Dipper's footsteps echoed off the tall buildings surrounding him, the sunlight barely sneaking through the gaps. The star in question was low on the horizon, and plenty bright as well. When he'd gotten back from HIVE's base, he had collapsed on his bed from exhaustion. When he'd come to, it was about eight in the morning, and considering that he'd only had about six hours of sleep, he was wrecked. His eyes were sunken, large black bags underneath them. His hair was unkempt, even more that usual. He grabbed the lapels of his trench coat and held them across his chest in an effort to keep warm, the navy sweater Mabel had knitted him doing precious little to conserve his body heat. As he rounded the corner, he began rubbing his hands together before blowing into them, repeating until the feeling in his left hand began to return. He sighed, not too fond of both his hands being completely numb. He had to deal with one every day of his life, but two was just too much.

Oh, give it a rest, he thought. You probably have it better than any other amputee on the planet. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. Would I count as an amputee? I did grab that crystal on purpose, although – to be fair – I was expecting to die, not have Wendy chop my hand off. He walked into the barbershop, the bell above the door ringing as he did.

One of the barbers – a portly man with thick glasses on – came up to the brunet and stopped him. "Кто ты?"

"Я Микки Маус, ты кто, черт возьми?" Dipper responded, speaking the password that Ivanov had given him (he hadn't the slightest clue what it meant).

The barber's eyes widened slightly in shock. He gently pulled a metal detector out of his desk drawer and motioned for Dipper to remove his weapons. After it was done, the detector was still bleeping.

"Oh," Dipper realised, taking his hand off and placing it on the desk. The barber smiled and led Dipper to a room at the back, putting a key in the lock and pulling the door open. In the room sat a desk with an old-fashioned telephone, the number already dialled in. The door was quickly shut behind him as he grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear.

It rang for a few seconds, before the distinct sound of someone picking up rang through Dipper's head. "Hello?" he said, his voice wavering slightly.

"Hello Dipper," came the reply, the voice low and English. "Yes that's right, I know who you are."

"Wha – but… how?" Dipper stammered.

"How about I give you a tip, Pines?" the man sneered. "Assume I know everything. Like the fact that you're currently calling from safe house that you got the location of through Anton Ivanov."

Dipper grimaced, "You haven't had enough time to trace this call."

"No, but I do know that Mr Ivanov went missing two days ago, and that the barbershop safe house is the only one he knows the location of."

Dipper steeled himself, he'd been caught off guard by the HIVE leader's apparent clairvoyance and that wasn't going to happen again. "Who are you and what did you do with my uncle?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that Dipper," the man said slowly. "Because you can figure out who I am if you have my name through those fancy spy glasses of yours. Or is it spy contact lenses now?"

Dipper was in shock. How did this guy know so much? "Where is Grunkle Ford?" he asked aggressively. He'd never been a very patient boy, and this man was running what was left of it thin.

The leader replied, "I don't know."

"Don't bullshit me. I know you took him."

"All I know is that he was taken by the police to Blackgate prison," the man said, helpfully. "Consider it a professional courtesy." And with that, the line went dead.

Ford lay in his bed quietly. His bunk mate was a very large and intimidating man named Frank, who was clearly not Russian. Ford wasn't quite sure what it was that Frank had done to get in here, and to be honest, he didn't want to find out.

Hell, he didn't even know why he was in here. The most he should've gotten was a speeding ticket, although it's certainly possible that HIVE had enough sway in the Russian government to get him arrested. That was a disturbing thought. Any politician or political figure in generally could be in the leader's pocket. He'd been racking his brain for who that man was, but he couldn't for the life of him pin down who it was. He recognised the voice, he really—

Davian.

That's who it was.

Before he got a chance to jump up and shout 'eureka!' (And bang his head on Frank's bunk in the process), his cell door unlocked and opened. He looked at it curiously, before peeking his head up to Frank's bunk. He was still asleep, even though it was eight in the morning. Ford had always been a bit of a night owl, but Frank was clearly not an early riser. Ford winced, his joints aching as he got up and looked through the doors. He was about to start making a run for it, but he stopped himself when some kind of laser weapon began cutting a hole in the roof. A rope fell down quickly afterwards, before Fiddleford poked his head down through the hole. He gestured for Ford to hurry, jolting the latter out of his trance. He grabbed the rope and was pulled to safety.

Dipper glanced at the the hundreds of bleeping lights that covered the jail's mainframe. He smiled as the USB that McGucket had given him finished hacking it, causing a new tab to open up on his laptop. Not sure which cell was Ford's, he selected them all and clicked open.

"Hey there short stack."

Dipper whipped around to see a tall man wearing a brown hunting jacket standing behind him. It was the same man that rammed the school bus into the water.

"'Ya miss me?" the man said. Then suddenly, he lunged at Dipper.

