Once upon a time, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket could devote his entire attention to one single project.

It had been a problem for sure in his younger years, back when he had preferred getting lost into his own brain thinking of new schematics rather than watch over the hogs as his Ma had asked of him. Things had gotten better in school, but not much. His teachers hadn't been very impressed to see him doodling equations in the margins of his textbooks rather than listen in class. He'd been happier in college; there, his creativity had been rewarded, and his dedication to his work had earned him many commendations.

Not to mention, college was also where he had met—

Fiddleford's gaze snapped back to the monitors on his desk. What had he been doing? Ah, yes. Directing the crab bots so they could repair the portal in his stead. Once upon a time, Fiddleford could have accomplished that goal in a manner of days. Now…

Fiddleford blinked, suddenly realizing that he had once again been staring at one screen without doing anything. One of the bots was sending him a query, asking him about his next task. Fiddleford squinted, trying to remember just what needed to be done. His head was hurting, like it always did whenever he was trying to remember a particularly obstinate memory.

Yet, he had to focus. The lives of four innocent people depended on Fiddleford repairing that goshdarn portal. To remind himself of this goal, Fiddleford often pictured the faces of those two sweet children and their grumpy old conman of an uncle. It was harder, in a lot of ways, to think of the fourth member of that family, even if it was the one Fiddleford knew the most.

Remembering Stanford Pines was like picking at a scab. Maybe removing it would only leave a faded scar. Or maybe it would end up in an open wound, blood pouring through. Fiddleford closed his eyes, sighing. In his mind's eye, he saw a bright-eyed young man with a shy grin. That youth had been so hesitant to shake his new roommate's hand.

("Hello. I'm Stanford Pines. N-Nice to meet you.")

It was hard to reconcile that meek college student with the arrogant researcher who had downplayed Fiddleford's fears at every turn. Even harder to believe that it was the same man as the sixty-something survivor who had felt unworthy of Fiddleford's forgiveness.

("I haven't seen you since we parted ways. You must hate me…")

It was this last memory, remembering that tired old man with the sad eyes, that strengthened Fiddleford's resolve and made him keep going. If he deserved a second chance, so did Stanford Pines.

There was another insistent beeping sound from his headset. Oh, yes! The bot, he had to send instructions to the bot! Now, what had he been about to type, again…?

Fiddleford was drawn out of his thoughts by a knock. "C'min, c'min!" he said, absently. Was it Sherry bringing him lunch? Or Tate, coming to say he was leaving for work? Sadly, it probably wasn't baby Harper; Fiddleford hadn't seen her for days, and, oh, being reminded of that was like being shot in the heart and—

"McGucket?" a girl's voice said. "You're still up?"

Fiddleford blinked. Was it night already? Belatedly, he noticed that the only sources of light in the room came from his monitors.

"Pacifica?" he said, whirling in his chair. "What can Ah do fer ya?"

Pacifica crossed her arms, tapping her foot. A small, reptilian head peeked from behind her, making an inquisitive sound. Her little alien critter followed her everywhere, like she was his momma. Seeing them together was goshdarn adorable, but Fiddleford knew Pacifica would murder him if he ever said it aloud.

"It's late. Did you even eat tonight?"

"Ah did eat," Fiddleford said. "Sherry brought me dinner earlier, 'member?"

She spared a disdainful glance to Fiddleford's half-eaten plate. "Sure. Because half a potato and one third of a steak can be considered a nutritious dinner." She scrunched up her nose. "And when was the last time you slept?"

"Well, Ah've had some shut-eye a few hours ago—"

"I mean, in a real bed," Pacifica insisted.

Fiddleford stared blankly at her. "Ah dunno. Does it matter? There's work tha's need doin'."

"Yeah, and how's that progressing?" Pacifica said.

"W-Well, tha's…" Fiddleford stuttered. "A'ight, ev'rythin' not goin' as fast as Ah hoped. Which is why Ah need to pull an all-nighter, y'see!"

"Another one?"

"Another…?" Had he worked a full shift last night too? "Um…"

"Ugh. Everybody's too nice to say it, but they're all worried sick about you. Soos keeps whining that he's got no one to watch anime with him. Sherry is starting to think something's wrong with her cooking. And your son, well, I think he's getting angry."

"…is he, now?" Fiddleford said, very quietly.

