- Ten years ago –

Ford was usually one to boast of his ability to hold his drink, but those cosmic sand shots were hitting him hard.

He'd been drunker before, that much he could remember. There had been wild benders with Fidds in college (his Tennessee-born roommate had made some damn fine moonshine), not to mention all the embarrassing moments that had resulted in him waking up with yet another tattoo. Still, Ford didn't exactly enjoy being drunk; the natural Jersey accent he tried so hard to suppress usually came out full force when he was inebriated (Fidds had once said it was cute, but that was before Ford had started to cuss him out).

Still, he was fairly plastered right now. Sitting across from him, Jheselbraum was sipping her fourth drink, looking none the worse for wear. If he hadn't been drunk out of his mind, Ford would have envied her poise.

At first, she asked him about his plans for the future. The moment she realized he answered all of her questions with giggles, she settled for less serious topics. Soon, she was laughing as well, hiding her mouth with her sleeve. Even tipsy, she was ever the dignified lady.

Eventually, Ford's eyelids started to droop. Jheselbraum reached for his hand, gently squeezing it. "You should rest, my friend," she told him. "You will soon undertake quite the journey."

Ford offered her what he hoped was a charming grin. "Yesh. An eplic journey. I-I'm the one desu—destun—who's s'posed to kill Buh-Bill Cipher." For a while, his mind drew a blank. His face broke again into a smile as he added, "That's what you said!"

Her expression was hard to decipher. "In a way. For now, I should simply let you go to sleep."

"A'ight," Ford said with a yawn. "See ya tomorrow morning."

"Sleep well, Stanford." And in a swish of skirts, she was gone.

For a moment, Ford remained seated on his bed, swaying a little. "Yeah. Going to shleep. Tha's what 'm doin'." He blinked. Was there something else he needed to do? "Ah, yesh!" he said, finally remembering. "Firsht, I need to go tinkle."

Despite his impaired abilities, Ford managed to find the restrooms easily enough. He took his time returning to his room, partly to take in the sights, partly to keep himself from tripping over his own feet. Often, he stopped to peek outside, enjoying the moonlit mountains and the cool, crispy air of the evening. An idea was brewing in his mind as he contemplated the alien landscape. Why did he have to leave? He was safe now that the metal plate shielded him against Bill's vile invasions. He could stay here, and learn from Jheselbraum to strengthen his body and mind.

The more Ford thought on this idea, the more amazing it seemed to his inebriated brain. He had to find Jheselbraum to announce the good news! Ford set out in search of her, a stupid grin plastered over his face. Instead, he stumbled into one of her acolytes. It was the green-skinned girl he'd met before. Both of her eyes widened as she caught sight of him.

"Hello!" he told the young woman, voice slightly squeaky. "You haven't seen Jhevel—Hesel—Jhebrel—the Oracle around, have ya?"

The girl opened and closed her mouth in quick succession. Great, Ford thought, quickly examining his clothes for questionable-looking stains. He hadn't been sick, had he? Or maybe he had wandered out of his room clad only in his underwear? Even drunk, Ford would never perform such an unforgivable social faux pas.

The young woman nervously swallowed. With great difficulty, she said, "You are he—him. Oracle announced before."

Ford beamed at her. "Wow! You speak English!" He narrowed his eyes. "Wait, you speak English…?"

"I learn word. To speak to you."

Ford counted the numbers of days he'd been here. "Huh. Ya sure learned fast."

Her expression was strangely serious, in a way that would have aroused his suspicions had he been sober. "Yes. Over many year. Necessary to understand, to know if you are him."

Ford managed a grin. "You're right! I am him! The man duh-destined to kill Buh-Bill Cipher! It's a prophecy an' everything!"

He expected surprise from the young woman, even awe. Instead, she only frowned.

"No," she murmured, "you are not…"

"Beg yer pardon?" Ford slurred.

"You… you are not him. I cannot find him in you. Oracle told wrong, she saw it not." The girl actually smiled. "You are not… more special than I am."

"Well, that's rah-ruh-rude, y'know." Ford stared at her hand. She was clasping a tuft of something. "Huh. S'that hair?" He chuckled. "Why're going 'round carryin' someone's hair?"

She hid her hand behind her back. "You should rest. Sleep. Hard journey to go."

