After Soos and the others left for the UFO crash site, Wendy took the Stanmobile up for a spin.

Candy and Grenda had been all too happy to wear all black and put on their war paint—or, as Candy so aptly put it, dress up as warrior ninjas. The girls' excitement went through the proverbial roof as Wendy turned the volume up to the max. It wouldn't feel right to rob the government without an appropriately punk soundtrack, she felt.

Wendy, for her part, had… borrowed a hazmat suit from Stan. It had been fun to try it on and pretend she'd come out of a post-apocalyptic movie. It had been less fun to rifle through Stan's closet to find the damn thing. Stan, being a dumbass, just couldn't hide his stash under his bed just like any sane person did, oh no siree. Wendy was looking forward to using the incriminating magazines as kindling for a celebratory bonfire. As compensation for all her troubles, she'd pilfered a bottle of whiskey. Stupid old man owed her that much, at least.

The dumping site was exactly where McGucket had said it would be. Wendy parked the car somewhere in the woods, waiting for the cover of darkness. Candy had come up with the brilliant idea to shrink the hazmat suit and the barrels of waste using the flashlight Dipper had made. Wendy wasn't exactly looking forward to carrying the stuff in her backpack, but they were kinda strapped for options.

She used a pair of binoculars she found in the Shack (they were so damn fancy they had to belong to Stan's bro) to take a peek at the place. According to McGucket, the waste barrels were stocked inside a warehouse. The wire fence surrounding the building wasn't as tall as she'd expected; by climbing one of the nearby trees, it would be easy to get in.

Wendy handed the binoculars to Candy, putting on her mask and tucking her red braid under a black beanie. "Alright," she told the younger girl. "Keep an eye out and gimme a holler if you spot someone coming."

Candy offered her a salute. "Roger that."

"Grenda, ready for your diversion?"

"Girl," Grenda said with a grin, "you gotta ask?"

"Cool." Wendy returned Candy's salute. "Later, dorks."

Wendy sneaked closer to the fence and found a tree tall enough for her need. She took the climbing gear her dad had given her for her tenth birthday, trying to make her way up without being too noisy. Once she was at the top, she tied her rope to the thickest branch she could find, throwing the rest over the fence. She slid down the rope as silently as she could, hoping it would not break from her weight.

Wendy grinned as she touched the ground. So far, so good. "C?" she whispered through her walky-talky. "Got a visual on me?"

"Yes!" came Candy's voice. "According to Mr. McGucket, there's a door on the side you can use." There was a pause, and then she added, "Oh! A black car just pulled up and… I think one person got out? The security guards are running toward him. They all seem kinda nervous for some reason."

"Huh," Wendy replied. "Well, I'm just glad they aren't going my way. Thanks for the head's up, C."

Hiding in a shadowed corner, she put on the hazmat suit, inwardly cursing all the while. She bit down another series of swears as she waddled around in her stupid new duds. Wendy hadn't even wanted to wear the damn thing, but McGucket had moaned and griped about safety measures, which was rich coming from someone who'd helped build a portal to a dimension full of effin' demons.

She let out a sigh of relief as she pushed the door open. Picking the lock would have been a drag with those stupid rubber gloves. Wendy found herself in a hallway. Voices filtered through a half-open door to her right, and she found herself glancing in that direction.

In the other room, a red-haired man in a black suit was talking to two guys wearing lab coats. She could barely hear what they were saying, but it was clear from their body language that the guy in the black suit was tearing into them.

"…says here…" Wendy could hear him shouting, "…barrels gone missing…!"

"…almost a year ago!" one of the lab coat-wearing men sputtered in response.

Wendy turned the other way. It seemed to lead to the back of the building. A janitor was mopping the floor, ears covered by headphones blaring loud music. It was stupidly easy, swiping his key card without him noticing. Wendy could almost picture Stan wiping a tear of pride off his eye.

Finally, she came up to a closed door, one that was covered in warnings of all kind. Wendy used the key card she'd stolen from the janitor and arrived in a room with a garage door. Hundreds of barrels filled up the large space of the storage area.

"Hey!" someone called out. Another guy in a hazmat suit was walking toward her.

Wendy froze, stifling a curse. "Y-Yeah?" she said.

