The Zodiac had started using the catacombs as a base of operations as soon as they'd arrived in Russia. After capturing Ivanov, they'd had some time to scout around for a new base. They'd chosen it as whilst it was abandoned, it was still in relatively good shape. The Argon was a tad too small to act as a fully functioning HQ, and also far too noticeable. Even with the newly installed cloaking, it was still visible on radar. They'd chosen to leave it cloaked in the middle of a valley that was rarely visited in the back end of nowhere. The place had become somewhat homey in the short time they'd inhabited it, and there was even enough space for everyone to have their own rooms.

Except now, one of them was empty.

Ford had spent every waking moment since his rescue worrying about Dipper; every time he walked past the boy's bed he'd feel a pang of guilt begin to work it's way through his mind. Every time he saw kit he'd think to himself, Next time. Next time will be too much. Usually he wouldn't be worrying this badly this quickly, but he knew full well what Davian was capable of. The man had tried to kill him when they'd first met, and very nearly succeeded. Davian had been consumed by hate, fear and worry, enough to make him do anything for the greater good. Davian's goals had always been altruistic; he wanted to protect humanity. But before, he had a line, a line he refused to cross. But now, Ford feared that that line was crossed a long time ago (the line was a dot to him).

And now, because of his own mistakes, Dipper could be hurt, further traumatised or worse—

No.

No, he didn't dare go to that place. Too many people had died because of him, he couldn't bear to add Dipper to the list. Now that wasn't to say he wouldn't be willing to make another addition – someone who's name began with a 'D' and ended in an 'N.'

"Stanford Pines."

Ford whipped around, snapping out of his trance and cutting his pacing short. In the doorway, he saw three figures, only two of whom he recognised.

It was Davian who had spoken, his trademark cocky smile plastered across his face. His hands were cuffed behind his back. His gleaming white hair stuck up in spikes on one side, almost as if he'd rubbed a balloon on it (this had actually been a side-effect of laying down on a car seat for an extended period of time). The cuffs were held by a taller woman in a black dress. Her dark brown hair was clearly dyed, faint grey roots beginning to show. Beside her was Dipper, who (aside form the many small cuts that littered his face, looked fairly untouched, although there was an oddly coloured stain on the bottom edge of his coat.

"Davian," Ford spat, the venom in his voice palpable. As much as he wanted to start shouting and raging, he had more important matters to attend to. He knelt down to to Dipper height (which was a fair bit more than he remembered. Dipper had grown about two inches in the last six months alone) and cradled his face, inspecting it for any permanent damage.

Dipper smiled and jokingly flicked his grunkle's hand away with a soft, "Don't worry, I'm fine." But even as he said it, he was wincing, some of the cuts opening and closing slightly – probably due to the movement of his face when he spoke. As Ford's hand ran over more sizeable cut on his cheekbone, Dipper took a sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry," Ford said quickly, pulling himself up to his full height and ruffling Dipper's hair. "Go find Fiddleford, alright? He'll patch you up."

Dipper smiled and rolled his eyes sarcastically, limping ever so slightly as he walked off.

Ford turned back to Davian, newfound rage filling eyes. "What did you do to him?" he growled, grabbing at his rival's collar.

The woman pulled Davian out of Ford's grasp, saying, "He didn't do anything. I saved your boy before he got the chance. The cuts are because we had to jump into a rubbish skip to escape."

"Oh," Ford breathed, his rage slowly fading. "Well, thank you…?" He gestured for the woman to introduce herself.

"Elsa," she responded, reaching out to shake Ford's hand.

He complied immediately, one of the few ways he chose to express his gratitude. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

"Who is he to you?" Elsa asked, unfurling her hand from Ford's.

Ford coughed, "He's my great-nephew." He glanced over to where Dipper was high-fiving Soos (only now did Ford realise that he was missing his hand) and hugging. "And a good friend."

"Aw, that's sweet," Davian interjected, pulling away from Elsa and staring Ford down. "Even after you ignored my advice about that bloody triangle, even after you caused the end of time, you still got a happy ending." He grimaced, pulling at his cuffs. "You've not changed a bit," he spat.

Ford sighed, looking over Davian's shoulder to Elsa. "Third door to the left, there's a spare room. We'll tie him up in there."

Elsa nodded and grabbed Davian's wrists, following Ford's directions.

Dipper collapsed onto his bed the second he entered his room. He couldn't be bothered getting changed; he was simply too tired. His body was practically begging him to go to sleep (he hadn't had any since he'd left the Falls), but his brain was telling him otherwise. He didn't want to face another round of the nightmares that tormented him day in, day out. He didn't want to relive the worst moments of his life over and over and over again until he lost his mind. He couldn't bear to have another flashback, and he was sick to the back teeth of people looking at him like he should be in an insane asylum.

He just wanted to be normal.

Just for one day, he'd like to be a normal kid. Just for one day, he'd like to get a good night's sleep, to be free of the nightmares and flashbacks that plagued him. He was sick of being Dipper Pines, the traumatised fourteen year-old with a tendency for violence and a dark past. He missed being Dipper Pines, a regular twelve year-old who did well at school and had only ever heard of Gravity Falls through vague mutterings that were responded by a quick 'That's where Stanford lives, right?' As much as he got made fun of, as much as he didn't like Piedmont, they seemed kind of inconsequential to the problems he had to deal with now. At least he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, at least he could make friends without them being turned off by a flashback or a panic attack.

He just wanted to be normal.

"Dog, are you okay? 'Cos you don't look okay."