"Wait," he said, reaching forward, "I need to see—"

He was struck with a sudden bout of nausea, and he stumbled on his feet, nearly dropping to his knees. She cried out, catching him before he fell. Despite his weak protests, she began to guide him somewhere—back to his room, more probably.

With her help, Ford managed to find his way back to his cot. He let himself fall on his back and giggled when he found himself amidst a mountain of cushions. The girl looked slightly disturbed; before he could thank her, she rushed out of the room with a muttered apology.

Despite his intoxicated state, Ford took great care to remove his boots and coat. His Ma hadn't raised a rude boy, after all. Soon, he could hear the call of the land of dreams. He fell asleep with a smile teasing his lips.

What an amazing sensation. He'd almost forgotten how it was like, to simply seek the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Soon, he was in the middle of a pleasant dream. Water lapped at his bare feet, seaweed tickling his heels. The air smelled of salt and sunshine, and a boy was calling his name, happily. Tomorrow, they would both sport matching sunburns from spending a day at the beach. The boy shouted Ford's name again, more insistently. Too insistently.

"—ford!" Something was wrong. That wasn't Stanley's voice, was it? "STANFORD!"

Ford groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He was immediately hit by a wave of revulsion; someone was touching him, shaking him by the shoulders, their face veiled in the shadows.

Ford wrestled himself out of their grasp, backing away. In the dimmed light, he could see a figure wearing a cowl. Jheselbraum's seven-eyed gaze was wild with terror.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she told him, "but you need to leave, now."

"Wha…?" he said, blinking. His head hurt like it was about to split apart.

She handed his glasses over to him with shaking hands. "No time to explain. Just follow me, please."

Ford simply sat on his cot, brain lost up in a fog. He barely reacted when she grabbed him by the hand, dragging him out of his room. She hadn't even let him put on his boots and his—

"Wait!" Ford cried, mind clearing a little. "My coat! I need it!"

Jheselbraum made an irritated noise as Ford rushed back to his room. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he saw a dark bundle on the floor. Inside one of the inner pockets, there was a picture. Two boys on a shipwreck sailboat grinned back at him, unaware of the dark future that awaited them. Their happy expressions were both a balm and a knife to the heart.

He startled a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jheselbraum was looking at him with an intensity he wouldn't have associated with one such as her.

"We must get going," she told him. "I've made a grave miscalculation, and we don't have much time."

"Where are we going?" he said as she led him through the temple. Distant noises were coming to his ears; were those shouts? And the sounds of a scuffle? Was there a fight going on?

"To another temple in a nearby city," she answered. "That's where you'll find the closest dimensional rift."

If he had been in a better state, he would have honed in on those two words immediately. Instead, he only stumbled after her, fighting to stay conscious.

Cold air whipped at his face as he followed her outside. She helped him inside a vehicle of sorts. The shouts and footsteps were getting louder. A few figures came rushing out of the temple. They were holding long objects with sharpened, glowing tips. Weapons?

Jheselbraum hissed something in her language—a curse?—as she fiddled with the control panel. The engine rumbled to life; before Ford could make out what was happening, the vehicle sped out of the temple courtyard.

How long did they spend driving? Ford couldn't know. Dark clouds covered the sky, depriving them of the much-needed light of the moon and the stars. Ford was halfway aware that they were leaving the mountaintop and going down the valley. Soon, they were more lights, even the noise of a crowd. Buildings surrounded them rather than cliffs. They were in a city, one bustling with colours and sounds. After a week spent in the stillness of twilight, such a display of life was dazzling.

Finally, the vehicle came to a lurching stop, nearly making Ford vomit all over the metallic floor. Again, Jheselbraum grabbed him by the hand, leading him up a set of stairs. Ford blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. They were climbing a great pyramid of sorts. Inside, the Oracle brought him to a twisting staircase built in the middle of a vast hall. She did not seem to want to slow down.

"Jheselbraum," Ford managed, "please… I'm… I'm going to faint…"

"I'm sorry," she answered, dragging him up the stairs. "I'm so, so sorry."

All seven of her eyes widened when they heard more shouting coming from below. Ford frowned. "Our pursuers… they came all this way…?"