"Your shift starts in fifteen minutes, doesn't it? Aren't you a bit early?" He paused for a moment, assessing Wendy. "Wait, you're the new hire, ain'tcha?"

Wendy blinked. Oh thank god. "Some government suits is giving the boss hell in the break room," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Got tiring of hearing him screaming, y'know."

The guy actually laughed. "Oh man, gotta see this. For years, I've been calling this place's a OSHA nightmare. Good that the higher-ups finally decided to send someone to check up on things, huh?"

"Yep," Wendy said.

He tapped Wendy's shoulder. "Welp, have a nice night. See ya."

Wendy fought the urge to snort. Well, that explained how Stan had gotten his hands on the damn stuff. A part of her was almost disappointed that it was so easy.

Wendy set out to shrink the nearest waste drums, shoving as many as she could inside a garbage bag. She was on her fifth barrel when she heard voices nearby, and she hastily hid her loot in her packsack. It was a good call; one second later, and the red-haired guy was stomping inside, followed by two men in lab coats.

"Sir," one of the lab coat dudes said, "you shouldn't be here, not without the proper PPE—"

"Can it," the red-haired man said. He took a good fifteen seconds to adjust his lapels and cuffs, and Wendy was filled with the irrational urge to kick him in the shins. "Hmm. I can already find eight hazard violations in this one, single room. Nine if I'm not feeling charitable."

"The previous audits never—"

"You," Ginger Asshole said, gesturing to Wendy, "come over here. I've got a few questions."

Wendy slung her bag over her shoulder, moving cautiously toward the guy. "Y-Yeah? 'bout what?"

He took a notepad and a pen as she gingerly made her approach. His gaze fell on Wendy's bag, and he frowned slightly. Not long after, his eyebrows shot up in realization. "Wait a minute—"

Wendy made a run for it.

"Grab him!" she heard Ginger Asshole shouting.

Wendy rammed into one of the lab coat guys. He crashed into his colleague, and they toppled to the ground in an undignified heap. Wendy ran through the door, only for someone to grab her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Ginger Asshole was scowling at her, reaching for something in his jacket.

"Sorry," Wendy muttered, "nothing personal, dude."

Her fist collided with his cheekbone, and she winced at the pain flaring from her knuckles. Thankfully, her punch was enough to make him sway on his feet. Wendy rushed forward, grabbing at her walky-talky to shout, "G! Time to unleash chaos!"

"Got it!" came the reply, full of static and manic energy.

Wendy ran out of the building just in time to hear people shouting in the distance. Candy had helped McGucket modify his crab robots so they'd be able to throw projectiles from a long distance. Grenda, for her part, had spent the better part of the afternoon making glitter bombs, following Mabel's trusty recipe. Or, Wendy realized as she saw a gigantic glittery cloud erupting in the distance, perfecting it.

Wendy realized belatedly that the red-haired guy was still running after her. She swore loudly. Usually, she would have left his crabby ass in the dust, but that goddamn hazmat suit was slowing her down.

"G! Throw one behind me! Quickly!" Wendy shouted into her walky-talky.

She couldn't say she didn't feel just a bit of satisfaction at seeing the guy bursting out of the door, only to be splattered with attack glitter.

"My eyes!" he screamed. "Oh my god!"

Wendy kept running. He was overreacting… probably. It wasn't like glitter was lethal, anyway.

She reached the rope she'd left hanging and cursed. How would she even climb the damn thing in her stupid suit, weighed down by a bag full with cans filled with toxic ooze?

"Wendy!" a voice said from over the fence. Candy was pointing up. One of McGucket's crab robots was climbing the tree. It grabbed the rope between its pincers, and Wendy held to the other end as it tugged, pulling her to its side of the fence. The little crab was even enough of a gentleman to carry her bag down while Wendy made her way to the ground.

Wendy patted its metallic head. "Did I ever say just how happy that McGucket's on our side now and not building homicidal robots anymore? 'Cause I really am!"

"And his new models are so cute, too!" Candy cooed. The robot replied with an inquisitive little beep. "Yes, you are, you good boy, you!"

Grenda was running toward them, followed by her two robotic accomplices. "You have what we came for?" she asked Wendy.

