A/N: Owwwwww.
It's been a rather painful month, ladies and gentlemen. I can only apologise for the delay, and make up for lost time. Admittedly, it didn't help that I wasn't satisfied with anything in this chapter, and it took a lot of twiddling before I was ready to publish it. In the meantime, I'd like to thank everyone who viewed, reviewed, favourited and followed.
To the unsigned guest review from "The Long-Winded Fan," thanks so much! To answer your question, the hooks and barbs of the throne are still embedded in Pacifica's doll body. She can't feel pain, no; instead, Pacifica has to deal with two very different problems: first of all, the powers she gains throne should allow her to make herself human with a little training, but doing so will subject her to the full range of agony she'd experience as a human with multiple puncture wound. Secondly, she can't feel pain... but she is fully aware of the presence of the hooks in her body, and this proves immensely disconcerting if Pacifica focuses on it. The best comparison I can make is getting a local anaesthetic for a wisdom tooth operation: you can't feel the pain of what's being done to your teeth, but you can dimly feel that your teeth are being drilled, split open and pulled. Pacifica can't feel the pain, but she can feel the hooks digging in and scraping against her bones. Meanwhile, I can't reveal everything about Stan and Ford, but they both serve as a means of lessoning the madness: Stan helps keep Ford anchored to sanity in the wake of his transformation, while Ford's knowledge of the process allows him to help Stan with all the little side-effects of his own transformation. As for the crossover elements, I'm doing my best to use only a few cameo appearances unless they have a specific role to play in demonstrating the ongoing collapse of dimensional barriers. As always, it's a tightrope walk between expanding the universe and crowding it.
Anyway, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Gravity Falls is not mine, and none of the other references made over the course of the chapter belong to me.
DZIMRMT: Ivhlofgrlm Hlow Hvkzizgvob
Wendy had not expected this.
In all the time she'd spent roaming the wastelands with the rest of the Society, she'd never once seen this many people gathered together in one place without it being infested with monsters and kept in line through Weirdness. But this was no playground: despite the name, despite the "Garden" of tormented friends and strangers on display outside, this Cipheropolis was very much a human city. Yes, it had been made by Bill and now existed for his amusement, but it was a place where humans could govern themselves, live their lives as they saw fit, and suffer with only barest interference from Bill.
She was even more surprised when the guards at the gate had actually opened the gates to her, actually allowed them all inside without batting an eyelid at the sight of the Society. Once they'd realized that none of them were carrying trade goods or weapons, they'd just waved them through and left it at that. "No entrance tolls here," they grunted disinterestedly. "This ain't that kind of city. Besides, you'll need to save your pennies for food and tribute."
The Preacher, being the Preacher, had attempted to issue a stirring sermon on the pointlessness of striving and the desperate need to force Bill to bring about their extinction. Not only had the guards responded with little more than boredom, but one of them had actually gone so far as to shove the shark-mouthed Acolyte of the Deep through the gates.
"Move on, you," he'd grumbled. "You're holding up the traffic. You wanna damage people's eardrums? Do it in Preacher's Pass, and maybe they'll throw you a few cents change, for all the good it'll do ya."
And now that they were all inside, Wendy could tell that the Society's usual approach wasn't going to work: even with all the recruiting drives they'd carried out, there were still only about fifty of them – the wasteland had done its part in whittling them down despite their best efforts. For all their strength, they couldn't take on a whole city. For now, they'd have to abide by the rules of this disgusting place, at least as long as there were still those among the Society who weren't immune to small arms fire.
Wendy sighed deeply, idly plucking a 45 calibre bullet from the vortices of scar tissue haloing her collarbone. It wouldn't have been much of an exaggeration to say that she'd been shot more times than she'd had hot dinners in the last few months; next to the preacher, she was the most obvious target, and it was probably only due to her growing powers that she'd avoided an extremely messy death – in spite of her desires to the contrary. Sometimes it struck her as odd that she insisted on continuing with her self-imposed mission despite her need to put an end to the torture, but ultimately, it was the only sane option: the world needed to know of her cure for the torment.
"Mistress?" the Preacher whispered. "What should we do now?"
Wendy thought for a moment. "I want twenty of you to scout the town for food and shelter," she said at last. "Dietrich, you're in charge of 'em; keep to yourself and avoid fighting at all costs. The rest of you, follow me: remain together until we've complete basic reconnaissance. We'll rendezvous back here."
The Society murmured their assent, gathered up into their assigned groups, and began a long, slow march through the streets of Cipheropolis.
Immediately, Wendy realized that security was a lot tighter than it had first appeared: even without the regular patrols, entire platoons of guards could often be found weaving their way through the crowds, easily recognized by their crudely-patched camouflage uniforms and Kevlar vests. Worse still, the gangsters were never far behind, and if anything, they were even better-armed than the guards; from the low-tier thugs in their faux-designer clothing to the bespoke suit-clad gang nobility, all of them were armed with a bewildering arsenal of military-grade firearms – including automatic shotguns and grenade launchers. With every street they passed, another army was on the march, either surveying the crowds for troublemakers or busy claiming "late fees" from anyone who'd made the mistake of lagging behind in their monthly tribute. This was not going to be easy, however the Society tried to tackle the situation at hand.
More unusually, the Society were quite clearly not the only monsters in town: most of the refugees and settlers they'd ran into outside the city had been completely human, or had been mutated so subtly that it was impossible to tell the difference. Inside the walls of Cipheropolis, though, it seemed you couldn't walk ten feet without bumping into a mutant. In the midst of this, Wendy's entourage barely stirred a ripple, least of all among the likes of the Inside-Outers. So far, it seemed most of the city's populace were ambivalent to the mutants: downtrodden to the point of apathy, they accepted them mainly because there was no point in doing otherwise. Besides, most of the mutants ended up homeless just like all the other new arrivals to the city, which, as far as Wendy could tell, was the nearest thing Cipheropolis ever got to equality.
So far, it seemed as though the vagrants were the biggest demographic in the entire city, mostly due to the gangs: with most of the houses already claimed and the flophouses full to capacity, getting a roof over your head depended entirely on earning the favour of the city's unofficial nobility. Some new arrivals had important skills they could offer up; others had looted valuables to trade; a few had even sold themselves into slavery in the hope that it would mean homes for their families. Most had nothing to offer, though, and were forced to sleep wherever they could find shelter: alleyways, doorsteps, sewers, stables, gutters, rooftops, even under cars and carts if they were parked for long enough. In some parts of the city, the homeless supposed gathered in such large numbers that they often blocked the road and had to be cleared away by guards – or run over by carts.
And yet…
They hadn't given up yet. Against all expectations, the citizens of this cesspool of a city somehow persisted in surviving.