Rather than answer him, she only kept running, forcing Ford to keep up with her pace. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached the end of the stairs. The two of them were in another circular hall, the ceiling supported by a number of wide columns. A second set of stairs could be found in the middle, leading to a platform.

"We're nearly there," Jheselbraum said. "Please, Stanford, just a little further…"

She appeared exhausted. Without a word, Ford followed after her, stumbling up the stairs. His head felt stuffed, like his brains had gained the consistency of oatmeal. All of this seemed more like a dream than reality. Perhaps it was a dream, in truth. It was the most logical explanation his frazzled mind could come up with.

When they reached the platform, Jheselbraum put both hands over his shoulders and said, voice never wavering, "Remember, when he is about to pass on to the next world, reach out for his hand."

"Wha…?" Ford said. All of this was so strange. Was this a hallucination brought about by the cosmic sand? "W-Who…?"

"Stanley," she said, sounding rather distressed. "Please find it in yourself to forgive him for something that always been outside his control, please—"

"There he is!"

A few figures stood at the base of the stairs leading to the platform. They were pointing at Jheselbraum in an insistent manner. At their head, there was the green-skinned girl. Was Ford imagining things or was she grinning?

"HAH!" the young woman shrieked. "End of the line, kiddo! Too bad Big Frilly isn't here to save your sorry skin, isn't it?"

Jheselbraum did not say anything. There was something strange about the young woman's voice, a familiar inflection that turned Ford's stomach, making an ever-present terror lurk back to the surface of his mind. His heart began to beat faster; no, this was no dream, this was a nightmare.

"Say, you know that it's the first time I've ever been in a meat sack that can do magic?" the girl continued in a shrill voice, as if she was not used to her own vocal cords. "Let's see how it goes, shall we?"

Ford heard something crackle, and a burst of blue energy sped toward him. Before he could react, a violet blur moved in front of him. Jheselbraum had shielded him with her body. Her face twisted in pain, tears and sweat dripping from her chin. Still, she did not utter a sound.

There was another noise, this time coming from behind him. Through clouded eyes, Ford spied a strange of distortion hovering in the air.

Even his dulled mind knew what it was.

A tear ripping at the fabric of reality.

"NO!" the girl screamed. "DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

With great effort, Jheselbraum raised her gaze toward Ford. "P-Please… remember what I said…" Before Ford could answer, she pushed him into the dimensional tear.

The last thing Stanford Pines ever saw of Dimension 52 was her closing her eyes in peaceful acceptance as another bolt of blue lightning came her way.

– Gravity Falls, 2013 –

In all appearances, Gravity Falls was a quaint little town, the perfect slice of Americana.

Dryer had called more agents to broaden their search, and so far, all of them had been bored senseless by their assignment. They had combed the town and the surrounding forests, meeting nothing but—in their own words— 'dim-witted hicks and 'woodland vermins'.

Unlike her colleagues, Dryer found the place oddly charming. For one, she had gotten rather fond of the nearby diner, especially the owner's homemade pies. Last time she had been there, however, she'd stumbled upon the group of youths who had once hung around the Mystery Shack. Young Wendy Corduroy had looked positively murderous when she had 'accidently' bumped into Dryer. Dryer had simply let it slide; she couldn't fault the girl for nursing a grudge, could she?

She, Blauer and a few others focused on the Mystery Shack, hoping to find the causes of the gravitational anomalies they had recorded last summer. Dryer expected it was some kind of large device, one was probably powered by the barrels of stolen radioactive waste. What purpose would such a machine serve… that, she had no idea.

She was certain the device was located underground, away from prying eyes. Of course, that left her with quite the conundrum. Dryer couldn't just waste the taxpayers' money on digging up all the place just on a hunch. She needed solid evidence before making her move.

She sighed as she watched the sun setting over the pine trees. Another fruitless day was coming to a close. It would only add to Blauer's sour mood, that much she knew. Dryer made a note to stage an intervention before he lost his temper on some poor civilian. She gritted her teeth at the thought; Blauer wouldn't have been her first choice for a partner, not even her second or her third. But he had been present when the waste barrels had been stolen, which meant that she had to suffer his company.

Dryer was about to head back to her car (and back to the dingy motel she'd called home, these past few days) when a pick-up truck came up the driveway. Dryer quirked an eyebrow as she recognized the vehicle.