Dipper groaned. Everything hurt. He slowly pulled his eyes open and glanced around. A rope was wrapped around his chest, tying him to the chair. Whoever had captured him had obviously accounted for his cybernetic hand. He was in a large hallway, with two guards flanking each side. If he had a weapon (and his hand) he could probably get away, but he had neither. There was a desk to his right with a black briefcase on it. Two people walked into the room, only one of whom he knew. The first was the man who had captured him, the second a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair. At the end of the hall there was a door, which slowly opened. Dipper didn't need to be told who it was that came through.

He knew the second he heard the voice.

"Hello Dipper," the man said. "I said on the phone that I couldn't tell you my name, but now that you've seen my face, combined with the fact that Ford will have figured me out by now, I think it's safe to say. My name is Phillip Davian, and yours is Mason Pines."

"Okay," Dipper said clearing his throat. "First of all, don't call me that. Secondly—" he glanced around the room—"I'm loving this Bond villain aesthetic you got going on." He chuckled as he spoke, then nodded at Davian. "You're really killing it."

Davian bit his lip. "I've never seen a James Bond film," he admitted sheepishly.

The man in the hunting jacket looked at his boss in shock, as the woman sighed.

"Please excuse Viggo," Davian said. "He's a bit of a film buff."

But Dipper wasn't focusing on the two men, instead he was focusing on the woman. She discreetly turned her hand, revealing a scalpel in its grip. She nodded to him slightly, before turning to Viggo.

"If we want information from the boy, then perhaps it would be easier if I was left alone with him. I am uniquely qualified after all."

Davian considered it for a moment, before beginning to shake his head. "No," he muttered. "Not alone, Elsa, but I like your thinking." He glanced at Viggo. "Leave us."

Viggo nodded, making his way back through the door he first came out of.

Davian, satisfied, turned back to Dipper. "Now," he said, grabbing the black case and opening it. Inside lay various knives and syringes, along with pretty much every other method of torture imaginable. "You're going to tell us where Stanford Pines is."

Dipper gulped.

Davian picked a sharp carving knife out of the case, along with a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

Just when Dipper thought he was done for, Elsa jumped up and kicked Davian in the face, knocking him over. She quickly ran over to Dipper and handed him the scalpel, before turning to the guards. Thinking fast, Elsa grabbed the knife her husband was carrying and stabbed a guard through the chest. She dispatched the other three guards rather quickly, before rushing over to help Dipper finish cutting the ropes.

She pulled him out of them, before running over to Davian. The syringe had rolled under a desk. She picked it up and jabbed him in the neck with it, before grabbing his legs and dragging him away.

"Come on," she said quietly. "We have to move."

Dipper, still in complete disbelief in what had just happened, stood on the spot for a second. Elsa raised her eyebrows, before Dipper finally realised what she was telling him to do. The two ran through a door at the back as fast as they could (which wasn't that fast, considering that they were still dragging Davian. A few moments later, they reached a window. Elsa reached over and opened it.

"There's a rubbish skip down below," she said softly. "I'll go first, but if you want out of her, you need to jump, okay?"

Dipper nodded slowly.

"Good." And with that, she held her husband in her arms and vaulted out the gap.

Dipper's eyes burst open, the light blinding him. "What – what happened?" he asked, beginning to register his surroundings. He was in the passenger seat of a car, with Elsa on the driver's side.

"You passed out," Elsa replied, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the road. "I'm assuming it was from the drop, but I couldn't be sure."

Now that she mentioned it, he did remember jumping out a window at some point. And a lot of other things that had happened that day. Davian had known where Ford was imprisoned, but he'd asked where Ford was. That meant that the prison escape had gone well. McGucket and Soos had worked their magic. It was then that a thought occurred to him.

"Do you happen to have my hand?"

Elsa immediately winced. "Sorry," she turned the wheel. "They took it in for analysis. It's some pretty advanced tech."

"Dammit," Dipper muttered. I really hope I remembered to pack my backup hand. He glanced in the back, and to his shock, Davian was sitting up, well awake. His face was one of rage and… hurt.

He was giving Elsa the death glare, although she was either blissfully unaware or choosing to ignore it.

Dipper, feeling in control of the situation for the first time in ages, remarked, "What? You salty that you got captured?"

"A minor setback, I can assure you." Davian leaned forward, the chains of his handcuffs clinking together. "I will get out of here," he said, sending Dipper a similar, if less venomous death glare. "And when I do, you're going to wish you were never born, Mason."

Dipper sighed, beginning to get used to Davian's complete omniscience.

"You've just started a war, and when you lose, you'll be remembered in history as the person who tried to prevent me from saving the world."

Dipper sighed. "And when you lose, no one will let you forget it."

Davian raised his and leaned back in his car seat.

Then he smiled.

So Elsa finally did something. She'll be a big part of the plot going forward, and the next time we check in on this plot line, we'll find out how Davian knows Ford and build some tension between said scientist and Elsa. Thanks for reading!