It was obvious; Tate probably believed his father was once again choosing Stanford Pines over his family. Fiddleford could not fault him for entertaining such a notion. What kind of man abandoned his wife and child to help an old college roommate with some harebrained scheme? None of the answers were particularly flattering for Fiddleford.

"A'ight," Fiddleford conceded. It was strange to have other people fussing over him. Strange, and somewhat comforting. "Ah'll take a break."

He was a bit shameful to see the relief flooding Pacifica's face. It hadn't even crossed his mind that she had been worried as well.

"Good," she said. "I want to save Dipper, Mabel and their uncles as much as the next person, but you won't be of use to anyone if you kill yourself on the job."

"Heh!" Fiddleford said. "Ah'm a bit tougher than I look, kiddo. Bit like a cockroach, Ah guess."

Pacifica made a face. "Don't say that about yourself, that sounds gross." She raised her eyes to the screens, looking a little wistful. "Do you think we'll pull it off? Saving the twins and their uncles, I mean?"

Fiddleford frowned. She was so aloof it was easy to forget sometimes how young she was. Poor girl had learned early to fend off for herself. She had been failed by her parents… just like Tate had been failed by his father. It was time for Fiddleford to pick up the slack and make sure he would not make the same mistake twice.

"Ah can't say," he answered. "But we'll keep tryin'. Tha's how we've gotten this far, isn't it? One day at a time, one step before the other."

"For so long, you were the crazy coot living in the dump," Pacifica said, looking askance. "Now you sound so reasonable. That memory gun… it's really freaky…"

"That it is," Fiddleford admitted. "But it's like young Soos said. There's always a silver linin'. In the end, Ah'm glad it helped Fordsie and his brother get rid of that demon."

"Right," Pacifica said with a slight smile. "You know, Candy said she could help if you showed her how all of this works. And…" Her cheeks coloured a little, and she hastily tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "I can help, too. I don't know much about computers or robots, but I'm not dumb. I can learn."

Fiddleford grinned at her. "Sure ya can! Ah'll be happy to teach the two of you!"

That was the nice thing with second chances.

It was much easier having another go at things with other people supporting you.

The first thing that registered in Ford's consciousness was a dull ache on the side of his head. He groaned, trying to make sense of the muffled sounds coming to his ears. There were… voices? And the hum of an engine?

Ford felt something warm over his forehead. A hand? A small hand, by the look of it. After much struggling, Ford managed to crack his eyes open. He was wearing his glasses, but it took some time for everything to come into focus. A face was hovering above his, and long brown hair tickled at his cheeks. His awakening prompted a smile from the girl.

"Oh!" Mabel said, and she crushed Ford in a quick hug. "You're awake, you're finally awake! I'm so glad!"

Dipper was also kneeling by his sister's side. He offered a wobbling smile to Ford. "H-Hey, Grunkle Ford… how are you feeling?"

Wincing, Ford managed to sit up. His head felt rather woozy, and the scenery passed by at a dizzying pace. Understanding trickled down his mind. He was in a hovercraft, alongside his nephew and niece.

Kyan was also there, apparently. "Oh, Mr. Ford! Be careful, I've managed to stop the bleeding, but you were hurt pretty badly!"

"I was hurt pretty badly—" Ford repeated, slowly working the meaning of those words.

And everything came back in a flash, hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

Malakh and her staff. Tappaz's smirk. And worst, worst of all, Stanley putting the barrel of that gun over his temple.

Stanley. In Ford's head rang his screams. Where was Stanley?

"W-Where, where… " Ford began, feeling a mounting panic. "Where is he? Where is Stanley?!"

"Whoa, easy, old man!" another voice said. Kyan's sister. She was steering the hovercraft, it seemed. "Kyan's right, just relax! You lost a lot of blood!"

"Turn this vehicle around," he growled at her. When she only frowned in response, he repeated, more forcefully, "I said, turn it around!"

"Fine, fine!" The hovercraft came to a screeching halt. Ford noted belatedly that two other vehicles crawled to a stop beside them. They were filled with wide-eyed prisoners and exhausted-looking rebels.

"Why have you stopped?" came Yaspa's authoritative voice. She pushed her way through the crowd of silent onlookers, before hopping into the hovercraft carrying Ford and his family. "We need to put as much distance as we can between—"

"Is my brother still there?" Ford asked through grit teeth. "Is he? Or did you just hand him over to those lunatics to save your own sorry skins?"