The young owner of the Mystery Shack climbed out of the car, flashing her a grin. "Hello, Ms. Dryer! Enjoying the sunset? I getcha, dude, I love drinking a nice, cold soda on the porch at the end of the day."

Dryer did not return his smile. "Hello, Mr. Ramirez."

"Oh, just call me Soos, dude! Mr. Ramirez was my grandpa, you see?"

"Soos, then," said Dryer. "Why are you here?"

The young man held up a wallet. Dryer's eyes widened when she recognized it.

"One of my friends found it at Susan's diner," Soos lied—badly. "You must have dropped it!"

"Thank you," Dryer said, taking it. She wondered who among his friends had pilfered it from her pockets—Ms. Corduroy seemed like a reasonable candidate.

"And, uh, sorry, dude, but I had to look inside to find its owner," Soos added, sheepishly. "The picture I saw… is it your daughter?"

Dryer's gaze snapped back to him. "Yes."

"Aw, it's sweet that you have a picture of her in your wallet," Soos continued, unaware of the edge in Dryer's voice. "When I'll have kids, I'll carry pictures of them with me everywhere, I tell ya!"

Dryer didn't know what to say; it was rare to stumble upon someone so candid, so naïve.

"I mean," Soos continued, "my dad wasn't exactly around, so he probably didn't carry a picture of me in his wallet. It's been years, and I know I shouldn't be all torn up about it, but… it would have been nice, I think." For a while, his face lacked his usual smile. Then he asked, "What's her name? Your daughter, I mean."

"Anamaria," Dryer answered.

"That's a pretty name," Soos said. "It's funny 'cause my abuelita's name is María, you know? And my mom was named Anabel, but everyone called her Ana."

Was named, Dryer noted, feeling a brief sense of pity for the boy. His mother was dead, and his father had abandoned the family. Young Soos Ramirez was more resilient than he looked, she observed.

"She must be pretty lonely while you're out here," Soos continued.

"She lives with her father in Boston," Dryer said. Why was she admitting those things to that kid? "My ex-husband and I decided it would be best for her."

"Oh." There was something strange to his expression, like a hint of disapproval. Still, his characteristic cheer was not long in coming back. "I bet she finds it cool that her mom is like, a secret agent!"

Dryer shrugged. "Not particularly." Last time she'd seen her daughter, one month ago, Ana had spent most of her time glued to her phone. "My daughter's got an active imagination. She enjoys learning about monsters and myths, while I… well, I work for the government."

"Oh!" Soos said. "She'd get along with my friend Dipper. He's into this stuff too!"

"Stanford Pines' nephew?" Dryer questioned.

Soos looked surprised… and a little suspicious. "How d'you know that, dude?"

"My files mention that your friend Dipper and his sister lived with their uncle last summer." She frowned. "They would not know anything about Mr. Pines' criminal activity… would they?"

"Oh, they wouldn't!" Soos said, a bit too precipitately. "I mean, if Mr. Pines had been up to something. Which he hasn't. He might be crass or rude sometimes, but…" His expression softened. "Everything Mr. Pines does, it's for the people he loves. He's a her—a nice person."

Dryer wondered what Soos had been about to say. Again, there was a genuineness to his words, a deep-seated affection that was mingled with a sense of… worry. Fear, even. Why had the topic left him so distressed? Was he lying about the man's whereabouts?

What had happened to Stanford Pines?

"I see," she said evenly.

Soos' smile wavered a little. He glanced over Dryer's shoulder, looking at the Mystery Shack with a forlorn expression. "You know, I've been missing the place..."

"I'm sorry," Dryer told him. "Rest assured that you and your family will be compensated for all your troubles."

"I sure hope so," Soos said, before clamping his hands over his mouth.

Dryer's lips nearly formed a smile. For some reason, she found herself asking, "Do you believe in it? The supernatural, I mean."

He goggled at her for a moment. "Nope," he said eventually. This time, she could not tell if he was lying.

His answer prompted a snort from her. "Amusing, considering your choice in career."