Yes, Cipheropolis was a desperate, crime-ridden hellhole held together by violence and apathy. Yes, the people were debtors at the best of time and slaves at the worst. Yes, the sheer number of homicides, suicides and catastrophic accidents would have made a coroner double-take in astonishment. Yes, the medicine was primitive, the food close to toxic, the water swimming with disease and the rat populations at terminal proportions. And yes, it was as all cheap amusement for Bill…
But somehow, this place still clung to a semblance of life. Even when people could barely find a reason to live, they still strove to survive, no matter the cost. It was brutal, inhumane and at times even more dog-eat-dog than the world outside the walls, and few of them were actually expecting anything better in life… but nobody had truly embraced despair. Nobody had learned the truth that Wendy had accepted so long ago.
Yet.
However, the name "Preacher's Pass" had struck a chord somewhere in Wendy's brain, and the more she heard of it from passers-by and the occasional hawker, the more intriguing it sounded. Maybe, if this place was what she suspected it was, there might be a way to gain followers without having to apply force. She'd no illusions of the mission at hand being any easier than a day in the wastelands, but if she could acquire enough followers, perhaps it might be possible – with a little time and effort – to spread her beliefs to the entire city.
And maybe that would be enough to spoils Bill's fun, enough to spark the temper tantrum she'd been waiting for: the moment when Bill would kill them all – wipe them completely from existence – and never bring them back.
In other words, the only victory they could ever hope for.
It took a bit of asking around, but eventually they found directions to Preacher's Pass, though it required them to split into groups of five and disperse into the alleyways in order to avoid the traffic on the streets – except of course for their leader, who travelled alone.
Along the way, Wendy was briefly delayed by muggers: a gang of petty thieves preying on new arrivals travelling through the nastier end of town, they'd obviously assumed that her ragged clothing and spindly frame made her an easy target. They were, in short order, very briefly surprised, quite thoroughly horror-stricken, and then extremely dead.
Hopefully, the locals could find some use for their pulped remains once they were able to scrape the mess off the walls.
Eventually, though, the Society gradually converged in the depths of Preacher's Pass, creeping through the alleyways and emerging amidst the gathered congregations. As expected, the street was jam-packed with people congregating around the unearthly-looking priests and mystics now proclaiming their respective gospels. Less expected was the sheer colour and spectacle of the place: every single pulpit on the street was a miniature kaleidoscope of signposts, idols and banners, each one standing out like a beacon amidst the dull mud bricks of the surrounding buildings. And if the trimmings were colourful, they themselves were nothing compared to the priests themselves, most of whom were wearing some of the most ostentatious robes Wendy had ever seen outside of a Siffy Channel Original.
Listening to these people ranting on, Wendy had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't have much of a chance of getting attention immediately; perseverance would be needed in generous doses. In hindsight, it was just as well she'd found her preacher among the Acolytes of the Deep so long ago, for by now she knew for a fact that she just didn't have the patience for public speaking unless she was in the mood make use of the new range on her mutated larynx.
Once again, violence was not an option. With Bill absent for the time being, the new faiths were allowed to proselytize as much as they liked, but the gangs still insisted that the preachers played by their rules: they would have to pay a weekly fee for use of the Pass, they would be given no support if Bill returned and caught them in the act, and most importantly of all, violence – especially violence between preachers – was strictly forbidden. In fact, it was this final rule (not to mention the gangs' willingness to enforce it via "Willy Pete" if necessary) that kept these various cults and fanatics from tearing each other apart. As long as nobody dared to flaunt the rules, the peace remained. So, for the time being, Wendy would have to toe the line.
This time, though, she and the Society of the Enduring had something new on their side. Up until now, she'd been careful to keep herself hooded and just out of sight while the preacher went to work: after all, to the audience she still looked almost human, and the sight of her tended to spark desperate shouts for aid. The same went for every other member of the Society who still had a few human features to spare. But here, almost every single priest in the area was either hooded, masked, cowled, helmeted or crowned: the weird guy ranting about sunsets and electronic ascendance wore a rubber mask and wraparound shades; the slender woman under the serpent banner kept her face hidden beneath the hood of a thick black mantle – all except for her slit-pupiled green eyes; the tall figure proclaiming the blessings of Tzeentch was crowned with a gold mitre and an almost pharaonic gold mask; even the fat guy preaching a sermon of "the stars that scream" wore a black shroud over his eyes.
For once, Wendy felt no need to follow the crowd. After all, how else would they stand out?
So when they finally found an empty space on the eastern end of the pass, once the Society had formed a protective cordon around their makeshift stage, she threw back her hood and ordered everyone in the Society to do the same. Then, as heads began to turn in their direction, she let the warped organs in her throat spark to life, and bellowed, "PEOPLE OF CIPHEROPOLIS! HEAR US NOW!"
Right on cue, the preacher stepped into position beside her. "Heed our words, friends, for we are here to bring you the truth! You may think you labour to build a better future; you may think that this city may one day be the start of a prosperous new civilization; you may even think you suffer with purpose. In truth, you struggle in vain."
"This is all there is," Wendy intoned, her warped vocal chords shaking dust from windowsills. "This is all that will ever be. This is all Bill allows us. But there is another way…"
Slowly but surely, people were beginning to trickle towards them from all angles. And in spite of herself, Wendy almost smiled; bit by bit, they were making the message heard. With luck, time, and more than a little bit of perspiration, perhaps this city could be the one chance of spoiling Bill's fun – and bringing down the final temper tantrum on their heads.
Please, she thought – almost prayed. Let it be enough. Let it end. Let it end. Let it end…
"Try again."
Gideon closed his eyes, and sent out a tiny pulse of psychic awareness rippling outwards across the surrounding area.
At once, he could tell that he was surrounded by an honour guard of ten diligent sentinels, including Amanda. The pulse travelled a little further, and he could soon recognize the medical section, a dozen or so strong-backed men and women armed with wheelchairs, gurneys and (in extreme cases) wheelbarrows, all charged with towing around those too sick and wounded to walk on their own; Gideon's parents were among the patients here, mom still too unstable to cope without her vacuum cleaner, dad still drifting in and out of consciousness; also, much of the haul from the weapons cache had been hidden among the patients, strapped to the underside of carts and wheelchairs as it was. And behind them, the two hundred and twenty desperate refugees on the march, slowly marching away from the bloodied beach and the hallucinogenic patchwork lurking just uphill from it. All of them, from the honour guard to the bulk, were still following the same course they'd been following for the last few months.
The road to nowhere, for all intents and purposes.
Gideon's developing powers had been able to steer them away from roaming packs of monsters, and his increasingly noticeable experiments in telepathy had given them hope, but nothing in the world could change the fact that they were flying blind – being funnelled in one specific direction by forces beyond their control. Gideon had no idea where they were headed or why, or even what might happen when they reached the end of this road; so far, the only consolation at hand was that their course wasn't being directed by Bill… not consciously at any rate.
So, for the time being, Gideon focussed on the matter at hand, on studying his powers – and through them, the refugees that followed him. Even with his eyes closed, even with his mind still locked in communication with Jheselbraum, he could sense all of them and much more. He could sense the surrounding wildlife – the exoskeletal jackals sulking on the edge of the path, the vultures perched in the trees, the horseflies buzzing around sunburnt faces… animal minds were far easier to sense, their drives and instincts far simpler to deal with than human thoughts. He could even control beasts such as these, their primitive thoughts easily bowing to telepathic suggestions, hence why the refugees had remained undisturbed by monsters for most of the journey. However, controlling animals wasn't the purpose of this exercise, nor was controlling humans – for Jheselbraum had made it abundantly clear that telepathically manipulating the human mind was a definite no-no and only to be used as a last resort (hence why she'd refused to teach it for the time being).