"He gave himself up," Yaspa said. "In exchange for our safety. Your brother saved us."

Ford hissed out a curse. "Take me back there. Now."

"It's no use, Grunkle Ford," said Dipper. "They're gone. Grunkle Stan is gone."

"No," Ford said, hobbling back to his feet. "No, no, no…"

"I'm sorry," Yaspa said, reaching out to Ford as if to comfort him. "I know what you're going through, I understand your anger—"

Ford let out an inarticulate sound of rage. "No, you don't! You've just doomed us all!"

"Grunkle Ford, please," Mabel said, tugging on his coat.

Yaspa had visibly paled. "What, what do you mean? Thanks to your brother, we're finally safe from the Eye of Dawn—"

"Safe?!" Ford shouted. "SAFE?! You think Bill Cipher will just let us be once he takes over my brother's body?!"

His words were met with a stunned silence. Ford didn't care that he must have looked like a maniac, he only kept shouting, jabbing a finger angrily at Yaspa.

"Bill won't rest until all of us are dead! You think you've suffered at the hands of his followers? You think you've seen the true depths of cruelty? Well, you've seen nothing! Everything Bill does, all he cares about… it's to make us his playthings, to toy with our lives! You, me, those people, my family… we're all dead once Cipher finds us!"

To her credit, Yaspa appeared rather shaken. "B-But you said Bill Cipher was dead…"

Ford felt a small pair of hands over his arm. "Grunkle Ford?" Mabel said, in a tiny, tiny voice. "Please stop shouting. It's scary…"

Ford stared mutely at her for a moment. The same anxious, no, fearful expression could also be seen on her twin's face. Dozens of eyes were fixed on Ford, all filled with confusion and fright. Some of Yaspa's people tensed, as if anticipating a fight, while others cowered behind their companions.

Ford felt his anger deflating. "I'm sorry, my dear," he told his niece, as softly as he could. "You're right, I won't help any of us by panicking. We need to focus on finding a solution."

Dipper gave several little nods, before taking his journal from under his hat, flipping through the pages. "O-Okay, so we need to find a way to stop Bill from taking over Grunkle Stan's mind, r-right? Is there, like, a ritual spell for exorcizing demons?"

Everyone turned to Kyan. The boy pointedly stared at his boots, looking like he very much wanted to burrow underground. "I-I really can't say…"

"Lady Jheselbraum would have known for certain," Yaspa said with a sigh.

An idea struck Ford. "Her temple. Would we find more information there?"

"Of course…" said Yaspa. "She was the most accomplished scholar of magic in all the land, and she devoted a lot of her time to sharing that knowledge."

"Then, road trip to the Oracle's temple?" Mabel said, attempting a smile.

Ford squeezed her shoulder. "Road trip to the Oracle's temple, yes." He turned to Yaspa, his face going grim. "Meanwhile, you could prepare for our assault on the Temple of Dawn."

"Our assault?" Yaspa repeated, deadpan. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Ford said. "That high priestess might honour Stanley's wishes for now, but that deal won't hold for long. Especially if they do manage to bring Bill Cipher back."

"This is insane," Yaspa said, shaking her head. "I won't send my people to the slaughter—"

"C'mon, Yaspa!" Zuri said. "I know you're still hung up about what happened to Ammat, but—"

"Don't say her name!" Yaspa snapped. "Don't!"

"Zuri's right!" Kyan added. "We don't know what happened! Maybe she's still alive! Maybe we could save her and my p-parents and everyone else who was captured!"

"Yeah!" Zuri said with a fierce grin. "I'm with the weird two-eyed old man. Let's kick the asses of those Dawn freaks! Who's with me?"

Her words prompted mutters of assent from the prisoners and the other rebels. Soon, all of them were talking excitedly among themselves. How many of them had lost loved ones to the Eye of Dawn, Ford wondered?

"Alright," Yaspa eventually said, voice breaking. "I won't go against your wishes. But for now, we should just return to a safer place and prepare. We all need rest. Fighting against the Eye of Dawn won't be easy." Her expression darkened. "Or, more precisely, fighting her won't be easy."

"She was one of Jheselbraum's acolytes, wasn't she?" Ford remembered a skittish little thing with bright green eyes. It was so evident now, in hindsight. "Their high priestess, I mean."

