For the first time, the chaotic roar and rumble of the careening, uncontrolled locomotive was a soundtrack to planning and clarity.

While it was fair to say that the Boggles had done little to present themselves as particularly intelligent creatures, the mob's lack of foresight was proving increasingly fragile - and they were proving increasingly unintimidating. The out of control steam locomotive may have been a fearful situation - but they themselves were now more in the list of 'serious annoyance' and 'really gross' than they were particularly instilling fear in their targets.

They had done something that most cognitive creatures would be shaken by. They had angered a Northwest. Particularly the young, fiery blonde Northwest who was known for her ferocity when wronged. The arrogant, smart, scary Northwest… who had been long-gone for almost a year.

But they didn't need to know that.

After all, they didn't know of the Northwest's reputation.

After all, they had no idea that Pacifica was, in fact, a Gold Tier putter, used to using a weighted No.42 golf club.

After all, they also had no idea that each of them more or less weighed the same as a golf ball.

Truth be told, they hadn't the slightest clue that a fire poker was, in fact, the perfect weight to stand in the place of said weighted No.42 golf club.

And by the time they realised it, there was no doubt it'd be too late.

Pacifica, renewed with a furious confidence thanks to the adrenaline still pounding through her, silently - with a slightly mischievous grin - took on her best golf posture, swung her hips and adjusted her hold on the fire-iron carefully, grabbing a pair of fire gloves as a stand-in for her usual sports attire.

The Boggles paused from their riotous temper tantrum. "What is this?"

"Some kind of elaborate human ritual, clearly."

"Should we strike?"

"With valour, my fellows. CHAAAAAR-" thwip.

The boggle disappeared in a single, expert swing - flying out of the cab with the bare minimum of effort. Another followed. And another.

Pacifica smirked as the expression - what little they could express - on the creatures seemed to change into one of disbelief. Perhaps even an ever-so-slight recognition that they had just become the hunted. "Glad you guys turned up. I needed this practice."

She squared her feet in order to stand steadily on the rattling footplate and inhaled. She was ready to do this, so long as Dipper could get the information they needed.

Dipper grinned and started leafing desperately through the book - though not without the trouble of pulling his gaze from Pacifica. Organisation was key, and this book only looked like it was twelfth reading level. He could manage that. The young investigator crouched on the floor - after all, his little noodle legs weren't the most stable thing in this situation - and got to reading.

It would be hard to quantify his surprise when, on the inner papers, it clearly stated:

PUBLISHED BY DETERMINED PRINTING HOUSE, 1862

HUMAN RIGHTS RESERVED. IT'S THE 1800S. DEAL WITH IT.

(Reprinted 2013 by McGucket Enterprises)

He blinked.

Railroading through Gravity Falls has very specific challenges that will prove awkward for even the most professional engineer to handle.

This is through no fault of the Northwest Owned Railroad, which is absolutely perfect, faultless and has excellent staff training.

Step one: Understanding how to get into the locomotive cab without falling. Put your left foot on the first rung of the ladder and…

"Doesn't that thing have, like, an index or something?" Pacifica yelled, putting another Boggle off of the footplate with her improvised putter.

"I hope so, it's like 400 pages." Dipper replied, mumbling to himself as he flicked through the book. "Wait! Wait! I've found it!"

POSSESSED COAL

See: Boggles

"Alright, now we're playing with fire!"

"Pretty sure the fire's been the problem all the time, Dip." She replied sarcastically, jabbing the poker into a Boggle and breaking it open. Which was still really, really gross. It was made worse, this time, by the presence of the greasy, grey tongue wrapped around the poker.

She cringed and wiggled it free, pushing it off of the footplate and into the rush of air, hoping it - at least - wouldn't hit anyone. Though part of her also knew that'd be kinda funny. It was a complicated concept.

Dipper continued reading furiously, the sarcasm going either unnoticed or unacknowledged.

BOGGLES

See: Certain Death.

He blinked and cleared his throat. That - that wasn't a hugely positive omen.

"Well?!" She shouted, sticking the poker straight into the coal pile as if it was a sand trap.

"...Nothing, just reading." He replied, hoping that Certain Death would at least have a tip on bailing out of a runaway.

