Chapter Five: Acquainted

A flare of bright red blinded Stan's vision, causing him to stop in his tracks as he crossed the threshold. For a moment, the world around him took on the appearance of a bright red blur. However, as his sight gradually returned, he found himself drawn to the hazy red light that shone through a hole in the ceiling (the floor on the upper level had collapsed). It appeared to be fastened to some makeshift metal framework with chains for support (it didn't look safe).

It was impossible to tell anymore what this part of the mill used to be as it was all in ruins, but innumerable people crammed the enormous space, all of whom were intoxicated or high... or both. Their features were obscured by the dense fog that engulfed the broad expanse and showered them in crimson light, giving them the appearance of silhouettes. Not only did the loud, fast-paced synthesized music shake the walls, but so did the intertwining conversations and laughter of the crowd. With the volume turned up so high, the majority of the lyrics became indecipherable, but that didn't deter those who gathered around in handfuls to dance to the beat of the music.

"Whoa!" Stan exclaimed, gazing in every direction. "Your boss runs an underground club?"

"Pretty sick, huh?" Travis confirmed it.

"What's the occasion?"

"Probably from all the successful drug runs and not getting caught. Speaking of not getting caught, you were lucky as fuck back there."

"Wait! Did you know about—" Stan stopped himself from saying 'gun' out loud. "What are you talking about?" He could feel his cheeks turning red, and he wondered if it was obvious that he was faking cluelessness.

"Come on, Stan, I ain't a snitch." Travis tapped Stan on the shoulder. "But I could tell that you didn't want to give Jericho your backpack." Then, Travis pointed at one particular man in the crowd. He looked to be in his 50s; he wore a Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and seagulls etched on it and took savory sips from his beverage. "That there's Easy Pete."

"That's your boss?" Stan was perplexed, to say the least. When he first heard the name, he envisioned a chubby man wearing sweatpants, a tank top, and a gold chain.

"Yeah, listen, I'm gonna' talk to him about the next run. It might take a while to sort everything out. In the meantime, why don't you check the bar out and have a drink?"

At this point, Stan resigned to just going along with it. Besides, he was craving an ice-cold drink himself.

"Here ya go," Travis said, handing a rolled-up dollar bill.

Stan's eyes widened as he unfolded the bill to see $50. "Whoa! Are you sure?"

"Sure thing! Like I said, It's all on me! You don't owe me nothin'." Travis gave a smile of genuine goodwill.

"Thanks, dude!"

"Don't mention it. It'll be enough for one drink."

Stan's expression of gratitude turned into one of confusion. The last bit left him wondering if he had understood correctly. Fifty dollars for one drink? He was about to ask Travis for clarification, but the conversation was cut short.

"Catch ya in a bit, bud'!" And with that, Travis went off to discuss matters with Easy Pete.

On the horizon, past the sea of moving bodies and red flares, Stan set his sights on an elevated platform at the end of the room, with an astonishing array of bottles behind a long table.

On her way in, Wendy came to a complete halt. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene, feeling as if she had walked into another world—one that resembled a rave in the Underworld. "Whoa!" was all she could manage to say in response.

Through the dense fog, Wendy could make out the drugstore thieves approaching an older man in a Hawaiian shirt and another man wearing a Miller High Life hat.

"Pete!" Ash called out.

Wendy figured he was Easy Pete, who Ash had talked about several times in the Explorer. However, she pictured him as a bald man with scars and tattoos all over his body.

"Ash!" he exclaimed, his voice dry and cackling. "What have you got for me?"

"Let me start by telling you that Jericho is a true jackass!"

"Why? What did he do?"

"First, he acted like he didn't know who we were. Second, I told him exactly why we were here and what we were bringing to you, and he still acted like a sore bitch about it!"

Pete simply laughed. He had a feeling that Ash was exaggerating the situation or leaving out details to avoid embarrassment. "Well good! That's what I pay him for!"

The drugstore thieves simply made irritated faces at the old man's response.

"My money's on the line; I can't afford for him not to deliver," Pete continued. "Speaking of which, did you get my drugs?"

"Low and behold." Ash motioned to pass the toolbox to Pete. "Your treasure chest of wonders."

