessly on a piece of paper and wondering how to fill the remaining hours in the day before something actually happened.

She had no idea what she was drawing, and even less idea why she was doing this when she could have been playing with Waddles – about the only hobby she had left that the Mabels didn't try to micromanage in one way or another. But something in the back of her mind was demanding attention and it couldn't be expressed in any way other than pen and paper. By now Mabel had recognized her old artistic impulses at work, just as apparent as if she'd been knitting or sculpting: right she had no other choice but to hold on tight and see where inspiration took her.

So she drew and doodled and scribbled and generally wasted time until she forgot all about the Forger Wasps peering over her shoulder, the uncomfortable heart monitor rubbing against her skin, the last few days of humiliation and despair, the fact that she had a time limit bearing down on her, or even that she might never be free again. She was officially in the zone.

Eventually, her pen suddenly veered away from the random shapes and designs she'd been scrawling for the last fifteen minutes and began jotting something down. By that point, Mabel was so lost in thought that she didn't know what she was writing until it was already done, so the words actually came as something of a surprise to her:

WILLIAM YARD VIII.

Recognizing the name of "Grey's" client, Mabel's eyes narrowed. There was supposed to be a clue here, wasn't there? Grunkle Ford said that whoever had hired Grey to send the Forger Wasps into this dimension would be hiding behind a joking nickname, some kind of riddle or private joke… but how obvious would it be?

Could she uncover the mysterious Mr Yard's identity?

Truth be told, this was Dipper's gig: he'd have a system in place to puzzle out every little detail in the name, decode whatever meaning was there; after everything he'd learned from the journals and Grunkle Ford, he'd be translating it into Atbash and Caesarian and whatever other codes he had under his belt… and he'd probably be scanning the page with a blacklight or some other instrument as well, just in case the name had some kind of hidden nature.

But then, Dipper wasn't here. Perhaps Mabel could fill in for him if she pushed herself to the limit… or perhaps she could uncover the truth another way. Maybe she could do this Mabel style, quirky and eccentric and ever-so-slightly silly.

What the heck, she thought. It's not as if I've got anything better to do.

Humming to herself, she wrote down the name again under the first, this time dividing the words up into parts in the hopes that she might find a hidden message of some sort.

WILL – IAM – YARD – VIII.

No luck. She tried again, this time replacing the Roman numeral with the number 8.

WILL – IAM – YARD – 8.

Still nothing.

Muttering a few invented obscenities, she wrote the word "William." She wasn't trying anything serious now; in fact, she was officially spitballing, throwing ideas at the wall and seeing what would stick to it.

WILLIAM.

Then, on instinct, she tried shortening it.

WILL.

WILLIE.

LIAM.

She was halfway through using more unconventional nicknames – chief among them being IAM and YAM – when a very strange and distinctly worrying impulse made her write something else down.

BILL.

Could Bill Cipher have done this? Could the crazy corn chip have been behind it all along? It might not be out of the question, but Ford had said he hadn't detected anything from the statue, and parasitic wasps weren't really Bill's style, come to think of it.

Besides, Grey and the Retribution Squad were all about taking revenge. Surely if Bill wanted revenge, he'd do it himself, wouldn't he?

Frowning, Mabel tried again.

BILLY.

And then she saw the way the name lined up with the third section of the name. Suddenly curious, she wrote down exactly what she'd seen.

BILLY YARD.

For a moment, she could only sit there, sounding out the word in every possible intonation. Then Mabel's heart skipped a beat as realization exploded through her brain. If Grunkle Stan hadn't introduced her to the art of hustling pool games, she might never have gotten this reference.

BILL YARD = BILLIARD.

BILLIARD 8.

8 =

Mabel's jaw thundered open. She had him. She knew who it was! She-

"Enjoying yourself, Mabel?"

Jumping in her seat, she turned to see that she was now at the centre of a very large huddle, and every single one of the clones was looking down at her – and her work – with expressions of undisguised curiosity.

"Arg! I'm fine!" she yelped, throwing the page aside as if it was on fire. "I'm just fine, thanks!"

"Clearly not," said Dabel. "We've had the house cooled for the last thirty minutes, but you're sweating."

"And your heartrate's gone up," Fabel tutted disapprovingly. "A lot higher than we'd like."

"You're upset about something," said Pabel, "very upset. Not healthy, Mabel. Not healthy at all. Maybe it's time you cooled down a little."

McGable stroked her hair soothingly – or at least it was supposed to be soothing. "After all, you've been a good girl in the last day or two; you've been so well-behaved, you've earned an extra-special treat!"