No, today's exercise was far more intricate and involved. Now that he could sense the minds around him, with just a little bit of effort…
Suddenly, he was seeing the world through Amanda's eyes, looking down at his own body slumped in her arms; then he was a hundred feet in the air and scanning the horizon through the eyes of a hawk; then he was all the way at the back of the refugee column, glancing nervously at the hungry jackals sniffing their trail; he was peering through the compound eyes of a fly, immediately confronted with several dozen different perspectives on the same man's hairy nostrils; he was every one of them and he was himself, seeing through almost four hundred different sets of eyes. And then the other sensations began pouring in: sound, smell, touch, taste, pleasure, pain…
And with a flash of light-
And a word-
And a song-
"That's enough."
But Gideon was still flying too high, still riding the amassed sensations of several hundred weary, starving, adoration-crazed minds, gliding across the acrid desert faster and further than mere flesh could carry him. The sensory input was beyond intoxicating – it was transcendent. So many hopes and dreams had been focussed on him, it was almost impossible for Gideon to define it all: there were those who thought of him as an alien messiah, those who believed he was a young god in the making, those who claimed that he was the personification of all humanity's virtues and sin, those who worshipped him as a living saint, those who believed that he had been personally forgiven and blessed by God… and of course, there were those who had no special beliefs at all, and simply believed because Gideon was all they had left. The sheer force of hope, faith and desperation rose like a tsunami from the depths of the surrounding minds, sweeping over his mind's eye in an all-consuming mass of frenzied thoughts-
"Gideon, stop," Jheselbraum said, her voice suddenly ice-cold.
Reeling at the sound of the voice in his ear, Gideon hastily cut the connection, withdrawing his psychic links back into himself. Having tried this exercise many times before, he knew all too well how easy it would be to get lost in the sensations of others, but this was the first time the sheer volume of experiences had nearly overwhelmed him. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to find himself once again in the ethereal non-space of the communication amulet; as expected, Jheselbraum was looking down at him, a look of concern in all seven of her eyes.
"You have to learn to exercise restraint, Gideon," she said gently. "You needn't cast your net too wide – not now, at any rate: seeing through too many eyes at once can easily burn out the mind of a novice psychic."
"I thought we were trying to escalate my training."
"There is a world of difference between training and destruction. Besides, you've already mastered the art of psychic radar; there's little point in teaching you to see through more than two hundred eyes at once, not before you've developed your stamina further."
"Then what was the point of all that?"
Jheselbraum smiled. "Did you notice anything unusual at the very moment you tapped into the other sensory experiences? You recall a flash of light, correct?"
"Yes, I…" Gideon's eyes narrowed. "And I saw something… and heard something too – a song. Why did I hear music? There wasn't any music playing back in the crowd, and I don't think anyone had anything that could play it either. So how could I have heard music?"
"You didn't," said Jheselbraum simply. "The reason why I had you push yourself to the limits of psychic radar again was to see if your senses were ready to transcend perception of the purely physical. What you saw was a miniscule glimpse of a possible future."
There was a pause, as Gideon slowly digested this.
"You mean… I can see the future now?" he exclaimed, suddenly almost erupting with excitement.
"Only at a beginner's level, and only with my support: you're still not ready to forecast unassisted, not yet. And besides, even if you did regularly push yourself to the limits of your psychic perceptions, you would only experience split-second visions."
"And that's all?"
"For now. You may also experience a certain degree of subconscious intuition surrounding what you saw, images and sounds out in the real world calling to you on some level. My advice for you would be to follow your hunches when you experience them: in my experience, the visions will usually be related to something important – something that might very well save your life. Now, tell me, what was the song you heard?"
Gideon wracked his brain for a moment, trying to recall the snippet of lyric he'd heard, almost humming the tune. Coming through… that girl is you…
Wait, WHAT?
"Disco Girl?!" he said at last. "A Babba song is supposed to save my life?"
"If that's what you heard…"
"How exactly is some helium-voiced europop top-of-the-charts crap going to save anything?"
"That's up for you to decide. Now, what about the image you saw alongside the music?"
"…I think it was a sign. Two words. They're still pretty hazy, but I think the first word began with an R and ended with a G. An –ing word. And the second… the second was definitely "flag." So I'm supposed to be looking for a place called the R-something-ing Flag, is that it?"
"That depends. Did you encounter any sense of danger around what you saw, any ominous hunches?"
"I don't think so. In fact, all I could feel was this weird sense of anticipation and… familiarity, almost like someone I knew lived there. This sense of… togetherness. Does that mean it's safe?"
"Safe is a relative term, given the current circumstances. But yes, if you sensed no potential threat, it's likely a very good chance that you will be safe there, once you've dealt with your objectives there."
"My objectives? What's that supposed to mean, exactly? I thought we didn't have any objectives other than 'stay alive and master psychic powers!' I mean, you know the future: can't you just explain what's going to happen to us?"
"I know possible futures. An oracle can direct the course of history down a certain path, but the future is always in motion: the slightest mistake can change everything. Just look at the Zodiac. The more I tell you, the more complicated your instructions become; the more complicated the instructions become, the greater the chances of a mistake; and if a mistake occurs, everything I tell you could be invalidated – one of the many reasons why oracles tend to speak in riddles." A look of pain rippled across her face. "The other reasons… aren't so pleasant."
"So it's up to me?"
Once again, Jheselbraum only smiled mysteriously. "Just as it is to everyone else in the multiverse," she said. "The future you hope to reach is one out of an infinite number of potential destinations. As a seer-in-training, it's up to you to chart a course through all the possibilities and, where necessary, control the variables in person. The vision you've received is a signpost on the road, something that might point you in the right direction. For all we know, it may be enough, but for now… I think that's enough for today."
And then…
Gideon blinked, eyes instantly tearing as real daylight poured down on him for the first time in what felt like days. Once again unfettered by Jheselbaum's powers, the thoughts of others rained down on him, until at last he'd recovered enough sense of self to gradually filter them out.
"Where are we?" he croaked.
Amanda looked around uncertainly. "I'm not sure, but… it looks like a city. A proper walled city, complete with skyscrapers." She wrinkled her nose. "I mean, I haven't seen one in months, but I'm pretty sure they didn't use to smell of vintage corpses and sun-ripened dog crap."
"Uggh. I noticed. Set me down and I'll take a look for myself."