Dipper glanced up, seeing Soos standing in the doorway. He looked worried, as one would be if he found his Pterodactyl BroTM crying into his pillow at eleven o'clock at night.

Dipper slammed his head back into his pillow, a muffled, "I'm fine," barely seeping out.

"Are 'ya sure?" Soos asked, walking over to the bed and sitting down. "'Cos most people who are fine aren't crying."

Dipper's eyes leapt open in surprise as he felt at his face. Surprisingly enough, he felt a tear drop onto his palm. He hadn't even noticed, he'd been too busy… introspecting. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. His eyes were red and puffy, the sizeable bags underneath them doing noting to help his disheveled look. His cheeks had red lines running down them, side-effect of the tears. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"… no," he conceded. "No, I'm not okay." His legs hung off the edge of the bed, swinging back and forth every few seconds. He took a moment to catch his breath, before letting his head fall on Soos' shoulder. "I'm tired of being so stressed all the time, of reliving Weirdmageddon and the Sock Opera over and over and over again… I just want it to stop," he said, his voice cracking as a more desperate tone rose. "I just want to go one day without seeing him, and—" by this point, the words coming out of his mouth had devolved to the point of being incomprehensible, and he had resorted to wrapping his arms around Soos and burying his head into his chest. He almost never cried, and if he did, he made an effort to wait until he was alone, or purely in the company of Mabel. But his trauma had broken him down, and now he was too far gone to care about such pleasantries. "I just want to be normal," he mumbled.

"Why?" Soos asked bluntly. He wasn't very good at all this introspective, heart-to-heart kind of stuff, so he just said the first thing that came to mind. Sometimes that blatant honesty was exactly what the person needed to hear. Other times, it wasn't.

This was one of those times.

"Wha – what? What do you mean?" Dipper sputtered, slightly releasing his grip on Soos and looking him in the eye.

"Why be normal?" Where's the fun in that?"

Dipper let go completely, dropping to the floor. He bit his lip and winced as a sharp pain worked it's way up his bad leg, but kept up the façade anyway. "Why be normal?" he asked, a small chuckle escaping his mouth. "Why be normal?" he growled. "Oh golly gee," he mocked, putting on a high-pitched voice and plastering a naïve smile across his face. "Why didn't I think of that before? Oh yes, that's right—" he scratched his chin and raised an eyebrow in jest, and then hollered, "BECAUSE I'M NOT A TODDLER!"

Soos recoiled slightly, shocked by his Pterodactyl Bro's (still trademarked) outburst. "Look dude, I don't thing you're quite getting' what I'm saying here—"

"Oh no. I get it. I get it completely!" Dipper yelled, turning his back on Soos and gesturing to the ceiling with his arms wide open. "You see—" he whipped back around—"I get it now. You're just that stupid and naïve that you honestly believe that I can just flip a switch and suddenly this whole bloody nightmare will just poof out of existence. I can't get through one day without people looking at me like I'm mentally disturbed, or like I should be locked up at Arkham with the Joker! People didn't like me before Gravity Falls, but now making friends is impossible, because people avoid me like the black fucking plague. Although on second thought, that that would be unfair to the plague!"

"Y-you done?" Soos asked nervously.

Dipper face contorted in a slowly fading grimace, his chest heaving in and out. Beads of sweat were working their way down his forehead, and he'd been clenching his one remaining hand so hard that he'd left nail marks on his palm. He'd surprised even himself with his outburst. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and after a solid thirty seconds of standing in the same spot and panting for breath, the fiery rage retreated to the back of his mind, extinguished. "Yeah." A moment later, his eyes widened in shock as he remembered all he had said. "Oh god – Soos, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, that was horrible, and – what the hell are you doing?"

"Hugs dood!" Soos responded. "Hugs are like, the best medicine. At least, that's what my yoga instructor told me."

Dipper shivered at the thought of Soos doing yoga. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked, pushing the thought aside. "I just yelled at you for a minute straight!"

"So?" Soos responded. Dipper was clearly still looking for a proper answer, which was something Soos didn't have. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. Dipper thought he didn't deserve hugs, but Soos knew that that wasn't true. Dipper used analogies and metaphors all the time to explain things to him that he didn't understand, but now, Soos had come up with the Super-Ultra-Mega-Rad Analo-Phor 9000.1!

That's what he called it anyway.

"Dude, do you remember after your first summer in Gravity Falls, how I told you I broke my pinky finger?"

Dipper looked up for a second, his puffy red eyes lost in thought. "… not really?"

"Yeah, well, I did," Soos babbled. "The doctors told me that it had to be wrapped to my other finger until it was strong again, right?"

Dipper sighed. "Soos, why are you telling me this?" He pulled himself out of the hug, nearly tripping over his shoelace as he stumbled back.

"Because people are like fingers," Soos said softly. "You're the broken pinky, and I'm the other finger." He held his arms out wide, smiling at his friend. "Can I wrap you?"

Dipper chuckled, and for the first time since he'd left the Falls, let a genuine smile cross his face. It still hurt, but… less.

"Alright," he muttered, walking forward and letting Soos pull his large arms around his small torso. Not five minutes later, Dipper was sound asleep. And even after Soos had picked him up and him under the blankets, even after Soos had left, he didn't have a single nightmare.

And it was the best night of sleep he'd had in years.

Ford Pines was worried.