Pete reached for the toolbox and glanced at the man he had been speaking with earlier, who was sporting a Miller High Life hat. "Travis, I tell you what, I'll meet you downstairs after I finish my business with these three. The packages for California are down there with Jimmy."

"Yessir!" Travis nodded and headed in that direction.

"Come with me," said Pete to the drugstore thieves.

Wendy remembered that she needed to get away from these people as quickly as humanly possible. When she saw them heading in her direction, she quickly vanished into the fog and blended in with the crowd.

Meanwhile, Stan watched as the woman behind the bar whipped out a seven-ounce glass and placed it on the table. A waterfall of Jack Daniel's poured into the cup with perfect precision; not a single drop of whiskey spilled. The last two months on the road were grueling, and Stan couldn't wait to savor his first cold one since Twin Falls, Idaho.

"Here ya go, hun," the bartender said in her distinctively southern accent, sliding the glass cup to Stan.

"Thank you," he replied, catching the beverage.

"That'll be forty-five dollars."

Stan stared dumbfoundedly at the bartender, who waited patiently as she drummed her fingers on the table. Was she being serious? Why was she charging that much for one small drink? Before his lips could form a question, he noticed a compact semi-automatic pistol sticking out of her pocket. It was then that he understood what Travis meant by "It'll be enough for one drink." Not wanting to gamble with his life, he decided to give the $50 to the bartender without arguing. "Sure, no problem,"

"Thank ya, hun!" She smiled and took the dollar bill without returning any change.

The first sip was smooth and refreshing. As the whiskey trickled down, it burned his insides a little, and there was a warm feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath just as the alcohol hit his liver.

His mind wandered, thoughts of home, how Mom and Shelley were doing. Though he tried to take solace in knowing that they were surely safe back in South Park, Stan couldn't help but feel that he had let them down. The only farewell he could offer was in the form of a handwritten card on the kitchen table, informing them that he would be traveling alone to California to see his father. He sighed.

For a moment, Stan's gaze turned to the neon sign hanging in the center of the wall behind the bartender that glowed purple and red. It read:

Pretty Please…

DO NOT DRINK & DRIVE!

How ironic, considering that the people in charge actively ran a drug business within these walls. They probably didn't even have a liquor license. Not that Stan gave a shit. He knew that once Travis returned to pick him up, this place would be just another stop on his journey to California.

Still, those colors always evoked visions of her... Wendy Testaburger. Her outfits usually stayed within that color range, such as her magenta beret and lilac sweater. But what Stan recalled most were those pretty blue eyes; her long, dark hair; and that smile that made him fall in love. He wondered what her life was like now. They have had no contact since their relationship ended. Still, the image of her, that gorgeous girl, somehow managed to put a grin on his face. Or maybe it was just the whiskey taking hold.

He turned back to observe the crowd. They moved like ghosts, vaguely aware of the world around them. One person stood out to him, someone who appeared to be lost in the fog—a pretty, tomboyish girl with fiery red hair.

The initial wow factor gradually faded for Wendy Corduroy, who struggled to move through the hordes of strangers like a fish in a whirlpool. In her mind, she chastised herself for not running to the woods like Margalo. What was she going to do?

In the corner of her eye, a group of drugged-up figures struggled to dance. They moved more like puppets being jerked by an invisible hand and looked as if they would fall to the floor at any moment.

Out of nowhere, somebody grabbed Wendy's arm. "Hey!" she grunted. She balled her hands into fists, ready for a confrontation.

It was a woman whose hair was tangled and bits of her makeup had flaked off her skin. "Wanna hit?" she asked, offering to share her joint.

"No! Get that thing away from me!" Wendy shouted, shaking the drug addict off.

At first glance, it looked like a typical marijuana joint. Wendy didn't smoke out of habit, but she was familiar with the scent of cannabis from the times she experimented with it alongside Tambry and their circle of friends in Gravity Falls. But that joint reeked of burned plastic and chemicals—the same awful smell she smelled outside.

Suddenly, Wendy felt as if dark void began to close in on her. As she kept walking, she saw several figures in the distance, eerily standing still in the red mist. Were they watching her? Were they waiting to do something?

Without looking, she accidentally bumped into someone. "Sorry, dude," she said and stepped back.

"You're fine," said the stranger who sat with his back facing her, drinking from a cup.