Amanda obligingly lowered Gideon to the ground, allowing him an unhindered glimpse of the ramshackle walls ahead of them. It took almost a full minute for his eyes to adjust to the unforgiving desert sunlight, especially given that the sky was fogged with sickly white clouds that on made the glare seem a thousand times harsher, and when the first side of the architectural monstrosity before him finally seeped into view, Gideon had to admit that it definitely hadn't been worth the wait. In fact, if it hadn't been dotted with manned guard towers, he would have probably mistaken it for another ruin; after all, billboards and truck wheels weren't generally considered traditional building materials when it came to walls. Even the crudely-painted sign above the gates – the one that proclaimed "WELCOME TO CIPHEROPOLIS" – only seemed to make the scenery even more uninviting.
And as for the buildings behind it…
"Hell," Gideon muttered. "This isn't a city, it's a car-crash set on pause. How are we supposed to find what we're looking for in all this?"
"We're looking for something specific now?"
There was a pause, as logic finally caught up with Gideon.
"Oh, right," he said at last. "I keep forgetting you can't actually hear my conversations with Jheselbraum. Look, it's like this: we're looking for a place called the 'Flag.' The R-something-Ing Flag, specifically. Apparently, we'll be safe there once we've finished our objectives there, whatever that's supposed to mean."
"So you really are a prophet all of a sudden?"
Once upon a time, Gideon would have happily bellowed his newfound status from every rooftop in town, and probably have it emblazoned on all his posters and commercials just for good measure. But the last few months had been nothing if not humbling, and after the psychic run-in with his own unpleasantness, he'd learned the hard way just how soul-rending his own megalomania had been. So instead, he found himself mumbling sheepishly, "Well… I'm learning, I guess."
"So that's the only clue we've got to go on? This flag place – and the fact that it might be somewhere in the city?"
Gideon considered mentioning the Babba song, but after some consideration, decided that it would probably push the suspension of disbelief a little too far. "'Fraid so," he said at last. "Sorry," he added – though he wasn't entirely sure why.
"Oh, don't be. I mean, it's not as if we've got any better ideas on what to do next, is it? Besides, we've got to get these people to shelter at some point. Speaking of which, I think we've finally got someone's attention." She pointed up at a gantry at the top of the nearest end of the wall, where a guard was staring down at them. In one hand, he held a megaphone; the other remained at holster-level.
Gideon allowed himself to sink into the background as Amanda went about introducing themselves to the guards, and soon found himself drifting back into the depths of the crowd, who were by now almost overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the ramshackle-looking city. Many of them thanked him as he crept past; some shook his hand, or bowed to him; a few even asked for his blessing, believing that his word could keep them safe from harm. For his part, Gideon could only mumble the odd reply here and there, trying not to let the fear show on his face: he was used to people showing him with praise and adoration by now, having experienced so much of it back in Gravity Falls, but this was something very different. These days, his audience was far more impassioned and far more serious, and with every mile they travelled, their adulation seemed to grow all the more spectacular; in astral form, Gideon could ride that wave of appreciation and let it intoxicate him just as he had back when he was still just a conman, but when dealing with it in the flesh, he found it terrifyingly burdensome.
By now, he wasn't even afraid of being overthrown by the mob; no, what disturbed him was that he'd once again gotten almost exactly what he'd wanted… and it wasn't at all how he'd envisioned it. He had power, he had worshippers, maybe even the beginnings of an army if they ever got a chance to train themselves in use of their new weapons… and he'd no idea what the hell he was going to do with any of it. And ever since he'd had that first encounter with his own empathy, the proximity to his old desires had only felt a thousand times more disturbing…
There was a rumble from the gate; a moment later, Amanda appeared beside him. "It seems we don't have to worry about paying to get in," she said. "They're letting just about anyone through the gates so long as they can work. Bad news is, we might all end up homeless; space is at a premium in there, by the sounds of things."
"That shouldn't be much of a problem, not once we've found this flag place, wherever it is-"
"Already done. According to the guards, there's an abandoned hotel in town called the Rallying Flag. Apparently, even the gangs are scared of it: nobody's touched the place since it was first cleared out, not even the homeless."
In other words, it's the perfect place for us to stay. And yet…
Gideon thought for a moment; somewhere in the back of his head, alarm bells were ringing for attention. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt as though there was something important that needed to be done elsewhere in the city, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. No matter how hard he tried to identify the source of the hunch, all he could hear was the sound of that godawful Babba song.
"Is there a marketplace elsewhere in town?" he asked.
"The guards told me that there's one set up just south of Preacher's Pass. From what I hear, they're selling just about everything from pickled rats to scavenged electronics. What were you thinking of getting?"
Come on, Gideon, think. Are you really going to drag the entire group on a wild goose chase to some flea market in search of a vendor who may or may not be carrying around a few europop albums?
"…I think we should send everyone onwards to the hotel," he said at last, as the gates slowly trundled open ahead of them. "Make sure mom, dad and the rest of the sick are looked after. You can come with me: I've got some business at the markets today…"
But there was something else to consider, wasn't there? Gideon thought for a moment, briefly mulling over the other things he'd seen – and felt – while in the midst of his precognitive episode. Trust your hunches. What might that sense of familiarity mean?
"Also, there's one other thing we need to do," he added. "While they're on their way through the city, I want the others to ask around and see if anyone in town's seen or heard any of the following individuals: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Soos Ramirez, Fiddleford McGucket…"
Mabel's jaw very slowly dropped open.
Up until a minute ago, they'd been travelling across a stretch of dunes just uphill from a vast crystalline shore of catatonic bodies and beached shipwrecks. Up until a moment ago, all five of them hadn't thought much of this place: after all, by Bill's standards, weird oceans and inescapable paralysis was practically vanilla, and though none of them had been able to do anything to rouse the unfortunate victims from their torpor, this wasn't exactly out of the ordinary by now. "Just another day in the World Gone Weird," as Preston sometimes put it, if he was feeling in a talkative mood. For a while, Mabel had thought this was going to be just another stepping stone in the trail, something she'd forget about unless they had to stay for a while and forage for food again – not impossible, given that they were down to their last three cans of baked beans.
Now, though… now there was a distant shape on the horizon that looked uncannily like a city. Mabel couldn't be sure, especially since she hadn't seen anything close to a real city since she'd left Mabeland, but it was hard to call it anything else. After all, that strange shape on the horizon had walls and skyscrapers; what else could she call it but a city?
But that wasn't what had really gotten her attention: the city was just a background element, something to focus on later. Here and now, what had effectively kidnapped her mind was the spectacle unfolding in the foreground: directly ahead of her, the air was clouded with floating portals, flickering tears in the sky like holes torn in butcher paper. And through these portals, Mabel could see-
A glimpse of Grenda's screaming face flickered in and out of view, accompanied by distorted shots of her shattered friends and loved ones scattered across the floor; and not too far away, another portal displayed Candy sobbing weakly as a duo of lumbering metallic figures in surgical smocks slowly hauled her onto a gurney; even with the hazy edges of the portal in the way, there was no mistaking the vicious array of instruments waiting for her, or the syringe slowly zeroing in on Candy's jugular.