"She was a traitor," Yaspa spat. "She led the brutes of the Eye of Dawn inside the temple. She's responsible for everything that's happened to us, everything."

Something nagged at Ford, like a half-remembered dream. He frowned. Or a half-remembered memory. A flash of blue lightning, a demented cackle leaving a girl's mouth. A woman looking sadly at him, tears falling upward from her eyes.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper said, his voice snapping him away from his memories. "Are you alright?"

Ford sat down, his legs suddenly feeling weak as jelly. "I… I don't know... perhaps your friend Kyan is right. I should take it easy, for now."

It struck him, suddenly, how little he remembered of the time he'd first left Dimension 52. He recalled drinking with the Oracle, making a fool out of himself, hearing the crystalline tinkle of her laughter… but not much else. For ten years, he hadn't thought back of that night; he had been drunk, of course, there had been holes in his memory.

Cold horror swept over him. What had happened, that night?

Had he seen what had befallen the Oracle, only to forget about it?

Ford groaned, massaging his aching temples. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to waste time and energy on retrieving half-forgotten memories just after he'd suffered from a grievous head injury.

The twins came to sit beside him, unusually quiet. They gave no cheerful speech about hope and dreams, they struck no heroic pose to inspire the people around them, they offered no plucky declaration about how they would save Stan from the clutches of those evil cultists. Ford sighed, suddenly feeling weary. Of course they wouldn't. They were children. Children whisked away from everything they had ever known, children who were fighting against adults who would gladly see them dead, children who were worried about someone they loved.

They had supported Ford every step of his arduous journey back to sanity. It was time for him to pick up the slack and be the guardian they deserved.

Ford put one arm around each twin. "We're going to get him back, don't you worry. I'll keep you safe and I'll bring all of us home. That's a promise."

Mabel snuggled against him, closing her eyes. Dipper hugged his knees, stubbornly staring ahead.

"We'll pull through," Ford told them, more firmly. This time, he almost believed in his own words. "We always do."

"Stuck in a ho-ver-craft," Stan sang, bouncing his head to the rhythm. "Bag over my head, can't see a thi-ing!"

"What in the world is he going on about?" Stan heard Tappaz said. "Ugh! I can't take much more of his mumbling!"

"Doo-doo-doo," Stan continued. "Getting hard to breathe, might die and leave—"

"Oh, for the love of—" There was the sound of footsteps, and someone removed the bag from Stan's head. "There?" Tappaz griped. "Happy?"

"Eh," Stan said with a shrug, glancing at his surroundings. Their vehicle was heading toward the Temple of Dawn, but not from the path crossing the plaza. Stan hid a scowl. He had counted on them parading him into town, figuring that they would probably want to feed on the hype they had been building around their 'prophesized saviour'. Instead, it seemed they had done their best to keep him away from his adoring fans. Stan had planned to send an impassioned plea to the citizens of the city, imploring them to take up the fight against the Eye of Dawn and save him from their evil clutches.

Oh well. Time to improvise. Story of Stan's life.

The temple was oddly empty as they dragged Stan into the entrance hall, leading him to an inconspicuous doorway at the back of the room. To his surprise, the doors parted to reveal an elevator, of all things. Stan groaned. Well, hell, of course those numbskulls had elevators, they had flying cars. He really was stuck in a bad sci-fi movie.

Dread churned in the pit of his stomach as they forced him inside. Of course, Malakh, that freak Tappaz and the two orange goons dragging Stan around weren't exactly helping. Tappaz kept sending Stan self-satisfied smirks, while Malakh… Well, Stan didn't get what was going on with this lady, but frankly she didn't seem entirely there. Stan inhaled sharply to tell his body to calm the hell down. He had to find something to focus on, because otherwise—

Because otherwise, all Stan would think about would be the sound that staff had made when it had collided with Ford's skull, that sickening crunch. All Stan would think about was how his brother had fallen like a stone, and how he'd just laid there, a pool of blood forming beneath his head. All Stan would think about was how he had screamed himself hoarse when they had pulled him away from Ford's unmoving form before he could check if his twin was breathing, if his twin still had a pulse, if his twin still was alive—

Stan's hands had started to shake. Dammit. One more minute of this, and he'd be stuck in a full-blown panic attack. So Stan drew another breath, forced a smile, and said, "Hey, did I ever tell you about that book on gravity I read recently? It was impossible to put down, you know. Impossible to put down. Get it?"