"Yep! Everyone, get in the car!"

Once everyone was in the safe confines of the vehicle, Wendy removed her mask, grinning at Candy, Grenda and their three mechanical helpers. "Mission accomplished."

She was rewarded by whoops from the girls and a tinny little tune of victory from the crab bots.

Ford tinkered on the hovercraft while the others slept.

Mabel had woken him a little later than they had agreed, which meant that she and her brother had been shared guarding duties for most of the night. Ford had to admit she'd been crafty on that front. His niece really was starting to take after Stan; Ford didn't know if he found it endearing or worrying.

Three or four hours later, his brother sat up, yawning and stretching, Ford greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, Stanley. Did you sleep well?"

Stan looked blearily at the sky. "Is it ever morning here? The moon's still up. Well, moons."

"I have observed a subtle day-night circle, yes," said Ford. "There's more light now than a few hours ago. The planet must be tilted at a certain angle, which means that—"

"Ugh. My brain's already melting from all the shit that's been going on. Keep the nerd talk to a minimum, will ya?"

"But with so little light—" Dipper's voice was interrupted by a big yawn, "—how do the plants survive and stuff?"

"They must have adapted, like all life on this planet," Ford said. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning, Great Uncle Ford…"

Next to him, Mabel was sitting up, hair a frizzly mess. "Morning, you guys. What's for breakfast, more protein bars and weird fruits?" When Ford nodded, she gave a dramatic sigh. "When we'll be back, we'll have this epic breakfast, with pancakes and whipped cream and bacon—"

Both Stan and Dipper groaned. "C'mon, Mabel," her brother said, while their uncle whined, "Why so cruel, pumpkin?"

"Anyway," Ford said, putting an end to their griping, "I've used the radio emitter I found in the hovercraft to build a little something for you three." He showed them the bracelets he'd been making. "These little babies allow you to use my translator remotely. Blending in will be easier if you can speak and understand the local language, right?"

It was a bit childish to admit, but Ford felt a burst of pride as Stan and the kids put on their translator bracelets, praising his work (or, in Stan's case, raving about the money Ford could do with that kind of gadget). They tested the efficiency of the devices by having Stan telling them bad jokes in Spanish; the translator didn't work very well with puns, sadly enough.

"I've also found this yesterday in the ship," Ford said, holding a small, beeping device. "It's a tracker. I managed to change the frequency it emits, and now only our bracelets can get its signal."

"Ooh!" said Mabel. "You're so smart, Grunkle Ford!"

Ford gave her a little bow, and she giggled. "Thank you, sweetheart. That leaves only last topic I need to address. The most important of all, in fact." He paused, finding it surprisingly hard to put his idea into words. "As I said before, dimensional tears do happen naturally. There are certain places where the space between realities is a little thinner." He tapped at the wristwatch he always wore. "I've hopped from dimension to dimension by finding those places. There's always some residual energy left behind when a dimensional tear is opened. In some cases, I can even offer an estimate of when the tear will open again."

Stan and the twins seemed to be hanging to his every word. "So, you've got kind of a radar, but for dimensional anomalies?" Dipper asked.

"Yes," said Ford. Strangely enough, he could find no comfort in the hint of admiration he'd heard in his nephew's voice.

"So," Stan said, "don't want to get my hopes up, but… d'you think you could find one of these dimensional tears here too?"

Ford set his mouth into a grim line. "That's what we're about to find out."

"Alright," Stan said. "At least it's not a no. I can live with that."

"We should also try to learn the name of our current dimension. Or at least its designation in the commonly accepted dimensional classification system."

"There's one of these?" Stan said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," Dipper said. "Like how our universe is called Dimension 46 or something?"

"Dimension 46'/, yes," Ford corrected. "We're an offshoot of an original Dimension 46, hence the slight difference in the name."

"Really?!" Dipper began to click enthusiastically on one of his numerous pens, and Ford had to hide a smile. "Why would that happen? Our universe deviating from the original, I mean."

Ford shrugged. "It might be for a number of reasons. Maybe the Big Bang happened a few years too late. Maybe the moon landing wasn't faked, maybe—"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Dipper. "The moon landing was faked?!"