"The Mystery Shack isn't there to prove that the supernatural is real," Soos explained. "That's not the point. The Shack… it's like a reminder to stay curious, to stay weird, even when you're grown-up. It shows people just what they could discover, if they chose to have just a bit of an adventurer's spirit." His grin was almost bashful. "Or at least, that's how I see it. I know it sounds dumb."

Dryer was suddenly transported to summers spent in Vermont forests, to a log cabin built beside a lake, to a childhood's worth of make-believe expeditions and mysteries. The experience was bittersweet. The curious and headstrong little girl who had sought to find Bigfoot in the woods behind her grandparents' home was long gone now.

"You know, I could always give you guys a tour," Soos said. "You could take pictures and send them to your daughter, if you want."

"I guess I could," Dryer said, slightly amused. She and the other agents had already examined the museum to all of their liking, and her colleagues had taken great pleasure in mocking the so-called attractions. She hadn't share their merriment, however; much like the rest of town, she found the (shoddily made) taxidermied beasts and the (clearly fake) artefacts somewhat endearing.

Dryer gave him a genuine smile. "Then lead the way."

Candy was used to being 'the quiet one'.

She had learned early that it was better than being 'the weirdo' or the 'bossy know-it-all'. People didn't want an eight-year-old girl to talk their ears off about rocket propulsion or dinosaur taxonomy. Kids at school had been even worse; before she'd met Grenda, Candy had never had a friend. With Grenda's help, it had been easier to accept her brainy, nerdy side. And when Mabel and her family had entered their lives, Candy had embraced wholeheartedly her weirdness, taking pride in it. She was done with being quiet; her mind overflowed with a thousand ideas, and the world would be a better place once she would learn to put them into practise.

Still, desperate times called for desperate measures.

From her spot in Soos' truck, she listened to his conversation with that agent lady. Finally, they both entered the Shack. That was Candy's cue. She snuck out of Soos' truck, making sure no one was looking her way. On tiptoes, she went toward the cargo box. She lifted the tarp a little, and was greeted by a series of tinny little sounds. McGucket's crab bots seemed curious and happy to see her.

"Hello, cuties. Would you like to help us with Phase Three of our plan?" McGucket had told her the bots weren't sentient, but she always treated them as if they were. It just felt right to ask their permission.

One of them immediately approached her, beeping in assent. Crabby—he was the most eager to please.

"Thank you," Candy said, helping him down. He was soon followed by 1D, who tended to be the shyest of the three. That only left Recky; he could be sullen as a teenager, sometimes.

"Please?" she said, bringing her hands together. "We don't have much time…"

Recky made a noise that could almost be a groan, before jumping out of the truck. Candy checked if there were any agent close by. Two people in suits were talking next to one of their cars, sipping their coffee cups. They weren't looking Candy's way. As quietly as she could, she guided the bots toward the Shack, heading for the gift shop.

She took a peek through a window, biting down her lip when she noticed a black-suited woman inspecting the souvenirs. The agent muttered something that sounded like, "Who would buy that kind of schlock?"

Candy scowled. The woman's incredulous tone was almost an affront to her pride as a citizen of Gravity Falls. Worse, the agent was standing a mere few feet away from the vending machine hiding the secret passage to the basement lab. Their plan had hinged on all the agents leaving for Soos' tour. Candy would need another diversion.

"Recky," she whispered, "throw a rock in the kitchen window, please."

Thankfully, the bot was all too happy to cause some mayhem. Candy winced when she heard the sound of breaking glass, and she offered a silent apology to Soos and his family.

The woman in the gift shop stood up suddenly. At the same time, Agent Dryer's voice came from the museum.

"What was that?"

"Oh, prob'ly just a gno—a racoon," Soos' answer followed. "You have no idea how many times they try to get into the pantry, dude!"

To Candy's relief, the woman moved away from the vending machine, before finally leaving the gift shop. Candy took a deep breath, knowing she could not waste such an opportunity.

"Hurry, boys, hurry!" she whispered as she herded the bots toward the vending machine. "We don't have much time!"

One of them made a worried little noise as she entered the code Soos had given her. Candy supressed a whoop of triumph when the vending machine swung open. She was hit with a whiff of stale air, and she fought not to sneeze.

"C'mon, guys," she said, motioning over to the robots. "I know it looks dark and scary down there, but you can do it. You're all brave lil' boys, aren't you?"