There wasn't a laugh—not even a snort. Tappaz, however, visibly stiffened. Stan narrowed his eyes, undeterred by the cold reception.

"How about… whaddya call someone with no body and no nose? Nobody knows!" Stan elbowed one of the guys in the ribs. "Eh? Eh?! Funny, isn't it?"

Of course, with those stupid masks on, Stan couldn't see if those jokers were even cracking a smile. He noticed, however, that one of Tappaz's eyes was twitching. Stan's lips eased into an evil grin.

"'kay, so here's another one. Why did the invisible man turn down the job offer? He couldn't see himself doing it!" Stan waited for a bit for the joke to sink in, before forcing out a laugh. "Hah! I got a whole book of those, right here," he said, tapping his skull. "Aren'tcha a bunch of lucky schmucks, learning a few Stan Pines-patented jokes free of charge!"

Tappaz let out a noise of frustration, whirling toward Stan. "Ugh! Shut it! Shut it, shut it, shut it! No more of your 'jokes', whatever they are!"

"Awright," Stan said, still smiling. "No more jokes, I get it." For a moment, he stayed silent, and only the whirring of the elevator filled the air. Then, he turned to one of his captors, saying, "So, ever heard of that show, The Duchess Approves? That's some damn good television, I tell ya, wanna hear about it?"

It was infinitely satisfying to see that dumbass Tappaz trying to contain what appeared to be a bitchfit of epic proportions while Stan described in nitty-gritty details the fictional lives of posh British people. One of the guards expressed a certain interest when Stan told him about the moment Duchess Elizabeth had passive aggressively ousted her evil stepsister, the Countess of Fuggestbinshireland, from Earl Tiptonhamston's engagement party. Stan was all too happy to recap the entire episode, complete with Lord Darcyflumptam's showstopper (and award-winning) monologue about his doomed love for the Duchess' now dead father.

That was the tipping point, apparently. Tappaz grabbed Stan by both shoulders, shouting "SHUUUT UUUP!"

Stan's grin turned into a scowl. He wasn't too keen on having the guy spitting all over his face. "Sheesh, someone needs counselling for his anger management issues. What's your prob, bub? Did I break into your house to murder your dog?"

In response, all Tappaz did was scream again. Stan hid a grin in response.

With a click and a beeping sound, the elevator came to a stop. Tappaz motioned for the guards to drag Stan forward, and they obeyed without hesitation, using more force than necessary. Stan grit his teeth; he was sure he'd find palm-sized bruises around his arms first thing in the morning tomorrow.

The basement offered a stark contrast to the rest of the temple. While the top part had looked ancient, in a way that incited reverence, everything here seemed right out of a stupid sci-fi TV set. The walls and ceiling were made of a metallic material, and glowing green lines ran under their feet and over their heads.

Soon, they arrived at a door, one that slid open to reveal a catwalk. The space underneath was so vast that Stan could not see where the full extent of its depths. There was only one source of light here; large cables leading to the darkness below, occasionally flaring with the same green glow Stan had seen in the walls and ceiling before. Stan squinted as he stared into the darkness, straining to hear. What was that? Voices coming from below?

Or, more precisely, moans of pain?

Stan felt an immediate chill down his spine. "Wait, wait, wait, are there people down there…?"

Tappaz turned to him. "Oh, so you would like to know?" At Stan's horrified expression, he burst into laughter.

"What do all those cables do?" Stan asked, well aware that he was probably not going to like the answer.

"Why, now he finally decides to get serious."

Tappaz offered nothing else but a derisive smirk as they crossed the length of the catwalk. In front of them, Malakh staggered forward, seeming to be getting slower with each step she took. As they reached another doorway, Tappaz came up to her, faking concern.

"My lady, perhaps you should take some rest. You could replenish a little while we deal with this… miscreant…"

Replenish? Stan thought, stomach suddenly queasy. What does that even mean? "D'you even hear the way you're talkin'?" he said instead, forcing out a snort. "Miscreant, who even says that stuff?"