Worried about Dipper. Sure, he'd gotten back in one piece, but it wasn't his physical heath that was the problem. It was his mental health. Over the past few weeks, Ford had only heard Mabel have nightmares; her screams were the only one he noticed. He'd originally interpreted this as a good thing (at least for Dipper); less nightmares meant that he was moving on, or that he had found a better way to cope with his trauma. But as Ford had looked into it more, he realised that the opposite was in fact the case – Dipper was getting worse. As it had turned out, the reason that Dipper had been having less nightmares wasn't because they'd been going away, but because he was choosing to deprive himself of sleep for as long as he could manage in a vain attempt to ward them off. The entire incident had surfaced when Dipper had come home with a C- on a physics test, then fallen asleep at the dinner table while Ford was telling him not to worry, and that 'We all make mistakes, even the best of us stumble at times.' He'd felt the need to let the boy know this, as when he'd gotten home, all he could mutter was 'If I'm not the smart guy, then who am I?" Only ten minutes ago, Soos had come to inform him that Dipper had just had a bit of a meltdown, but that 'Everything's okay now dawg! I finally got him to go to sleep!" Curse Soos and his naïve optimism. How could he possibly think that everything was okay? Then again, he was probably just being facetious.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice caught Ford's attention at once. He glanced over to see Elsa walking over to the couches that they'd moved from the Argon and sitting down opposite him.

"Not tried yet," Ford responded, picking up a bottle of wine he'd been intending to drink and pouring himself a glass. "Want some?"

Elsa thought for a moment, before responding with a simple "Sure."

Ford nodded briskly, pulling another wine glass out and filling it up too. Once he'd finished, he placed the bottle back on the coffee table and handed Elsa her glass. She took a sip, then raised her brow in surprise.

"What is this stuff?" she asked, enthralled by the taste.

Ford shrugged. "That's Stanley's secret."

"Who's Stanley?" Elsa inquired, taking another sip.

Ford smiled lightly, tilting his head in a manner in which sober him would never do (it was a rather strong drink, and he'd had a glass of scotch not ten minutes earlier. It wouldn't be enough to give him a hangover, which he was eternally grateful for).

"If I answer your question, will you answer mine?" When Elsa nodded, Ford continued. "He's my brother," he articulated, opting for a full-blown gulp of drink this time instead of a sip.

"Ah," Elsa breathed, setting her glass down on the coffee table. She seemed fully aware of what would soon be asked of her, prompting the ageing scientist with a small flick of her wrist.

Ford leaned forward, and with a shadow crossing his eyes, asked his question.

"Tell me everything I need to know about Davian."

"I feel like that's more of a demand than a question, but alright." Elsa kicked her legs up on the table for the first time in years. Such behaviour was not tolerated at the HIVE base, but Ford didn't seem to care. "He wants to destroy the supernatural," she said bluntly. "I don't know why, but I do know how."

Intrigued, Ford beckoned for her to continue.

"A few months ago – before the world lit on fire – I helped him steal a case from MI6. I didn't know what it was at the time, but after a bit of detective work, I discovered that it was – in fact – a nuclear launch device.

Ford perked up at the notion; he'd seen what those weapons could do in his travels to the many parallel Earths – and it wasn't pretty. "What's he going to use it on?"

"The source of the supernatural," Elsa responded. "Which – luckily for you – isn't Gravity Falls. He's going to nuke it, which will cause a cataclysmic reaction in it's core, resulting in the emergence of what some might call a black hole."

"What some might call?" Ford asked. "That's not how science works! Either it is a black hole or it isn't."

"It's both, actually," Elsa smirked. "It's a paradox, and when it collapses in on itself, it will suck all that came from it back in. That being the supernatural."

"Everything?" Ford asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. "W-what about people with… birth deformities, to name a completely random and unrelated example."

Elsa smiled a tad, consoling his fear the littlest bit. "No, they're not magical."

"Where is the source?" Ford asked, pulling his legs up onto the sofa and crossing them.

Elsa pulled her feet off the table and finished her wine, placing the glass back on the table with a soft clinking sound. "The Bermuda Triangle," she said at last, breaking the awkward, stagnant pause that had been left after Ford had spoken.

"When will he be able to do this?" Ford probed, his voice rising a good few octaves from worry.

Elsa replied, "He still needs the codes and a tactical satellite, both of which he has avenues to get."

The room went deathly silent as Ford pondered a curious question over. Elsa had said that anything inherently magical would get sucked through.

Did the members of the zodiac count as inherently magical?

They must – after all, even magic is rooted in science. Even the most ridiculous and nonsensical things had an explanation. Magic is just science we don't understand yet, so the energy created by the zodiac that would supposedly have killed Bill must've come from somewhere, and they must have some way to harness it. Perhaps a rare genetic mutation in their DNA that – as it only affected ten people in the history of the world – was never noticed. That would constitute as 'inherently magical,' right?

He hoped he didn't have to find out.

"So what of this war you started?" he asked accusingly, cutting through the pause and standing up. The familiar rage in his eyes was back again, he was sure of it.

Elsa sighed, standing up to meet Ford's height. "Davian planted fake evidence that 'proved' Germany to have been the root cause. You could probably figure out why they were the obvious candidate," she appealed, to which Ford nodded reluctantly. "He needed to cover up our thief of the case somehow, so that's what he came up with. It functioned as a distraction too, letting him operate with essentially no opposition."

As much as Ford hated to admit it, it was a pretty good plan. He didn't know how black holes worked, but what he did know was that they generally don't stretch out forever, they have a radius. Which was was why he needed to get his family as far away from it as possible.