Certain Death

In order to avoid certain death, first examine the chapter of locomotive cab layout maps and choose that which most closely replicates your locomotive's cab. For tips on this, find your locomotive's builder number on its outside builder plate, or in a handwritten serial code on the number seven cab restraining beam-

Dipper felt like throwing the book out entirely at this point. "Dammit, why is this so damned complicated?! Did they just love reading that much back then?!"

"Well, we need answers somehow!"

"Alright, alright, maybe we're going about this wrong. If we try all of the levers and things, one of them has gotta stop it, right?"

Pacifica whipped back another Boggle and cast a glance at the wheezing, heaving, pulsating set of pipes, rods, levers and gauges that hissed before them, rattling as the locomotive continued its frantic path, barking like a collection of frenzied hounds. "...That's really dumb."

He knew she was right. "W-well, it has to be better than looking through two hundred illustrations to find the right one!"

"Let's try asking for help first, Dipper." She replied, firmly, pulling her cell out of her pocket. "I'll text Mabel and see if she can get the Grunkles and-"

She yelped as a Boggle flew at her the moment she put down the poker, knocking her sideways and against the cab wall with a painful sounding thump - worse, however, the forces threw the phone out of her hand - and out through the gap between cab and bunker.

"No! Nonono! My phone!"

Out went not only her way of asking for help - but every single memory of the summer. Every selfie. Every photograph of Dipper, of the Grunkles. Every sleepover.

Her eye twitched. Her nose wrinkled. Her brow furrowed.

She grabbed the heavy cast iron shovel in the place of the poker, and, this time, ran at the locomotive's coal pile with wild abandon, smashing the poker down upon boggles left and right. "You-are-so-dead!"

The Boggles squealed in surprise - a most unusual sound for creatures with such deep voices - as Paz began smashing and crushing the things into piles of loose, disarrayed carbon dust, purely out of anger. Her summer. Her summer was stored on that damned cellphone and they dared, dared to take it from her?!

That cell had survived everything this summer. Ghosts, gnomes, snack cakes, beavers, geese - it had been through hell and back without even losing its extended warranty sticker. And these little demons, these stupid little burnt meatballs had thrown it off of a train with only a few days left of summer?

She had every right to be angry!

It seemed almost as if the locomotive shared her indignation. It began to buck even more wildly, belching clods of spark and fire from its funnel, illuminating the afternoon sky in a stream of sparklers and thick, black smoke.

With a bang like a gunshot, another bolt flew free.

"Any time now, Dipper!" She yelled, crushing a trio of boggles as if they were bluebottles.

"Working on it!"

Another rivet flew past him as, to Pacifica's surprise, he continued holding his nerve as firmly as he could. Determination was completely overtaking the two. They had practically started to neglect the thundering, cacophonic vessel that they were perched on.

They could barely hear eachother - barely hear things outdoors. Just that continuous roaring, rumbling, rattling mechanical demon under their feet. There was only one thing that seemed to pierce that continuous tirade of sound.

The screaming of Boggles, the banging of rivets, and -

"HEY! HEY! HEY GUYS!"

Grenda Grendinator, perched with Candy and Mabel on a beautiful, white Bavarian stallion - with Marius riding eagerly behind on a squat pony. They were galloping along at full pelt, the equine snorting away almost as furiously as the engine they were trapped aboard.

"WE'RE HERE TO HELP!" Grenda shouted, as if it wasn't already obvious. "THROUGH THE POWER OF BEING FABULOUS!"

"And open-source knowledge from the internet!" Candy added.

"KNOWLEDGE CAN BE FABULOUS TOO, CANDY. GOSH."

Mabel just beamed and armed her grappling hook. "Pacifica, step back! This is gonna get a bit chaotic!"

"What?! I can't hear yo-"

Her next words were drowned out by the thunk of the Grappling hook embedding into the cab's wooden panels, and the trio's Tarzan yell as they swung from the stallion onto the iron horse that careened alongside.

"Good luck!" Marius smiled, turning his horse back towards town. "I'll warn the townsfolk!"

Dipper blinked. The world's most chaotic cavalry had arrived, and he really, really wasn't convinced it was going to prove helpful.

"We gotta work quickly!" Mabel said. "There's only a couple of miles left until you hit the big railroad!"

…Nevermind. He'd take anything he could get.