Crabby, ever the well-behaved darling, was the first to get inside. Candy gave him an affectionate pat on the head as he went. 1D followed, prompting more words of encouragement from Candy. That only left—

"Recky, please," said Candy. "She's gonna come back soon!"

Recky stomped on his spot, making a grumpy sound.

"We're doing this to save your daddy's friend," Candy whispered urgently. Were those footsteps she was hearing? "You know your daddy would be so sad if something bad were to happen to Dr. Pines!"

That did the trick; McGucket might say otherwise, but Candy was sure that those three loved their daddy very much. Recky went into the darkened passage without another protest. Candy's lower lip wobbled when she caught them staring at her, the little lights of their eyes shining in the dark.

"Thank you," she told them, closing the passage. "We'll see each other soon, don't you worry."

Candy stiffened as she heard footsteps heading her way. She sharply drew a breath, steeling her nerve. The quiet one, the meek girl, the kid no one noticed. She could put that to good use, could she?

She had just managed to hide behind the counter when the woman finally returned to the gift shop. The agent was grumbling something along the lines of, "Don't pay me enough for this crap."

Candy tried to slow her heartbeat down as she searched for an exit. She had three options: the door that led outside, the curtained entrance to the museum or the window. From the museum, she could hear Soos rhapsodizing about the mysterious eating habits of the jackalope. The window was slightly open, yes, but she knew it tended to creak something fierce. That left only the main exit.

She took out her phone, texting Soos. i'm stuck in gift shop with agent lady, make a diversion plz?

Candy heard his phone beeping in the museum. She crossed her fingers, holding her breath. She heard the sounds of footsteps, finally seeing Soos peeking out of the curtained entrance.

"Oh!" he said. "There's another of you guys in the gift shop! Hello, I didn't know you were there! I could start the tour again, if you'd like?"

The woman in the gift shop held up her hands. "No, it's fine, I don't need—"

"Nonsense, dude!" Soos motioned her over. "It's for free! You don't wanna turn down a free tour, do you?"

Candy hid a chuckle as the woman followed Soos into the museum. Mr. Pines would have been so proud of his boy! The moment the coast was clear, she made for the truck, giddy from her accomplishment.

She was still grinning like a madwoman when Soos climbed into the car as well.

"So?" he asked. "How did it go?"

In response, Candy held out her hand, and they shared a high five.

Phase Three was done. Now, all they needed to do was to wait while Mr. McGucket and his boys worked their magic.

Last thing Ford had expected when he had woke up this morning was to be stuck in a high-speed chase.

Invigorated by their recent successes, Yaspa had decided to hit a bigger target: a warehouse where supplies were kept before being sent to the Temple of Dawn. Stan had been giddy like a little boy when she had told them one of their objectives included the theft of some weapons and a few hovercrafts. Yaspa also wanted to free the prisoners who were detained at this location before they would be taken to the temple.

The operation had gone smoothly… up to a certain point. Yaspa and her teams had gone inside to find the hostages, while Ford and Stan were to serve as decoys. Stan was ever so glad to hurl insults at their opponents and pummel them to his heart's content. He was not so smug, however, when one of them had jumped into a hovercraft, speeding away from the warehouse.

By then, a gigantic fight had broken out, spurred on by Zuri and the prisoners she'd liberated. At the sight of the fleeing guardsman, Yaspa had yelled to Ford and his brother, "What are you two doing?! After him, before he calls for reinforcement!" The brothers had rushed into a hovercraft of their own, Stan letting out curses between every pant that escaped his mouth.

Ford took place before the control panel, throwing his laser gun at Stan. "I drive, you shoot."

"What?!" Stan caught the gun, holding it like it was about to explode in his hands. "You know I'm a punchy-punch kind of guy, not a shooty-shoot! 'sides I got cataracts, I can't aim!"

"My point, exactly!" Ford shouted as he started the engine. "I won't let you drive if you can't see worth a damn!"

"Why wasn't that a problem when I drove us across the country back home?!"

Ford groaned as he cranked up the speed lever. Their hovercraft was certainly fast, but their quarry had already quite the head start on them.

"Stanley!" Ford shouted, loud enough so his brother would hear him over the sound of the wind, "shoot, for goodness' sake!"