Davian pulled at his cuffs in frustration, the chain links jangling together. The noise echoed throughout the catacombs, before he realised that his efforts were pointless and gave up altogether. How had he allowed himself to get caught? And by his own wife no less (anyone who said 'you fight like a girl' had clearly never been on the receiving end of Elsa's wrath, she hit like a bloody train). He'd suspected some feelings of resentment, but working with the enemy was on a whole other level. Sure, maybe he hadn't been the best husband over the years, but he married her for a reason. And he still held that reason close to his heart.

He knew how this had happened. It was something he'd seen in his base's interrogation room that had shocked him to his very core.

Something yellow.

The next morning, Dipper was awoken by a a large figure looming over him, shaking his shoulder gently. He grabbed the blankets with his left (and only) hand and pulled them over his face, desperately hiding from the light that seared into his eyes.

"Five more minutes…" he muttered.

"It's time to get up," Ford said, his tone much more delicate than usual. "Come on."

"I don't want to." In truth, Dipper hadn't gotten that good of a sleep in a long time, and he missed it. He hated going to bed, but he loved sleep.

Just another thing Bill had ruined for him.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, desperately pleading to deities he didn't even believe in for today to one of the precious few days where he didn't think about Bill.

Ford pulled the blankets off suddenly, Dipper's one-handed and half asleep grip failing him. He proceeded to grab Dipper by him armpits and pull him away from the bed, setting him down on the bright blue wheelie chair that sat at his desk.

"It's two in the afternoon Mason," Ford said, pulling up his sleeve and showing Dipper his watch.

Dipper opened his mouth instinctively to complain at the use of his real name, before remembering that he actually liked it when Ford called him that. "I can't believe you still use a watch," he muttered. "You have a phone."

Ford chuckled, patting Dipper's head. The phone had been a great birthday present from Stan (who had apparently gotten the idea from the twins), but sometimes he missed the old days. Modern day tech was incredible, and unlike Stan he'd found it relatively easy to use. At first he'd been completely baffled by it, but then he saw Soos order an anime body pillow off of one in under thirty seconds and realised that it couldn't be that difficult if Soos could do it.

"I'm still getting used to all this new technology," Ford smirked. It was amazing to think that he'd been back in this dimension for over a year now. Time hadn't exactly flown by in the multiverse (especially so when every dimension has a completely different set of time zones), but now, he felt like he'd done so much in so little time. The year had flown by before he'd even known realised, and he'd had more good things happen to him in that timespan than he had the entire other fifty-eight years of his life.

He sighed, before turning back to look at Dipper. "Mason, I need to talk to you."

"… okay?" Dipper said after a second of confused silence.

"I—"

"STANFORD!" Fiddleford called from his workshop. "Come 'ere, I need to talk to 'ya!"

Ford cursed under his breath, annoyed at how his one quiet moment with Dipper since this all began was being cut short. He'd have to tell him later.

"Coming!" he replied, before passing Dipper his coat. "I got this cleaned for you, don't get any more stains on it."

Dipper nodded slightly. "Got it," he smiled.

But Ford was already out the door, running past Soos (who was still hugging that damned anime pillow) and into the room they had designated as McGucket's workshop. It was one of the larger rooms in the catacomb, so that's what they had decided to use it for.

"Yes, Fiddleford?" Ford inquired as he entered, immediately knocking a machine off the desk next to him. He winced, and muttered "Sorry," as he leant down to pick it up and place it back on it's pedestal.

McGucket (seemingly unaware of the incident) turned around and smiled widely. "Ah, Stanford." In his hand he held a rudimentary version of Dipper's prosthetic hand, specifically the first working prototype. "I was looking through my old stuff, an' I found this." He tossed it to Ford, who caught it easily in one hand. "It's not nearly as advanced as the final model, an' it doesn't have the camo-hingy feature we put on the good 'wan, but as long as he wears gloves he should be fine.

Ford studied the model closely, wondering how it would perform. The wrist was roughly arm-shaped, but the hand part was much less impressive. The final model had fully fleshed out fingers with very little exposed robotics, which was in sharp contrast to the prototype. The fingers and palm were similar in shape to the bones in an average human hand, with miniature gears and pistons moving in conjunction with the digits. They whirred audibly as they worked away, their sharp edges clinking together one by one. All in all, it was a significant downgrade from what Dipper was used to, but Ford figured that he'd have to live with it, at least for a while.

"I'll make sure to tell him that," Ford nodded. "Do you still have the blueprints of our working model?"

"Yeah," McGucket answered, digging a tablet out of a duffel bag and handing it to Ford. It's screen showed a map of their surroundings, and in the centre, a little blue dot. "That's Davian."

"You put a tracker on him?" Ford asked.

"Waited for 'im to doze off so he didn't realise," Fiddleford responded. "It's ma'h best one yet, completed untraceable and encrypted. He won't have a clue it's there."

Ford nodded slowly, before pursing his lips. "Won't he expect something if he can't find any trackers? Surely that would be suspicious." He was forgetting something, he was sure of it. It was so obvious, but he had no clue what.

"I figured that," Fiddleford said. "So I put another bog-standard, regular tracker in him as well."

Ford pocketed the hand, momentarily forgetting his doubts. "We're not planning on letting him go, are we?"

"Oh, heavens no." Fiddleford held his hands up in defence, the baggy sleeves of his lab coat hanging down. "Just a precautionary measure, that's all."

"Good," Ford nodded. "I'll go give this to Dipper, then we need to get Davian to Gravity Falls. It'll be more secure there, so start packing this stuff."