For a split-second, Mabel could only stare in disbelief. Then, she flung herself at the nearest portal – this one less than four feet off the ground and opening to the playground where Candy was being kept. She had no idea what she was doing or what she was going to do when she finally reached her destination; her mind was empty save for the desperate need to reach Candy before the gurney reached the edge of the portal. And as the adrenaline rippled through her bloodstream, her powers flared to life almost entirely of their own accord: time slowed to a crawl, then shuddered to a halt, leaving the helpless victim and the surgical robots frozen in mid-step towards the gurney as Mabel closed in on them. At the last moment, she leapt out, hoping that she could somehow snatch Candy out of the portal before time started up again; but instead of finding herself in another playground, Mabel simply phased clean through the portal and landed with a crash in the dirt on the other side.
A moment, she was on her feet and gearing up for another charge. But then she felt Pacifica's hand on her shoulder; by now, the little doll had well and truly mastered the art of levitation, and was capable of using it so quickly and stealthily that even Mabel couldn't help but jump in surprise. Even more surprising was the unexpected fact that she couldn't escape Pacifica's grip: either her porcelain hands were stronger than she looked, or she was holding her in place with telekinesis.
"Mabel, you need to stop," said Pacifica urgently, concern evident in every word she spoke. "Just take a deep breath and-"
"No, I can still save her!"
"Mabel, listen to me-"
"She's there! She's right there! I can save Candy, and I can save Grenda, and I can save everyone else and everything will be okay!"
Struggling free from Pacifica's grasp, Mabel once again launched herself at the nearest portal, but before she could get within arm's reach of it – or use her powers or anything else that might have made a difference – an invisible lasso of force tightened around her waist and hauled her back to Pacifica's side.
"LET ME GO!" she howled.
"Not until you listen to what I have to say."
"JUST LET ME DO THIS! IT'S MY FAULT THEY'RE HERE!"
Pacifica sighed deeply. "Mabel, we talked about this already: Weirdmageddon was not your fault, no matter what Bill or the Henchmaniacs think. If Grenda and Candy are being tortured, the only one to blame here is Bill."
"But-"
"But nothing. You need to listen to me, Mabel. We can't do anything to help them. I've tried the portals with telekinesis: they aren't real. They're just here to shock travellers like us, and if Grenda and Candy really are…" Pacifica took a deep, shuddering breath, composure briefly slipping for a moment. "If they really are being tortured," she continued shakily, "we can't do anything about it right now. They're out of reach. For now, we need to focus on the bigger picture: we're running low on supplies, we're all tired, and we've got two very real and very sick people who need our help. Also, one pig who cares for you very deeply."
She gestured helpfully to a hillock of sand a few yards away, where Mr and Mrs Northwest looked on in confusion – Preston anxiously clinging to his ex-wife's hand and all but hiding behind her, Priscilla's face still locked in the same expression of terrified bemusement it had remained frozen in ever since her Quaalude stash had run dry. Beside them, Waddles sat in silence, piggy little eyes blinking uncomprehendingly – though even at this distance, Mabel didn't have to imagine the look of concern on his snouted face.
"Once we've found food and shelter, we can try to find Grenda and Candy," said Pacifica gently. "We can find all of them: Dipper, your Grunkles, and everyone else, but we can't do it here and now. I'm sorry, really, but… that's just the way things are."
Mabel took a deep breath. By now, the panic and desperation was fading, replaced by an all-too-familiar sense of despair. "I know," she whispered, blinking away tears.
"And you know it's not your fault, right?"
"I know," Mabel lied.
"Then let's go. Whatever you do, don't look back, okay?"
Slowly but surely, the five of them began shambling away from the portals and onto a rough dirt track leading them towards the city. Eventually, the sound of distant sobs and screams began fading away on the breeze, until at last they'd left the Garden behind them.
Mabel – desperate to take her mind off the nightmare playing out behind them – couldn't help but wonder at just how much Pacifica had changed since the two of them had been separated back in the Fearamid. Before then, she'd been much more of a snob, even when they'd been building the Shacktron. Yes, the end of their night at the minigolf course had proved that she was pretty handy in a crisis, and yes, the Northwest Mansion debacle had made her a much nicer person in the long run – but when push came to shove, she still had a priggish streak she liked to put on display. Now, though… now she was pretty much the most level-headed person in the entire group, and serving as an unofficial babysitter to her own parents and Mabel, who was at a loss to explain how this could have happened. For one thing, Pacifica had been very tight-lipped about what had happened during her time in captivity, and the rest of her family hadn't been interested in sharing any details… and in truth, Mabel was actually afraid to ask for more information, partly because she didn't want to have any more nightmares than usual but mostly because she got the distinct impression that it had hurt Pacifica more than she was willing to let on. It was clear that she'd been turned into a doll, Preston had been zapped back into childhood and Pricilla had gone half-insane, and she'd heard a few things about thrones and barbs and contents, but that was it. Nothing that could explain how she'd managed to pull through without losing her sanity, no recognizable source of her powers, and definitely no reason for her being able to care for two barely-functional human beings and Mabel. So why was she the odd one out? What had happened out there to make Pacifica so… sane?
But no sooner had Mabel almost worked up the nerve to ask, the city was already beginning to loom over them, its gargantuan towers swiftly blotting out the sun and leaving them creeping through a thick swamp of shadows – shadows that only grew deeper and darker as the day grew steadily later. Already in low spirits, the five of them became all the gloomier as the ramshackle walls and warped buildings drew steadily closer… and by the time the city's name finally crept into view, they just about ready to give up.
At any other point in their journey across the wastelands, that sign would have been their cue to start running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, but with their supplies circling the plughole and all but one of them on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, they had no choice but to continue the inexorable march towards the city, hoping that they could find food and shelter within. So, on they went, hoping against hope that they weren't blundering into a trap.
Fortunately, the guards didn't sound an alarm upon seeing them; nor did they demand to know who they were, why they were here, or even answers to some of the more exotic questions that sprung to Mabel's nerve-crazed mind – "are you now or have you ever been an enemy of Our Lord and Master Bill Cipher?" for example. In fact, all they wanted to know was how long they intended to stay or if they intended to remain permanently (apparently, there was something of a shortage of space inside the city).
"Is there food here?" Preston hollered.
Pacifica winced. "Really not the time, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I'm hungry!"
"We're all hungry. Just let me finish negotiating, and we might be able to find something to eat inside: I'd like to see if I can get through this conversation without having to threaten someone with a lawsuit."
"But Pacifica-"
"Shhh!"
There was a cough from the guard atop the wall. "Is your name Pacifica, then?" he asked hesitantly. "Pacifica Northwest, is that right?"
"Er…"
"Look, you're not in trouble or anything. It's just that a lot of people have been asking about you, by the sounds of things."
Pacifica's glass eyes narrowed. "What people?" she asked suspiciously.
"Eh, just a bunch of refugees. Pretty standard fare, except for the guy leading the pack. Long story short, they came in a few hours ago, and by the sounds of things, they've done nothing since then but ask questions. They had a whole list of names they were sniffing around for, too: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Fiddleford McGucket… I'll be buggered if I can remember all of 'em, though."
Mabel blinked, heart fluttering in excitement – genuine, positive excitement, something she hadn't felt in eons. "Who was leading them?" she called up.