"I told you, I don't see shit, brainiac! Why don't you shoot?!"

"I'm driving, you knucklehead!" Ford roared in response.

Stan shot at their target. He missed by a wild margin.

"What are you doing, Stanley?!"

"Shut up, I need to focus!"

Another projectile left the gun; it singed a patch of grass behind the vehicle they pursued.

"Aim, Stanley, aim!"

"For fuck's sake, Poindexter!" And Stan closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

It hit bullseye.

There was a small explosion in the hovercraft in front of them, followed by a man's yelp. Stanley, against all odds, seemed to have fried the ship's control panel. Ford was almost insulted; he had spent years practising the art of gunslinging, yet he had never been blessed with such a lucky shot.

"Huh," said Stan. His face broke into a smarmy grin at the sight of Ford's glare. "Well, someone's a pissy baby! Hah!"

Ford brought them near the downed vehicle. Immediately, the guard's hands shot in the air, and he squeaked, "Pleasedontkillme!"

"Sheesh!" Stan said. "Those guys really are a bunch of wimp, aren't they?"

"Get in," Ford growled at the man. "Now. We don't have all day."

Thankfully, he did as Ford ordered, whimpering all the while. Stan seemed all too happy to give him the evilest grin he could muster.

Ford drove their hovercraft back to the warehouse, hoping the battle had not turned in the enemy's favour while they were gone. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard cheers coming from the people amassed in front of the compound. Prisoners and rebels alike were raising the stolen weapons above their heads, their opponents trussed up like a bunch of grey-robed chickens at their feet.

"Hah!" Stan said, grinning at Ford. It was such a purely delighted expression that Ford found himself transported to memories of a simpler time. "Did you ever think we'd do shit like that, back when we were kids? Back when we'd say we'd be adventurers?"

"A part of me certainly hoped so," Ford answered, raising his hand for a high six.

Stan held out his own hand, grin widening. Something in his expression changed, however, and his face registered a hint of shock. As if in slow motion, Ford saw him being pulled backward by an invisible, inexplicable force.

"STANLEY!" Ford shouted, reaching out for him.

His hand close around empty air.

Stan didn't even manage to scream; in the blink of an eye, he was yanked out of the hovercraft. Yaspa's people were shouting and pointing at something behind him, but Ford didn't care. The ship swerved as he made a sharp turn. Ford's blood froze in his veins when he caught sight of his brother.

Stan was hovering in the air beside three hovercrafts filled with orange-robed cultists. Two familiar figures stood in one of the vehicles. Tappaz looked smug, as always. The cloaked woman beside him was hunched, her expression hidden by a wooden mask. Her unsettling, one-eyed gaze was fixed on Ford's brother.

Stan shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Malakh glanced at Ford—no, at Ford's hands. Immediately, he hid them behind his back, prompting a low growl from her.

Ford could hear voices coming from behind; were Yaspa and the other rebels headed their way? Could he count on their assistance or were they fleeing? His gun was right under Stan's feet. How could Ford reach it without provoking them into hurting his brother?

"Now, now," Tappaz said, ever the oily bastard, "get out of the hovercraft, and join us, Mister—ugh, which one of them is the vessel, anyway?"

"Why can't we grab 'em both?" one of the orange-robed guards asked. "Would be easier that way, wouldn't it?"

Ford gritted his teeth. If only he could have just enough time to grab his gun—

As on cue, a spear flew over his head, glowing tip burrowing deep in the metal floor by Tappaz's feet. The man shrieked, falling on his behind. In the commotion, Malakh startled, her gaze leaving Ford for a slight moment.

That was his chance. He leaped out of the hovercraft, landing on the ground in a roll. In a fluid motion, he snatched his gun and shot at the high priestess. The projectile only grazed her arm, but it was enough to sap her concentration. Stan fell to the ground with a yelp.

A group of enraged rebels charged from behind Ford, spears and staffs held high. Ford jumped to his feet, shooting several paralyzing charges at the orange-robed guardsmen. The remaining cultists drew glowing sigils in the air, and Ford's heart leaped in his throat.

"Spells!" he cried out in warning. "They're casting spells!"