"Of course," Ford said, slightly dumbfounded. "It's not common knowledge, but—"

"Who cares?" Stan interrupted him. "That's not our priority, and you know it, brainiac."

Ford bristled at the moniker, shooting his brother a look of annoyance.

"I mean," Stan continued, "first in the order of things is still to find out why those dumbasses are after you, right?"

"Without getting caught, yes," Ford said.

"How did you get by anyway? Back in the day, I mean."

"With my hood up, and a scarf over my face, usually," Ford answered. "Either people were unobservant or I was very lucky."

"So disguises are our best bet, huh?" said Mabel. She looked up and down at the rest of her family. "We don't have a lot to work with, honest."

"What's that's s'posed to mean?" Stan said, feigning outrage.

"Hey, guys?" Dipper said. "I think we're sleeping on the most obvious solution." He was holding something made of grey cloth.

"The spare uniforms!" Ford said. "I'd almost forgotten!"

"Do we have to?" Stan said. "Who knows what kind of dumbass wore these before?"

"Spending so much time away from us really broke your speech filter," Dipper commented, making Stan roll his eyes in response.

"Hmm," said Mabel. "They're a big too big for Dipdop and me. Unless I step on his shoulders and we—"

"Nope. Not happening."

"Aw. It would be fun to pretend to be grown-ups. We could sneak inside a club and drink the night away!"

Ford glared at Stan. The latter held up his hands, sputtering, "Hey, why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?"

"Anyway," Dipper said, "Mabel and me just need to look a little different. I don't think they actually got a good look at our faces when they were chasing us."

Mabel climbed on tiptoes, taking the glasses from Ford's face. "Ta-dah!" she said, putting them on. "Perfect disguise, comic book style!"

A few minutes later, and the kids were finished with their disguises. Dipper wore Stan's jacket, glasses and red beanie, while Mabel inherited her brother's unshanka, along with Ford's coat and spectacles. Mabel had rubbed some of the phosphorescent weed on both of their faces, making their cheeks glow faintly. Ford desperately hoped this would not end in a horrible skin rash.

Stan shuffled a bit in his stolen robes. "I hate this already," he muttered. "I look like a dingus."

Ford looked at his bare hands; of course the gloves that came with the outfit didn't fit all of his six fingers. He hoped no one would be perceptive enough to notice.

"With a little luck, we don't encounter any of our, uh, colleagues while we're in the city," Ford said.

"I just hope you're not dressed like members of the local mafia," Dipper said with a wince.

"Or like some lunatics from a baby-killing cult!" his sister added.

Stan put on his mask. "Welp, I can't see shit without my glasses! This is stupid."

"Don't worry, we'll guide you," said Mabel. "Like a pair of faithful golden retrievers."

"It's not like we can see any better, Mabel," said Dipper. "Your glasses are giving one heck of a headache, Grunkle Stan."

They went on foot, not having enough fuel in their vehicle to make the trip. Ford guided them away from the market, heading instead toward the biggest of all the pyramidal buildings in town. The structure was so tall it dominated the whole of the city, in a manner that made Ford ill at ease. A tower was built atop the pyramid, windowless save for the portion at the top.

A crowd was gathering in the plaza in front of the pyramidal structure. On an elevated platform, Ford spied several people wearing familiar masks and robes. One of the grey-robed people held a pale orange banner depicting a certain symbol: a white circle divided in the middle by a vertical line.

The crowd grew more excited when a tall and thin figure climbed the dais. The only word Ford could use to describe him was… yellow. His skin was yellow, his long hair was yellow, his damned robes were yellow. It was an affront to one's eyesight, really.

Then again, Ford was certainly biased against the colour.

"Greetings, dear friends!" the man announced, to the delight of the onlookers. "Oh, it gives me so much joy so see you here, all ready to bask in the light of the Dawn!"

Dipper glanced at the sky. "The dawn? Is it ever dawn here?"

Next to him, a man with pink skin and five eyes muttered, "Yeah, I always wonder what he means too." His face then broke into an eerie grin. "But maybe if we all follow the teachings, the sun will finally rises! Whatever the sun is, I mean!"