"Dunno. He didn't give his name, and I wasn't close enough to hear it, but I'm pretty sure he was a kid. Stunted little guy, short for his age, real skinny – they're all skinny out in the wastes, but. Pretty frail, maybe even crippled: the woman he was with had to carry him around like a baby. Bald as he was, I thought he really was a baby 'til she set him down."
Mabel's mind raced. If the guard was right, this refugee leader was looking for the members of the Zodiac, and given how rare the knowledge of the Circle had been, he could only be a fellow member of their rebellion… but as far as she could tell, there was only one person in the Zodiac who might fit the description. Dipper had always been pretty short and skinny for his age, and after days spent out on the wasteland, he'd probably be even thinner. Plus, he had the skills and the talent to lead a group of refugees – after all, he'd been able to rally the survivors at the Mystery Shack to his side, hadn't he? It had to be him!
But the thought of him being left so sick that his hair had fallen out, so sick that he'd been left too frail to walk…
This is all your fault, Mabel. You broke the world: it's up to you to fix things.
"Do you know where he is?" she asked.
"Last I heard, he was headed to the market just south of Preacher's Pass."
"Why the hell did we have to buy this?"
"Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear I had a vision of this: we need it for something very important, and that's all I know."
"Then you're sure this isn't just you feeling feverish again?"
"Amanda…"
"I'm only asking. Seriously, though, unless you're planning on buying a battery-powered stereo as well, I really don't see how we're going to play this thing."
"Well, maybe there's a sound system over at the hotel. By the sounds of things, some of the bigger buildings have their own generators by now. I mean, assuming that the place hasn't been looted by now – but we'll cross that bridge when we reach it."
"You don't know yet?"
"I'm still learning this whole psychic precognition business, okay?"
"I gathered that by the fact that you almost got run over by a nightsoil cart."
"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"
"I'm just saying you need to take better care of yourself, Gideon: I mean, spending all your time linked up with Jheselbraum, forgetting to eat and drink, that's one thing; following these visions is something else altogether – something that's going to get you killed if you don't pay attention to what you're doing."
"I thought you believed in me."
"I do. It's just that I also believe in being careful. There's a clear line between following your hunches and just being reckless, you know."
Gideon sighed and tried not to smile. In spite of himself, he'd almost gotten used to Amanda's constant mothering by now, and though his temper still occasionally flared up at all the coddling and worrying she provided, he had to admit that the habit was almost reassuring by now – a bit like the annoying-yet-familiar squeak on a rusty gate, accepted for its place in the routine. Besides, he still couldn't resist arguing a point with her every now and again, which helped let off steam.
But as much as he hated to admit it, she had a point: the market had been rougher and more disorganized than he'd expected. Quite apart from the traffic hazards, muggings and leaky sewer pipes discharging in the middle of the street, there'd also been gangsters exacting "late fees" from lesser merchants, stray dogs fighting with street urchins over stolen food, guards publically gunning down "troublemakers," fistfights disrupting business and destroying stalls, and at least one inside-out mutant being chased screaming down the street by a hunger-crazed pork butcher. And of course, there'd been at least two or three stalls run by shameless appeasers; normally employed as acolytes at the massive shrine to Bill Cipher that lurked in the heart of the city, they spent their days off selling Bill-themed memorabilia in the desperate hope that Bill himself would spare them when he returned. Given the things apparently going on in Preacher's Pass, they were right to be afraid – not that their efforts to avoid punishment were worth a damn in the long run.
With Gideon's powers, the stray dogs and rats had been easy to deal with. The others… not so easy.
Apart from all these unpleasant additions, however, the market had been every bit the Ali Baba-esque bazaar that Gideon had been expecting, from the trinket-crowded trestle tables to the badly-patched pavilions. Somehow, in the midst of all the stabbings and sewage, they'd found what they were looking for – a single copy of Babba's latest album, complete with the song "Disco Girl." Granted, it had cost Gideon his stars-and-stripes badge, but given that working stereo systems were rare and working electrical power almost impossibly expensive, audio discs and DVDs were officially the cheapest thing in the entire market.
Now, with the disc safely tucked away in Gideon's jacket pocket, the two of them were on their way to the Rallying Flag Hotel at a brisk walk, hoping to get back before the sun sank any deeper.
However, with the crowd of guards, merchants and other assorted scumbags slowly closing in on them, they soon found their way back through the marketplace blocked, forcing them to head north into Preacher's Pass.
Immediately Gideon realized that this was a mistake.
Chancy as his time in the marketplace had been at times, the Pass was even worse. This time, though, it wasn't due to overcrowding: true, the place was so congested that travellers could only inch through the crowd in single file, but given that he only had three other people with him, Gideon could easily wind his way between the congregations. No, what made this place an immediate danger was the simple fact that he'd normally have been right at home there: this was, for all intents and purposes, rube central. Every poor, desperate refugee with too much time on his or her hands was here, looking for something that could give their ruined lives meaning; a few months ago, Gideon would have been like a fox in the henhouse here, milking the downtrodden for all they were worth and mixing freely with the con artists hiding among the fanatics. Plus, from the looks of things, some of the preachers here had real power – he'd have been queuing up to learn their secrets back in the bad old days.
Now, though… now he was one of the downtrodden himself. He'd lost everything that had made him effective as a con artist, and gained talents that only made him more appropriate to the role of prophet… or pawn. (Was that a twinge of nostalgia he was feeling, or just regret for all the time he'd wasted as a fraud?) Plus, he'd learned his lesson by now, especially when it came to the business of making deals with shady all-powerful entities.
Here and now, he was a target for every con artist and overtly-powered muckety-muck on the street. He might as well have a bullseye painted on his face. And it was only going to get worse when the other refugees found out about this place: they'd want him to preach here, for a start…
Don't think about it. You can't afford to get sidetracked now. Just keep moving, don't make eye contact, don't respond to any sermons, and above all, do not try to preach. You might be feeling nostalgic for the bad old days in Gravity Falls, but this is not Gravity Falls. These people will eat you alive. Just keep walking and don't look back.
And then, just as he thought he could see the end of the Pass in the distance, he heard a familiar voice proclaim "You may think you have learned the truth, my friends! You may think that you are condemned to an eternity of suffering as playthings of Bill Cipher. But the Society of the Enduring has found another way!"
Crap on a cracker, Gideon thought, his blood instantly curdling in his veins.
Peering through the mass of human bodies, he could just about recognize the fishman himself, Wendy's personal emissary ranting and raving from his own private pulpit. And though the crowd made it difficult to get a good look at the figure to the preacher's left, the crudely-shorn red hair was almost impossible to miss.
Wendy Corduroy was up on that stage. And if she happened to look closely enough at the figure shuffling through the congregation…
Don't panic. She hasn't seen you. You haven't got the big white pompadour anymore, and you're covering what's left of the old suit with earth-toned rags. You're fine. As long as you don't get too close, she won't see you, and she won't recognize you. Just keep moving towards the exit and you will be perfectly-
And then, just as the exit loomed ahead, someone in the path ahead happened to take a step back, cannoning squarely into Gideon just as he was picking up speed. Caught off guard, Gideon swung off course and tumbled headlong into Wendy's congregation, bumping into at least six people before finally succumbing to gravity and crashing to the ground. Immediately, there was a commotion from the crowd as everyone within reach began awkwardly helping Gideon to his feet – either out of a rare concern for common decency or a need to rope in a new congregant.