"That's great," Mabel laughed nervously. "That's just great, but I really don't need any treats; I'll just sit down someplace quiet and have a rest while my heartrate goes down-"

Mabel didn't even get a chance to finish her sentence: before the final syllable was halfway out of her mouth, Dabel and Pabel had seized her by the arms and were forcing her down against the table. Squawking in alarm, Mabel almost tried to fight them off before belatedly remembering that there'd be no point: quite apart from the fact that any one of the Mabels was a thousand times stronger than her, quite apart from the fact that they wouldn't actually hurt her, she was supposed to be on her best behaviour. She hastily went limp, dimly aware that someone had rolled up her sleeve and was now dabbing her right arm with an alcohol swab.

A moment later, there was a sharp pain in her shoulder, and Mabel looked up just in time to see Fabel pressing down the plunger on a syringe.

"What the heck was that?" she gasped, as the clones let her up.

"Just a little something to calm you down," said Fabel, gently withdrawing the needle. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Mabel: we can't give you this every day, not with the current version of the drug. You'll find it's very good for strained nerves and broken hearts – much better than Mabel Juice, believe it or not."

"I really find that… hard to…" Mabel blinked rapidly; suddenly it seemed very hard to focus on the world around her. "What… what did you just give me? Really?"

"The newest thing from Mabel Pines Labs. We call it the Queen's Smile. It's a lot of fun: you'll see some amazing things if you give it time, but first… you get smiley."

"I… I get what? I don't… what… I…"

Mabel's eyes were fluttering wildly now. She was swooning, swaying back and forth in her seat as she struggled to get a grip on the world around her, but it was impossible to know where the table was anymore: her vision was beginning to blur, the Mabels around her seemed to be doubling before her very eyes, and the room itself looked almost as it was starting to melt. And yet she didn't want it to stop, because as weird as it looked, it felt absolutely incredible.

Every nerve in her body was crackling with energy, alive with sensations.

Every drop of blood in her veins was Mabel Juice.

Her head was a lighthouse.

All around her, familiar faces rippled into view: the Mabels were gone now, and in their place stood people that she knew and loved. Dipper, Soos, Wendy, Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, McGucket, Pacifica and so many others. She wasn't alone anymore; she was with her friends and family, and everything was right with the world again.

And somewhere, she was laughing.

Laughing and drooling and giggling as she floated away on a spiralling ocean of light.

The world unfolded around her, a kaleidoscope of a million different colours and concepts and shapes flickering in and out of existence. Earth was a donut, an armadillo, a surfboard, a thumb, a sleigh, a banana, an icosahedron – whatever that was – and even her own head, grinning as it spun through time and space. She saw planets floating in a sea of maple syrup, stars being juggled by a man with feet instead of hands, a great gnashing mouth that took bites out of passing galaxies but left more in them with every mouthful rather than less, a space fleet of couches piloted by vengeful cats, and even stranger sights.

She saw Dipper remaining young while the rest of the world aged; she saw a little girl with an old man's voice ruling over an underground kingdom of dreams; she saw potions channeling the power of other worlds; she saw a forest of pale faces gnawing at the bones of the human race beneath the watchful eyes of a fire god; she saw a green girl fighting against herself; she saw a world of chaos at peace under the reign of young gods; she saw a mist-shrouded island where a woman who could not die wept for a lost child; she saw a man in a red coat laughing at her.

Strangest of all, Mabel saw herself: she was armed with Blendin Blandin's tape measure; she was Bloody Murder Mabel; she was a spy; she was clowning around in a plague doctor's mask; she was master of time. She was the girl who changed history and changed her mind; she was a terrorist and a killer; she was a friend to an immortal; she was a goddess; she was an arbiter of fate.

Then…

She was dimly aware of raised voices nearby. Someone was angry. Something in the forest was drawing attention. She couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but she could feel the distinct sensation of being manhandled even through the electrifying buzz of exhilaration rippling through her brain: someone was carrying her away, manacling her to something even as she giggled.

In the distance, through the sound of fireworks, she heard dozens feet stampeding away.

Minutes went by. Then, someone unlocked the manacle, but didn't remove her arm from the cuff. Eventually, Mabel drifted off into a deep, confused, and highly-enjoyable sleep.

When she awoke, she was back her cell, alone in the lab…

…and a man in grey was staring condescendingly down at her from behind the glass door.

"Pleased to meet you, Mabel Pines," said the Grey Professional. "My client would like a word."

A/N: This chapter's soundtrack was Greenfinch and Linnet Bird from Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

Anyone care to guess what'll happen next?

And now for the code:

Dzrg... dszg gsv svoo rh hsv wlrmt?