"The sun will finally—" The rest of the sentence sounded so silly to Ford's ears he could not even complete it. Like Dipper, he looked upward. As always, the sky was set in a state of perpetual dusk, the sun nowhere to be seen.

"Sadly, the age of the sun is not yet at hand," the man on the stage continued. "But do not despair, dearest comrades, do not despair! Though we cannot feel his warmth on our skins yet, the Eye of Dawn sees all your deeds! Let's all work hard to be worthy of his attentions. Be creative. Be passionate. But most of all, be weird."

"Be weird?" Stan snickered. "What kind of religion is this?"

"Maybe they're just really into art and craft?" Mabel offered.

Lemon Guy scanned the crowd, and Ford tensed. The man froze as well, mouth stuck open.

He'd just caught sight of the two brothers in their stolen outfits.

"Hell," Stan muttered. "Ford, we need to move out—"

"Why, how odd!" the yellow priest said brightly. "Two of our comrades—two of the chosen—standing among the uninitiated."

Countless pairs of eyes turned toward Ford and his family. Lemon Guy held his hand out; even without his glasses, Ford could see that his expression was about as warm as the grin of a used car dealer smelling a new opportunity.

"Come, brothers!" he said. "Come share your experience with the masses!"

Dozens of arms pushed Stan and Ford to the stage, while the rest of the crowd cheered. Dipper and Mabel shared twin expressions of horror as their uncles took place next to the yellow-robed priest.

Lemon Guy had five eyes, all of them yellow, of course. His robes were outfitted with stupidly pointy shoulder pads, and his long hair was neatly combed back. Ford was filled with instant revulsion at the sight of his face-splitting grin and gleaming, perfect teeth.

"See, people?" Lemon Guy addressed the crowd. "This is what we could all become. Strong, fearless soldiers, working tirelessly to bring about the coming of the Eye of Dawn." The onlookers oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments.

Soldiers, Ford thought. The word was ominous. He hid his hands behind his back, gritting his teeth. He had lost control of the situation so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

"That's right!" Stan exclaimed.

Ford stifled a yelp. What was Stanley doing?

"I used to be like you!" Stan continued, ignoring the peeved look Lemon Guy gave him. "But it all changed when I joined these guys!" He jabbed a finger at a weedy-looking youth in the front row. "You! What would you change about your life?"

All three of the kid's eyes widened, and he blushed a deeper purple. "Um… I always wanted to be more popular…"

Stan made finger-guns at the guy. "Hah! Just sayin', but the ladies dig me so much now I have to fend 'em off with a stick! Think about it, pal! That could be you!"

Ford could only stare in mute horror as Stan suckered in more unsuspecting victims, telling them bogus stories about being a devotee of the Eye of Dawn. In a span of minutes, Stan had them laughing and cheering on command.

Meanwhile, Lemon Guy seemed about to blow a gasket.

Ford slunk toward his brother. Stan was in the middle of explaining his tragic backstory, and many tears were being shed in the audience.

"Stanley," he muttered, "we need to go."

"Huh?" said Stan. He tilted his head toward the yellow-robed priest, who would probably have gone red by now if he had been human. "Oh, yeah." He turned toward the adoring masses, arms open. "Welp, that's all folk! Back to the mission it is!"

"Yes," someone hissed. Lemon Guy was clutching a piece of paper in his hands. Ford's heart leaped in his throat as he realized what it must be. "Back to the mission with you, soldier. Why, what a perfect way to segue into our next topic…"

"Segue?" Stan snorted, elbowing Ford. "What kinda guy use words like that in real life?"

Lemon Guy unfolded Ford's wanted poster, presenting it to the crowd. Stan uttered a strangled curse.

"This man here," Lemon Guy said brightly, "is a friend to us all!"

"What," said Stan.

For his part, Ford could only stare, mouth agape behind his mask.

Lemon Guy put a hand over his heart, face showing just the right amount of pathos. "Yes, this man here is destined to bring about the coming of dawn. With his aid, the sun will rise again!"

"What the everlasting fu—" Stan began.

"Each of us can do our part!" Lemon Guy interrupted him, sounding far too much like a demented camp counselor for Ford's liking. "If you ever see our prophesized hero, please notify a Follower immediately so they can bring him back to the Temple!" He gestured at the pyramidal structure behind him. "We're all counting on you, my friends!"