And in that moment, with enough people shifting in place and enough people hauling Gideon off the ground, the crowd parted just enough for Wendy to recognize him.
"YOU!"
"Oh damn," Gideon muttered. Struggling out of his rescuers' grasp, he glanced over his shoulder and screamed "RUN!" and then took off as fast as his aching feet could carry him.
Already, he knew he was at a disadvantage: the people were crowded together so thoroughly that it was impossible to run at anything other than an ambling pace, and given that most of them hadn't seen anything worth running over, none of them were inclined to get going. Wendy, by contrast, was no so easily encumbered: with one great leap, she catapulted herself into the crowd with a berserker scream, axe held high over her head.
Suddenly finding themselves on the receiving end of their spiritual leader's wrath, the congregation scattered in all directions, giving Gideon just enough space to duck the first swing.
"Uh, Wendy, I know how this looks-"
Wendy's foot lashed out at high speed, catching Gideon hard in the shoulder and pitching him to the ground.
"…But I swear, I wasn't here to con anyone-"
The axe slammed down again, missing Gideon's left ear by inches.
"And-and-and… I know you think I'm still working for Bill, but I promise you, I'm well and truly reformed-"
"OH BULLSHIT YOU ARE!" Wendy roared.
"Look, if we could just talk about this for a minute-"
"SHUT UP AND DIE!"
And then, just as Wendy was winding up for another strike, Amanda lunged in from the left and grabbed her, trying to wrestle the axe out of her grip.
"Gideon, run!"
"But-"
Wendy's foot lashed out and caught Amanda a stunning blow to the left knee. Buckling, she let out a yowl of pain, and screamed "Don't argue with me, David! Just run! Don't look back!"
Wait, who the hell is David?
But just as Gideon was beginning to struggle back through the crowd, Wendy swung her head around at high speed, slamming her forehead into Amanda's nose at high speed with a sickening crunch. A bony, malformed arm shot out and fastened on Amanda's loosened grip and wrenched her away, flipping her over her head and bringing her crashing to the ground.
Lowering her axe, Wendy then drew her crossbow, took careful aim, and fired.
The bolt only missed Gideon by dint of sheer dumb luck; at the last minute, he tripped over a panicking congregant and stumbled out of the bolt's path, allowing it to soar harmlessly over his head. Less harmlessly, it landed with a low, resonant thud in the left eyeball of a preacher standing directly across from Wendy – a particularly pestilent-looking character who'd been ranting about the necessity of building a new Marker in preparation for a Convergence Event.
There was a pause, as the suddenly-silent priest slumped over his pulpit, dead as the proverbial doornail. In a matter of seconds, the entire street had gone quiet as well, every single sermon instantly silenced as the other preachers slowly became aware that one of their number was dead, that someone had broken the rule against violence between preachers.
Then, a few pulpits along the line, a preacher in gleaming white robes – a Priest of the Blinding Light, he'd called himself – began to laugh. "I am the sanctified ophiocordyceps-let me in," he chortled. "Let me in, let me in, let me in, let me iiiiiiiiiiiin…" A gout of tarry black vomit erupted from his gaping maw, pooling on the ground in a vast, oozing puddle. The priest continued upchucking, black slime pouring out of him like a faucet; soon, it was coming out of his nostrils and eyes as well… but somehow, a voice still whispered "Let me in, let me in, let me in." For it wasn't the priest who'd been speaking at all; it had been the slime inside of him.
Evidently taking this as a breach of the peace, the monkish-looking Prior of the Ori raised his staff and sent a bolt of telekinetic force rippling across the street, bursting the Priest of the Blinding Light like an overripe melon – doing little to stop the slime now oozing across the street, incidentally. In protest, the heavily-tattooed Worshiper of the Beast breathed fire and flung a telekinetic bolt of his own at the Prior; by way of response, the elegant priestess of Sutekh standing under the serpent banner summoned up a vast midnight-black cobra of pure shadow and launched it at the combatants; the Magister of Tzeentch erupted into multi-hued flames, blasting the others with iridescent pyromancy; the speaker for the Black Spiral Dancers let out a roar and transformed into a colossal werewolf; the Plague Priest of Nurgle sent forth a vast cloud of bilious flies and waded into the fray; the hooded figures stalking the edges of the Pass began a series of complicated spells… and in the space of thirty seconds, every single preacher on the street was fighting.
Wendy, meanwhile, just went right back to fighting Gideon – who still wasn't having much luck in terms of a counterattack.
He tried to claw his way upright, only for a boot to hammer down on the exact spot where Gideon's head had been resting a split-second ago. Frantically, he called out telepathically to any mind primitive enough to respond, and was instantly rewarded with a yelp of pain as a flock of crows swooped down from the rooftops and began viciously pecking and clawing at Wendy from all angles. Quick to press his attack, Gideon reached into the sewers and summoned up a swarm of rats, assaulting Wendy's undefended legs with a vast column of mange-ridden fur and needle-sharp teeth. He even called up a few of the feral dogs, hoping that it'd be enough to slow her down while he made his escape.
Wendy, however, was quick to recover: one by one, she swatted the birds from the sky with deft swings of her axe; she spat plumes of corrosive bile into the depths of the rat plague, dissolving them by the dozen; and as for the dogs, Wendy simply kicked them aside before they could so much as draw blood.
In the end, it wasn't an animal that saved Gideon, but one of the preachers: a plastic-faced Electric Monk, on the lookout for new recruits in the midst of the crisis, leapt from his pulpit and seized Wendy with superhuman speed.
"Let me show you an endless trail of sunsets, Wendy Corduroy," it purred. "Let me save you."
With a snarl of rage, Wendy spun around and bit down hard on the Electric Monk's face, sharklike jaws shearing through the plastic mask, shredding the electronic components beneath and ripping its organic brain apart. As she slowly dismantled the cyborg preacher, Gideon helped Amanda to her feet, and the two of them took off at a brisk hobble for the exit.
The rage at seeing Gideon again was only amplified by the interruption to his well-deserved comeuppance.
It took Wendy almost ten minutes to gather the rest of the Society and begin hacking her way out of Preacher's Pass, and by then, she was almost howling with rage, beyond all coherence. By the time she reached the end of the street, she was soaked up to her elbows in blood, she was out of crossbow bolts, and her boots were almost worn through after all the people she'd been forced to kick into submission; her mouth was a teeth-ringed crater dripping with blood, machine oil and a thousand different varieties of flesh from the people she'd mauled over the course of the battle – about the only thing she hadn't taken a bite out of was the Priest of the Blinding Light. In the end, the bodies were so thick on the ground that she and the Society were forced to scale the walls and pursue their target via the rooftops.