McGucket nodded, pushing his green-tinted glasses up his nose. He itched the back of his head, his hand running over thinning grey hair. The thick beard that had once been longer than even Gandalf's was now more bushy than anything else, barely reaching down his chin.

Ford smiled, then whipped around to exit the workshop. As he walked into the main room, he glanced around, seeing Elsa sat on one of the couches. She'd tied her hair back into a tight ponytail and had changed out of her dress, instead opting for a black leather jacket with jeans and a t-shirt of the same colour. For the first time in months, Soos wasn't in his Mr Mystery outfit. He'd changed into a more casual getup that wouldn't look out of place on a foreign tourist (probably the reason he was wearing it). Dipper had put his trench coat back on, the right sleeve dangling off his severed wrist. He held his handicapped arm behind his back, almost as if he was embarrassed by it. The cuts on his face had faded ever so slightly, and the gash on his cheekbone had been stitched up.

"Mas – Dipper?" Ford called, walking over to him and interrupting whatever conversation he'd been having with Soos. Confused, he looked between Dipper (who'd turned bright red), and Soos, who had crumpled up on the floor from laughter. "What're you talking about?"

"—nothing!" Dipper shouted, far too quickly for it to actually be nothing. "Absolutely nothing."

"… okay?" Ford said, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer. "Anyway," he continued, changing the subject. "I got you this." He passed the prototype hand to Dipper, who gasped in appreciation.

He pulled his hand out from behind his back and rolled up the sleeve. The cut had been made about halfway up his forearm and grafted onto it was the metal adaptor used to connect his hand, which was surrounded by scar tissue circling the edge of the metal. He took the hand from Ford and attached it, twisting it to lock it in place.

"It's one of the old prototypes," Ford said as Dipper rolled his sleeve back down. "It doesn't camouflage itself, so you'll have to wear a glove."

"Oh," Dipper mumbled, saddened. He hated looking at the exposed robotics, it just made him relive what happened. Even with the glove on (and the gears occasionally getting stuck in the fabric), he could hear it whirring away, functioning as yet another stark reminder.

"Alright, now that we're all here," Ford observed as McGucket ran past him. "Tardy as some may be, I need to brief you on what we're fighting for." He glanced over to Elsa, who nodded in response. "Davian wants to nuke the source of the supernatural. When he does, it will open a black hole that will suck all the weirdness back in."

"Like a giant vacuum cleaner?"

"… yes," Ford conceded. "Yes Soos, like a giant vacuum cleaner. He already has the launch device, all he needs now is is the codes and a satellite to transmit them."

"But we've got him now," Dipper said. "So his plan has failed." He looked at Elsa. "Right?"

"Not really," Elsa denoted. "Most of his employees aren't true believers – they're just there to get paid. But his board of directors are a whole other story."

"Ergo, we still have to take down HIVE," Ford concluded. After a brief pause, he asked, "Anyone got any ideas on how we do that?"

"You freeze," an unfamiliar voice said.

And that's when everything went dark.

The sound of the lights shutting off echoed throughout the catacombs, startling Ford. He unholstered his gun at a speed fast enough to make a cowboy jealous, pointing at the origin of the voice. Dipper, although slightly slower, had his gun out too. Ford felt a pang of guilt when he saw his left hand shaking (his right was incapable of it for obvious reasons) ever so slightly as he raised the gun in the same direction that his grunkle did.

Ford knew he didn't have to remind him to set it to stun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elsa walk up next to him, unholstering her pistol (a real gun – not a laser one) and shining it's torch attachment behind them, scanning for other troops. The soldiers seemed to only be coming from the one direction, so they had a chance.

"Freeze!" the voice said again, coming into view. He was in full tactical gear, with night-vision goggles pulled up on top of his helmet. In his hands he held a simple M16, and as he got closer, Dipper paled slightly.

"Viggo," he muttered.

"Just put your guns down," Viggo said softly, keeping his M16 pointed at Elsa as she walked forward. "And no one gets hurt."

"I could say the same thing to you," Elsa said, hiding her pistol behind her back. "You're my friend Viggo."

Ford knew she was tricking him, but there was an element of truth in the way she spoke.

"This is my choice," she said, defiantly.

"Please don't make me go through you."

Viggo's grip on the trigger lessened slightly, and for a split second, he took his aim off Elsa. A gunshot echoed through the cavern, then a low-pitched grunt followed. Viggo fell to floor clutching his shoulder, somehow keeping a grip on his rifle. His troops (of which there were ten of) looked at him for second in confusion. The masks that covered their faces looked confused if you really looked at them.

Time seemed to slow down for Ford as he entered a situation he'd been in countless times before: a gunfight. During his time in the multiverse, he'd endured his fair share of them. Originally, he'd been petrified, but experience now forced him into an adrenaline-filled rush that made him feel like the Flash, or Quicksilver (or Dash from that movie Dipper liked called the… The Incredulouses?). He took a few steps forward, then opened fire on one of the troops. The blue stun. Bolt hit them right in the chest, but seemed to have no effect. It was possible that they had Kevlar on, but it didn't look like it. Ford scanned the troop all over, spotting an unarmored area running around it's abdomen. He too aim, then shot it until the gun overheated, smoke rising from the barrel. It had more of an effect than the last time, electricity crackling up the soldier's body, causing it to drop it's gun.

Sadly, it only seemed to prolong the inevitable.