By the tone of his voice, Wendy figured that he must be the same age as her. She also noticed that, in contrast to the rest of the crowd, this young man seemed quite alert and aware of his surroundings. Not only that, there was something quite familiar about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. However, the moment he turned his head to face her, Wendy instantly recognized him.

Wendy recalled earlier, back on Highway 76. She was looking out the passenger-side window at the nighttime landscape, trying to take comfort in knowing that she was still closer to California than she had been in the morning.

Then, Margalo spotted a person further up the road and pointed at him. "Hey, Ash! There goes another one."

"I see him."

Wendy noticed him too. A young man was standing underneath a street lamp on the edge of the road. His dark raven hair shone under the beam. He was a hitchhiker, just like her. As they drew nearer, he held out his thumb, hoping to hitch a ride.

"You're not going to pick him up?" asked Margalo.

"What the fuck do I look like, Uber?" Ash rebuked. "We don't have room for another one."

As he pressed down on the accelerator, Wendy watched as the stranger faded into the shadow of night. She wasn't sure if she felt sorry for him or thought he was the luckiest guy in the world for not being stuck with these psychos.

He was not.

"Are you okay?" Stan asked. "I saw you in the crowd a while ago. You seem kind of lost."

"Oh yeah?" Wendy sassed. "Well, you certainly don't look like you're from around here either."

While taking a sip of the whiskey, he set the glass down. "Is it that obvious?" he chuckled. "What gave that away?"

"You're that hitchhiker we saw on the highway an hour ago."

Stan was taken aback. Her words immediately triggered him to recall the Ford Explorer that left him in the dust. "Wait. So that was you?"

"No, I'm just a hitchhiker too." Her words began to dwindle as she wondered if it was a good idea to give away details about herself and her predicament to a stranger. "And no, I wasn't lost, I… I just…"

"Bad roll of the dice, huh?"

"You can say that again." While Wendy had no intention of letting her guard down, she sensed no ill intentions from this guy. "How did you end up here?"

"Same as you, I guess. I hitched a ride with this guy named Travis, who told me that he'd take me to California. Turns out, he's a delivery guy for a big-time drug dealer. And now, here I am, drinking at an underground club full of druggies and drug dealers."

Wendy took the empty chair next to Stan and rested her arms on the table. She felt a surge of empathy toward him, so she decided to loosen up just a little bit. "Yeah, I get it. I was at the right place at the wrong time too. I got picked up by these psychos who rob drugstores for a living."

"No kidding!"

"Yeah, dude. And on top of that, I was given a front seat to the robbery of a children's hospital."

"Jesus Christ, dude. Will you be okay?"

"I hope so." Wendy's eyes wandered to the crowd to check if Ash or the other drugstore thieves were nearby, avoiding them at all costs. Suddenly, she recalled something Stan had mentioned earlier. "Wait, did you say you're headed for California?"

Stan nodded to mean 'yes' as he swallowed the last bit of whiskey. "Mmmhmm. As soon as Travis comes back."

"Do you guys have room for one more?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Well, if it's not any trouble, can I come with you guys?"

Stan cast a curious look in Wendy's direction. Despite her efforts to remain composed, he could see the terror in her eyes, the same kind he felt much of the evening, especially during Jericho's search. A part of him wanted to ask about what she was afraid of, but he quickly realized that it was the drugstore thieves with whom she was riding. While he didn't know for sure what Travis' response would be, he felt sorry for the girl and wanted to do something to help her out. She was just a victim of bad luck, just like him. "Tell you what, I'll talk to Travis about bringing you along."

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem."

"Hey, what's your name?"

"It's Stan... Stan Marsh."

"Really? I used to work for a guy named Stan back home. Stan Pines."

"Oh yeah? What's he like?"

For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything positive to say about Mr. Pines. Her experience working for him had shown that he was a man of dubious practices. He swindled Gravity Falls tourists with obvious fakeries, such as Six-pack O' Lope (a Jackalope with a six-pack) and Sascrotch (a Sasquatch statue in underwear). He was also a master when it came to tax evasion. If she had to describe him, he was a shady bastard. But then she remembered how much he dearly loved his family. After all, he spent years trying to bring back his long-lost twin brother.

"He was okay, I guess. Oh, by the way, my name's Wendy."

"Wendy, huh?" For as long as Stan could remember, it was the prettiest name in the world to him.