"Uh, yes, sir, aye aye!" Stan said, with a mock salute. Ford fought the urge to push him off the stage.

"Dedicated to the cause, are you?" There was something strange gleaming in all five of Lemon Guy's eyes. "It won't be long until you earn your colours, soldier."

Stan hesitated. "Uh, yeah. That's my biggest ambition in life. Definitely."

"You see, people? That's the kind of enthusiasm we love!" Lemon Guy's smile had grown into a sneer. Still, the moment he turned his gaze away from Stan, his salesman's grin was back in full force. "Carlus is handling our merchandise stand at the back. Say hi to Carlus, everyone!"

The crowd mumbled in unison, sounding somewhat confused. The grey-robed guy handing the stall gave an enthusiastic wave of the hand.

"Keep in mind that all sales go to funding our shared dream," Lemon Guy continued. "So if you buy a talisman to protect yourself from twilight spirits, then you further our chances of success! A win-win situation, I tell you!"

By then, Ford was dragging his brother off the platform. Stan was nodding, saying, "Huh… not bad, not bad at all…"

Ford pushed him through the crowd, still ill at ease. He could almost feel Lemon Guy's eyes on his back. "C'mon, Stan. We need to find the kids and get out of here."

"Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan!" a voice said nearby. Ford sighed in relief as he caught sight of Mabel, her brother closely following after her. She grabbed his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Ford said, glancing behind him. Lemon Guy was still talking, and his grey-robed goons were handing out copies of his wanted poster. "I think it would be better to leave."

"Yeah," said Dipper. "These guys are, uh, kinda nuttier than I would have thought…"

"They most certainly are," said Ford, "but there's something else we must discuss."

A great weight was lifted off Ford's shoulders the moment they got out of the crowd. Turning to Stan and the children, he held out his hand, showing them the beeping device fastened around his wrist. "The signal got stronger while we were on stage."

"Oh, man," said Stan. "So, there's a dimensional anomaly or whatever close by? Where is it?"

Ford glanced behind, toward the building towering above the city.

Toward the Temple of the Eye of Dawn.

"Oh shit." Stan gulped down. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I would wager that what we're looking for is at the top of that tower," Ford added.

"How are we supposed to get up there?" Dipper asked. "I mean, these guys are weird, they're obviously up to no good!"

"What's up with them saying you're a buddy of theirs or something?" Mabel added. "Did you, like, save those guys from certain death and they now worship you or something?"

"No!" Ford said. "I don't know who they are and what they want!" He had run into his fair share of cults in his years, but most of the time, they had wanted to kill him, not kiss the ground under his feet!

"Well, we kinda know what they want," said Stan. "They want you, Sixer. For some nefarious scheme, I guess."

"That doesn't help—"

"I think it does, actually," Dipper said, interrupting Ford. "I know what I'm about to say sounds crazy, but hear me out, guys…" His grimace deepened. "Oh boy. Grunkle Ford, sorry for what I'm about to say, but…"

His sister began to grin. Apparently, she had caught on to her brother's plan, whatever it was.

"What if you… pretend to get captured?" Dipper said. "By me and Mabel? Then we'd get Stan to bring us to the temple. That would get us inside, right?"

Ford stared at his nephew. He was aware that he must have looked rather stupid with his mouth just hanging open, but his brain was too sluggish to come up with a more appropriate reaction.

"Trust me," said Dipper. "We've done stupider things."

"Did you," Ford said, finally finding his voice, "did you just steal that idea from Star Wars of all things?!"

"Who cares where it comes from?" Stan rubbed his hands together in glee. "Do you think it'll be enough to… what did that guy say, earn me my colours or something? At least it'll net me a promotion!"

Ford glared at him. Of course, considering that he was currently wearing a mask, Stan stayed wholly unaware of his brother's murderous gaze.

"Alright," Ford said. "Given that we're pressed for time, we don't have much of a choice anyway."

"How long do you think we have until the dimensional tear open again?" Dipper said quietly.

"From my calculations, probably only four days," Ford answered him. "Let's make every second count."