What followed looked straight out of one of those wizards' movies Mabel loved so much. Projectiles of magical energy exploded in showers of sparks, stopping some of the rebels in their assault. Others managed to board the hovercrafts, lunging at the spellcasters with surprising ferocity. Still, none managed to land a hit on Malakh; those unwise enough to attack her were blasted away by her spells or knocked out of the hovercraft by her staff.

Stan groaned, rubbing his backside. "Ugh. That's gonna leave one hell of a bruise…"

"Stanley!" Ford called out, tilting his head toward the high priestess. "We need to take her out!"

Stan nodded, pounding his fist into his open palm. "Sure thing, bro. I punch, you shoot?"

Ford rolled his eyes in a good-natured manner. "This time, yes, you can punch."

Stan waited until her back was turned before hopping into her hovercraft. Malakh whirled on her feet, and her single eye widened. Stan's jab caught the underside of her jaw, knocking the mask from her face.

With a shriek, she fell overboard, one hand going to her face. The slight shimmering surrounding her dissipated, and Ford raised his gun, finger on the trigger.

In the split-second it took him to aim, he caught sight of her face. One eye stared back at him, filled with hatred. The other side of her face was a mess of scar tissue; it almost looked as if something—or someone—had violently clawed out her left eye.

Ford's eyebrows shot up. He could also see a web of pale scars crisscrossing her arms. Scars that very much resembled the ones hidden under his sleeves. "It's as I thought," he whispered. "You're that girl from—"

He was abruptly cut off when someone tackled him from behind. The air was knocked out of Ford's lungs as he hit the ground, gun slipping from his hands. His assailant stood over him, laughing and gloating.

"STANFORD!" Through blurred eyes, Ford saw his brother rushing toward him

"I got him, my lady!" Tappaz's voice flared in Ford's ears. "I got the vessel!"

"Wrong one," Malakh said, getting to her feet. She sounded absolutely unimpressed. "Look at the hands."

Tappaz's cheeks grew a darker shade of yellow in embarrassment. "Wait, what?"

Malakh drew a quick sigil in the air, before clenching her hand into a fist. Something seemed to wrap around Ford's throat, like an invisible rope crushing his windpipe. He struggled uselessly as he was lifted from the ground.

"He's still useful," Malakh said, approaching Ford. "As a bargaining chip." Now, her single eye was fixed on Stan.

Ford's heart skipped a beat when he noticed his brother had grabbed his gun. Stan raised it toward Malakh with shaking hands.

"Drop the weapon," Malakh said, and Ford felt her hold tightening around his neck. He kicked in the air, his awareness dimming.

An array of emotions passed quickly on Stan's face. Fear. Anger. Despair. Finally, he settled on a quiet sort of resignation, putting the barrel of the gun over his temple.

Malakh snarled, while Ford summoned all of his strength to utter a single, "NO!"

"He's in there, isn't he?" Stan said. Around them, everything had gone so, so quiet. The fighting had died done, and the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. "That god of yours? Stuck in that useless brain of mine."

"You idiot!" Tappaz exclaimed. "Put that down, now!"

"Oh?" Stan managed a grin. "So I'm right. You really do need me to bring back that demonic cornchip. Y'know, it's a shame these weak human bodies are so squishy…"

Malakh's hold on Ford was faltering. He dropped to the ground, grasping at his throat.

"Stanley, no!" he cried, hoarsely. "Don't do this, don't!"

Stan's eyes flicked over to Ford, then back to Malakh. "So I'm offerin' you a deal. You let my family an' all those nice people of the rebellion go, without hurting a hair on their heads. In exchange, I don't blow my brains out."

"NO! Stanley, stop!"

Tappaz laughed. "If you think we're going to simply let you—"

"Deal," Malakh rasped.

"What?!" Tappaz whirled on her. "My lady, how could you—"

She silenced him with a glare, and the pressure around Ford's throat let up. Immediately, he rushed to his feet, shouting all the while, "I won't let you lay a finger on him!"

Malakh easily evaded his assault. She kept her expression carefully neutral—no, there was a hint of something on her face, something like… pity. The sight of it made Ford's blood boil. He snarled, lunging at her again.

"Oh, someone, shut him up!" he heard Tappaz shrieking.

Malakh's staff swung into view, rushing toward Ford's head. He fell to oblivion to the sounds of Stanley's screams.