Within mere seconds, the troop had regained it's footing and started barrelling towards Ford, tanking every blast shot his way. An idea struck the ageing scientist suddenly. He quickly dodged out from the soldier's hit and knocked it's leg out from under it. He ran over to his duffel bag and pulled out the electrical conduit gloves he used on the Cycloptopus. The soldier began to make a beeline for him, but Ford pulled the glove on and grabbed it's neck. More and more electricity was pumped into the soldier, before it fell to the ground, defeated.

Just to make sure, Ford rolled it over onto it's front and tore the mask off, revealing the exposed mechanics underneath.

"They're robots!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Shoot to kill!"

Dipper, who'd been hanging back and shooting from afar (he didn't want to kill anyone else), decided to enter the fray. As it turned out, killing robots was much easier than killing humans. He felt sort of bad for them, technological marvels reduced to disposable goons. As one ran at him, he reached up with his prosthetic and twisted it's neck, crushing it, until he was able to yank it off and throw it over his shoulder. As the body clattered to the floor, he realised something.

Viggo was missing.

Viggo took aim at the cell door's lock and shot. It swung open, revealing Davian sitting on a chair struggling with his cuffs.

"Took you long enough," he muttered. "What happened to you?" He gestured to Viggo's shoulder.

"I got hit. Kevlar took most of it though," Viggo said, leaning down and placing his backpack on the floor. "Shit," he cursed. "You got a bobby pin or something? I can't find the pliers."

Davian reached up and ran his hands through his hair for a moment, before letting them drop back down. "Funnily enough, I'm not a nine year-old girl," he deadpanned.

"There you are," Viggo grunted, producing a pair of pliers from the bag. He walked over and clasped it around the cuff, then pressed. After it snapped open, he got to work on the other one. Once it was done, he slung the backpack over his back, clipping the straps across his chest. "You're cleared for extraction point A," he said, handing Davian a wallet. "That should do you."

"Thanks," Davian said, taking it and running out.

Just as Dipper was about to alert Ford of the situation, he spotted Davian run past him, through one of the back exits. McGucket seemed to notice it too, running over an pulling a strange, rectangular device out of his pocket. He quickly jabbed it into Dipper's neck, leaving a small red mark and a stinging sensation.

"Go get 'im!" McGucket shouted, holding up the tablet. Now there were two dots, one being Davian, the other being Dipper. "I'll direct 'ya!"

Dipper hesitated for a moment, before nodding and running after Davian. He pulled and ear piece out of his pocket and jammed it into his ear. As he rounded as particularly sharp bend in the corridor, he slammed into a wall, unable to turn fast enough. He grunted, clutched his shoulder, and made a break for Davian.

"Stanford!" Elsa yelled, mounting the shoulders of one of the robots to tackle it to the ground. "We need to go, now!"

"No!" Ford responded. "There's too much valuable equipment."

"We're going to die if we don't." Elsa jabbed her pistol into the back of the soldier's head and fired, killing it instantly.

"What do you mean?" Ford asked, taking cover in an alcove. "That was the last of them."

"More will come!" McGucket announced, running past them with a duffel bag filled to the brim with equipment. "We can everything else. The really important stuff's on the Argon."

Reluctantly, Ford lowered his gun. "We need to get to it then."

"The van me and Dipper came in is still out back," Elsa proposed. "We can use that."

"Then it's settled," Ford said. "Soos, you're our getaway driver."

"You got it Stan Two." Soos saluted and looked to Elsa. "Can I have the keys?"

"It's already hotwired, just go and start it up."

Soos ran out, shouting, "Got it dude!" over his shoulder.

"Wait…" Ford said, beginning to look concerned. "Where's Dipper?"

"He went after Davian," McGucket responded, desperately shoving the science equipment spilling out of his bag back in.

"After Davian?" Ford shouted, his voice cracking in seven different places (rather impressive for a five-syllable sentence). "Alone? Is he mad?"

McGucket held his hands up in defence. "He's not alone. I tagged him with the tracker so we can direct him."

"Are you mad!?"

After a few seconds of silence and a fair bit of awkward staring, McGucket glared at Ford. "Really Stanford?"

"Sorry," Ford responded sheepishly. "Come on."

Dipper sprinted out of the catacombs, the broad daylight drilling into his eyes like daggers. "McGucket!" he shouted. "I need directions." The radio crackled to life, Fiddleford's voice barely making it through. The sound of his voice was deafeningly loud (like most old people, he held the phone way to close to his mouth).

"Look to 'yer right. There's a shopping centre there, go up the escalator."

"Got it." Dipper pranced through the automatic doors so fast they almost didn't open in time. He pushed through people as he walked up (one of the benefits of being a kid was that people didn't bat an eye when you made a scene, and it was an incredibly useful attribute for times like this).

As much as he wanted to grow up, that was one thing he was going to miss.

"Go up the next two escalators, then over to the balcony on your left," McGucket drawled, buckling his seatbelt and getting a tighter grip on his tablet. Ford looked over his shoulder anxiously. It was a rarity to see the usually calm and collected scientist so worried. The only other times that Fiddleford could all was right after the portal incident and when he himself had been kidnapped by Shifty. Soos slammed his foot on the gas pedal, also following McGucket's directions.

Dipper burst through the doors of the balcony and looked over the horizon. The sun was bright in the sky, it's light bouncing off the glass windows of the shopping centre. He eyed a window cleaner cart just below the railing, and figured that that was probably where he needed to go. He quickly vaulted the bar and dropped down onto the cart, landing with his feet spread wide and his cybernetic hand on the floor. It left a sizeable dent in the metal, a stark reminder of it's artificial nature.

"McGucket, I'm on the window cleaner cart," he said. "What now?"