Malakh wavered a bit on her spot. "Yes, you're right… bring him to his… quarters, I'll join you shortly…"

She leaned on the handrail as if it was the only way for her to remain upright. Without meaning to, Stan caught her eye as the doors slid close. Her scars looked even harsher in this dim light, the deformed skin stretched tautly over her cheekbones. But her single eye was as piercing as ever.

Stan tried not to dwell much on her expression as he was brought to a cold, sterile room. The harsh white light flickered as they pushed Stan inside. His heart leaped into his throat; in the middle of the room, there was a metallic, rectangular surface, one with shackles fastened at each corner.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit… "H-Hey," he began, faking a laugh, "I know some people are into this stuff, but, uh, I'm really not. I promise I won't make a fuss, no need to shackle me or whatever…"

Tappaz rolled his eyes in response. He gestured at the two guardsmen with a tilt of the head. They flung Stan on his back, the cold surface of the bed knocking the air out of his lungs. As they fastened the shackles around his wrists and heels, Stan glared at Tappaz.

"Huh," the yellow-robed man said. "No quip, no insult?"

"Nah," Stan said. "Just imagining how sweet it's gonna be when me and my brother beat the snot outta you."

"Brother?" Tappaz said with a frown. "Ah, yes, your… sibling. In your world, a mated pair might have multiple children. I'd forgotten. You're like animals in that regard."

"You're really a joy to be with, ain'tcha, pal," Stan said. "You know, now I wish I'd learned more Yiddish insults from my mom. They would have come in handy right now. I don't think there's a word in the English language that can properly tell just how much of an asshole you are."

Tappaz grimaced. "How could one such as you contain the magnificence of our master? It boggles the mind…"

"Magnificence? We talking about the same guy here? Triangle fella, screams all the time like the used-car dealer of your nightmares?"

Before Tappaz could sputter an answer, the door slid open. Malakh came inside, her gait slightly more assured. Still, her cheeks were pale, and sweat beaded at her brow.

"Lady Malakh!" Tappaz exclaimed. "You could have taken more time to recover from your fight, I had the situation under control—"

"No," Malakh interrupted him. "Time grows short. We have only five days remaining until…"

"'Til what?" Stan said, fishing for an answer. He wondered why she was so forthcoming with that information. Maybe she was just being dumb. Or maybe—and Stan swallowed nervously at this possibility—she was just that convinced of their victory.

"Until what we've hoped for finally comes to pass," she answered.

"I still can't believe it," Tappaz said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Our shared dream, so close to being fulfilled! Perhaps our master will reward me for the role I've played in assuring his return!"

"Your time would be better spent praying that you never get his attention," Malakh said, in a strangely flat voice.

"What?" Tappaz said, blinking stupidly. "My lady, what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a dumbass," Stan said. "What part of chaos demon don't you get? You really want someone like 'im to boss you around?"

"Of course! Why, unlike you, I'd be honoured to serve as Lord Cipher's vessel!"

"Woof. I just met the guy once, and already I know he would eat you for breakfast. It's almost funny how dumb you are, pal."

Malakh was looking at Stan with her head tilted. "Yes, I see it now. I could find no trace of him in your brother, but it's different with you. It's not surprising, considering what you are."

"What I am?" Stan said. "The hell's that s'pposed to mean?"

Rather than answer, Malakh cupped his cheek with one hand. "It's a shame your form is so… unsuitable. Still, it will have to do."

"Unsuitable?! That's a shitty thing to say, lady!"

"There is one way to make his form more suitable," that bastard Tappaz said. "How many eyes does Master Cipher have?"

"Just enough to see all," Malakh murmured. She raised a shaky hand over her face, and Stan could see her only remaining eye peering through her spread fingers. "That's what he said when he…"

"Wait," said Stan, "you're not planning to…" He started to strain against his shackles. "Oh, shit! You really don't need to—oh man, I swear, I'll shut up!"

"Bring me the necessary tools. I'll do it myself." She looked at Stan, face void of any expression. "It's the least I owe you, vessel."

"C'mon, lady! Can't we make a deal or somethin'?!"

One of her creepy cultist drones was coming back to the room, holding a long metal poker. Stan let out a string of curses, thrashing against his restraints.

Malakh took the rod in her hands, inspecting its pointed tip. "Master Cipher has never minded when his vessels were in pain." She was oddly gentle as she removed Stan's glasses. "Oh, I remember. I remember how he relished in that feeling."

She raised the metal tip above Stan's eye, and he screamed.