"Pull the lever and lower yourself down to the next roof," McGucket responded.

"Okay," Dipper mumbled, fiddling with the handle. Don't look down don't look down… he told himself, desperate not to trigger his fear of heights. He never liked calling it that, because it was more a fear of what would happen when he hit the ground than anything else. That was one of the reasons why the skydive during Weirdmageddon had been one of the scariest (and most exhilarating) experiences of his life. He'd kept panicking over the obvious question of 'What if my parachute doesn't work?,' but after Mabel and Stan spent fifteen minutes coercing him into doing it, he caved.

Just keep the lever steady, he thought as the cart reached the required height. It stopped abruptly in mid-air, before he jumped off, onto the roof of the adjacent building and radioed McGucket.

"What now?" he asked.

"Just keep running forward 'til I tell 'ya otherwise."

"Got it." As he ran, he noticed a gap between the building he was on and the next one, prompting him to speed up. He vaulted the gap, his feet slipping slightly. He righted himself before he could fall and continued on. As he ran, a train passed by. He could see some of its passengers looking and pointing (it was a fairly odd sight to see a fourteen year-old in a trench coat vaulting across buildings in Moscow), some even taking pictures and videos. Dipper grimaced, knowing right then and there that the secret could be out: if those videos ended up on social media and someone from school found them, he'd have to lie – and that was one thing he was not good at. He could keep a poker face, but he couldn't come up with a foolproof story on the spot like Mabel or Stan.

He pushed the thought aside, opting to dwell on it in a less high-stakes situation. Whether it was back in their captivity or him being as free as a bird depended on whether his stamina decided to fail him or not (he'd been doing a lot of physical activity recently, and even after getting a full night's sleep, his muscles were still sore from the day before). After receiving another set of instructions form McGucket, he ran over to a door sticking up from the roof and tore the handle off, taking the lock mechanism with it.

Maybe there was a silver lining to being an amputee after all.

He ran inside and made his way down the spiral staircase, making sure to keep his feet at the outer edge so he didn't slip. He made the mistake of walking at the centre of those staircases before, which had been the cause of his first broken bone. That hadn't been a fun day even before that incident, and it was also the day he'd sworn off believing in god, or any other sort of deity. The problem was that when he was younger, he believed all of it. He was about six, so he basically believed anything that the teachers told him ('they can't possibly be wrong, it was their job to teach' was his (flawed) logic there), even though him and Mabel's parents raised then non religious. They had had to go to a funeral for some random cousin of his mother's that he'd never even heard of, let alone met. He remembered sitting in one of the pews playing tic-tac-toe with Mabel whilst the pastor droned on about 'god's plan' this, and 'god's plan' that. Then, his grandfather from Helen's side of the family spoke up. He'd been looking confused and anxious the whole day, and had clearly been doing some thinking. He'd stood up and announced that he didn't believe any of it (during a funeral ceremony was probably not the best time, but he wasn't very socially aware).

It had shocked Dipper to hear the echo chamber be challenged, he'd never even the opposite viewpoint before. Originally, he'd been skeptical (it was his nature these days, and that was the event that had caused the trait to manifest), but the more he thought about it, the more he realised how much sense his grandfather was making. They'd spent the rest of the day talking about religion and sorts, and he was an agnostic by the end of the day. These days, he'd identify more as a straight-up atheist than anything else, as the fact that people, actually believed that stuff baffled him. But as flawed as he thought the logic was, he accepted it. Falling down the staircase later that day had just solidified his belief even more, simply out of spite that the incident had caused him to break his arm.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and burst through a heavy wooden door, interrupting what he could only assume was a prayer. A few people made confused expressions at the sound, but kept their eyes shut and hands pressed together. Quietly, he tiptoed over to an identical door on the other side and went through it, pulling it shut on his way out. As he exited the church, he looked around once more. He was on a lower roof than before, but still fairly high off the ground. He dashed forward and after jumping over a few gaps, reached the edge of the last building. He stopped right on the precipice, flailing his arms about in random directions to stop himself from falling.

"Yer gonna have 'ta climb down the drainpipe," McGucket said, startling Dipper.

"Okay," the brunet breathed. "Okay." He sat down on the edge as to shorten the potential drop and with his hands clasped firmly around the edge, let himself drop. His left hand failed to hold on, falling to his side. His prothetic had a much better grip, but whether it was by pure luck or it's greater strength he didn't know. He quickly swung himself round onto the pipe, pulling his arms around it as tightly as he could manage. He let his grip loosen slightly and began slowly sliding down to the bottom. He let go about a metre and a half off the bridge, his feet leaving a noticeable crack in the glass. Confused, he looked around, before realising that he was on a bridge with a glass roof. Running forward, he made the final drop to ground level.

He took a deep breath, mentally congratulating himself. He'd never been good with heights, so it was a bit of a morale boost to have barely even thought about it. He leant his hands on his knees, stopping to catch his breath. His hair was damp with sweat, he had a stitch, and had also begun to realise that running a marathon in searing heat wearing a sweater and a heavy coat wasn't the best idea.

McGucket's voice crackled through the radio once more, this time telling him, "Davian's at the train station. Go down the stairs, take the escalator down on the left, then go through the gates to the train in front."

"He's getting on a train?" Dipper panted, his breath failing him, causing his voice to come out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "He's going to escape."

"He's not on the train yet. You can still make it!"

That was Ford, not McGucket. Hearing his idol's voice gave him a boost of encouragement, prompting him to stand up, wipe the sweat off his brow, and run like hell. The entrance to the train station was nothing but a small staircase leading to the underground system. It was only about twenty metres away, but it felt like miles to Dipper, who was battered and bruised from both his rescue and the catacomb fight. His heart hammered in his chest as he reached it pushing past many Russians and bumbling tourists. As he did, he accidentally knocked over a small boy, who looked to be about nine. He didn't seem injured, but his mother was shooting Dipper a death glare.

"Sorry!" he yelled over his shoulder as he ran away. As much as he wanted to stop and help, he had a job to do. He turned to his left and eyed the escalator, cursing when he saw just how crowded it was. He'd never be able to get through in time, so he did the only logical thing:

He jumped on the centre divide and slid down it like a madman.

In truth, it was something he'd always wanted to do. Before going to the Falls, he'd do it with stair railing in Piedmont (but then again, the most risky thing he'd done before going to Gravity Falls was climb up on his roof to watch the stars. He did that most nights in Piedmont now, it was a good way to take his mind off everything). He'd seen people do it in movies, and as much as Hollywood glorified things in films, they were pretty spot-on about this one. It was awesome. The pre-Gravity Falls Dipper would be screaming in terror, afraid he was going to fall off.

But that wasn't him anymore. He wasn't as cautious as he used to be, he was much more willing to take a risk. Granted, he still needed at least a framework of a plan, but experiences such as the cloning machine incident had taught him to be a little more carefree, take a page out of Mabel's book and just have fun.

He reached the bottom and landed on his feet perfectly, the momentum gathered from the slide not allowing him to stop even for a second. He could see Davian about to board the train. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. The gates were coming up, and buying a ticket wasn't an option. He vaulted over them completely, catching the attention of various security guards.

Davian was on the train, but the door hadn't quite closed yet.

He could still make it.

The doors began to shut, the train starting to move across the tracks ever so slightly. Light glanced off of the perfect handhold, a long silver strip, sticking out from the otherwise curved body of the carriage. And at the last moment, an idea struck him.

It was stupid.

Ridiculous.

Utterly insane.

And definitely something that you'd see in a movie.

Davian was almost gone, the train was exiting the station. The guards were catching up to him, each yelling what he could only assume were Russian curse words.

The train started to pick up speed, but at the last moment, Dipper took a leap of faith and grabbed onto the strip.

The train was gone, with Dipper on board. The security guards were yelling at each other, and behind them, an elderly British tourist poked his head out and tapped his wife on the shoulder.

"He's keen to get 'ome."

Dipper's prosthetic dug into the strip, his fingers leaving dents in it. His eyes were wide with fear, the tunnel's wall only centimetres away from his back. He pressed himself onto the carriage as much as he could, his face smooshing against the glass. He could see Davian looking up at him, smiling. As soon as they got out of the tunnel, he got up and walked towards the window.

"Well done Mason," he sneered, his voice slightly muffled by the glass. "You know—" he pointed at Dipper and pursed his lips—"You've impressed me." There was no hint of malice in his tone, only truth. "You nearly got me. I'll admit it, I underestimated you." He tilted his head slightly, placing his hand in his pocket. "How many fourteen year-olds do you know that can do that, I mean, come on, you've gotta admit that that was pretty cool, right?"

"Before you ask," Dipper said, having seen enough movies to know what comes next. "I'm not going to join me just because you buttered me up."

"Eh, it was worth a shot," Davian shrugged. "Let me give you a tip," he said, grimacing slightly. "I'm not like Gideon or Aida. I won't hesitate to kill you if you get in my way. But if you leave me alone, I'll return the favour." The tannoy perked up, announcing something in Russian. "That's my cue," Davian smirked.

As he walked off, Dipper pressed himself against the carriage again to avoid the tunnel they'd just entered. The train rumbled to a stop and Dipper jumped off onto the pathway. He crossed the painted yellow line quickly and ran up the same stairs Davian had. He caught a glimpse of silver hair in the crowd and began to make his way towards him. As he pushed past a taller man, he noticed people stopping and pointing to something outside. A faint rumble could be heard, only getting louder and louder with each passing step. As he got up to ground level, he saw Davian climbing up a rope ladder which hung from a helicopter. It began to pull away, and in a last ditch effort, Dipper leapt at the rope. His fingers grazed it, but he just missed. It escaped his grip, rising into the air. He pulled himself up and looked to Davian. The Brit gave him a small salute before climbing into the body of the chopper and cutting the rope, letting the ladder fall the the ground.

The door was shut and Davian was gone. A crowd of tourists had gathered around the scene, press coming in with their gigantic cameras and pointing them at the helicopter. Eventually, they turned to gaze at Dipper. They had no idea the magnitude of what they'd just witnessed, of what he'd just failed to do.

But he knew.

So, that was the longest chapter I've ever written (9159 words). I decided that I needed to give Soos and McGucket more screen time (page time?), so I decided to just go do that. I also took this as an opportunity to get into Ford's head a bit more, as it's probably necessary. I hope you like the relationship between him and Elsa, and the subtle hints I dropped about how Davian knows Ford (that'll be revealed in full soon, although it's not exactly a thriller). One more thing, I'm sorry if my interpretation of Dipper's views on religion offended you, that's just my personal take, and the way he comes round to atheism is actually relatively similar to how I came around to it. I'm hoping to keep up this longer length, especially as the later chapters have entire page long summaries in my outline. Next chapter, Dipper will face a shocking betrayal, the plot lines will intertwine and Ford will explain his connection to Davian.