But at last, Gideon was almost in view, staggering through a courtyard just a couple of blocks away, alongside the sycophantic bitch who'd been trying to defend him.
With an earsplitting shriek, Wendy launched herself from the rooftop and landed in their midst, bringing both of them down with a satisfying crack of splintering bones. By the looks of things, Gideon's lackey had a broken collarbone on top of the fractured tibia and the squashed nose she'd already earned; for now, though, she was harmless, and with the rest of the Society lining up around the courtyard to cut off escape routes and prevent any uninvited pedestrians from interrupting, Wendy was free to focus on making Gideon suffer.
Grinning, she raised her axe to strike-
-only to bring it down on empty air.
Blinking in confusion, Wendy looked around, trying to figure out where her target had vanished off to. A moment later, she found him standing on the other side of the courtyard, looking just as bewildered as she was. Howling in rage, Wendy flung her axe at him, sending it rocketing through the air with all her might-
-But once again, by the time the deadly missile reached him, Gideon was nowhere to be seen, leaving the axe to harmlessly embed itself in the mud brick wall.
"That's enough!" said a familiar voice from behind her.
Wendy slowly turned to face the source of the voice, and with a jolt of shock, found herself staring into the terrified face of someone she'd never expected to see again.
"Mabel?" she whispered.
She blinked, half expecting the apparition to be gone when she opened her eyes again. But no: Mabel Pines was indeed standing before her, maybe a little thinner than she remembered and wearing clothes that had seen more than their fair share of wear and tear, but it was undoubtedly Mabel – right down to the braces.
For a moment, Wendy's heart leapt with joy. At last, one of her friends was here with her: at last, someone could make her mission at little bit more bearable, someone who could help her endure the terrible silences between sermons. Perhaps Mabel could be made to understand the importance of their work, maybe even become a member of the Society. Maybe she could be the only who finally helped tip the balance in favour of their mission!
But then she realized that Mabel wasn't alone. Flanking her was a trio of confusing figures: the first was a porcelain doll who just so happened to be a dead ringer for Pacifica Northwest – apart from the fact that it was hovering about three feet off the ground; the second was a seven-year-old kid dressed in a suit clearly tailored for a much older boy, a complete stranger but somehow instantly familiar; the third was instantly recognizable as Priscilla Northwest, Pacifica's mother… except she'd never been seen wearing that fish-eyed gape of utter terror as far as Wendy could remember.
And somehow, Gideon was hiding behind all four of them.
"Yes," said Mabel – firmly but gently. "It's me. Now, let's all just calm down and hug it out. We don't have to fight each other, okay? We're all in this together now: we're part of the Zodiac, and we need to stick together."
"Well said, Mabel," said the Pacifica doll.
"Thanks. Anyway, can we hug it out now?"
There was an awkward pause, as Wendy and Gideon stared in utter bewilderment at the trio standing between them.
"Please? I don't want to sound desperate, but it's been a long day and I think we could all use a hug about now."
"W… what happened?" Gideon gibbered. "How did you do that? How did you save me?"
In spite of herself, Mabel actually managed a smile. "I, uh, kinda stopped time back there, then dragged you to safety while you were still frozen. Not as easy as it sounds, but it works if you're willing to make an effort."
A longer and even more awkward pause followed.
Then, Wendy finally remembered her temper. "Mabel," she snarled, "do you know what this… thing did? You know why he's here? What he's been doing?"
"Wendy…" Gideon began.
"I'm not listening to you!"
"Look, I swear I haven't been running cons and I haven't been working for Bill! I'm a real psychic, now: Bill cursed me with telepathic powers-"
"So you admit you got special gifts from Bill!"
"So what? Just look at yourself: you think you wouldn't have gotten all those powers if Bill hadn't wanted you to have them?"
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! You got everything you wanted and I lost everything! I lost my family, my friends, my self-respect, my humanity, and you got to play at being saviour to a bunch of refugees! And," she howled, rounding on Mabel, "YOU WANT ME TO LET HIM GET AWAY WITH IT!"
The Pacifica doll hovered closer, arms outstretched in a placating gesture. "Wendy, take a deep breath and think for a minute: Gideon's done horrible things, but you know what? So have I, and we've both moved on and tried to be better people. Meanwhile, everyone here's been cursed with powers and weird deformities and god only knows what else. Nobody here is Bill's favourite, okay? Nobody's really benefited from what Bill's done to them except by accident. Let's all take a deep breath and think about this for a minute-"
"Nobody's benefit- what are you talking about?!" Wendy roared. "He benefited! What else could you call it when he spent the last few months being worshipped by all his disciples and ferried around in safety, while I spent the last few months scratching a living out of the wastelands – on my own most of the time! I had to steal from the dead out there! I had to… the things I had to eat just to survive… the sacrifices I had to make – and that was before I realized I had to form the Society! And now to want to tell me about people who've benefited somehow when Dipper… when Dipper's been…"
In spite of herself, Wendy actually found herself holding back a sob.
Meanwhile, Mabel was looking up at her in excitement. "You saw Dipper?" she whispered. "You know what's happened to Dipper?"
"I…"
"Please, Wendy, tell me – I thought I was gonna find him here, but all I found was Gideon."
"I'll just pretend I'm not here, then, shall I?"
"Oh shut up, Gideon, you know what I mean. Wendy, please: if you've seen Dipper, I need to know. Where is he? What happened to him?"
And for the first time in what felt like years, Wendy found it impossible to blink away the tears. "He's dead," she whispered.
"…what?"
"He's dead, Mabel. The Shapeshifter got him."
At first, Mabel could only stare in disbelief, eyes wide and shining with tears. Then she turned away, suddenly unable to make eye contact. "How?" she whimpered. "How did it happen?"
"We were up in the mountains," Wendy explained, haltingly. "Dipper and I… we'd been travelling together for a few months, but Bill separated us. He made me… he made me kill my family, infested them with parasites and had them attack me, so it was me or them – me or them, do you understand? – and while I was… while I was burying them… the Shapeshifter had been stalking me for a while by then, and once Dipper was thrown out of the cave, it must have caught up with him. All I know is that when the Shapeshifter came after me, it was chewing on Dipper's cap. It was covered in blood, and I…" She shut her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to stop herself from crying. "He's dead, do you understand me? I couldn't save him! I couldn't save my family! I couldn't save anyone! All I could do was grab what I could and start running!"
She took a deep breath, struggling to regain control, her fingernails digging bloody trenches in her closed fists.
Then, she opened her backpack and brought out the two personal possessions left to her, the only thing she still treasured apart from her weapons: the dog-eared journal that Dipper had recorded his worsening symptoms in during the final days of his life, and the battered, blood-stained cap – still marred with the teethmarks left by the Shapeshifter's monstrous jaws.
"This is all that's left of him," she said quietly.
For almost a minute, there was silence, as Mabel very slowly picked up the journal and – with trembling hands and tears in her eyes – began to read, almost on instinct, subconsciously hugging the book to herself as she did so.
"This is how I realized that there's no point in fighting Bill," Wendy continued. "Not in the way we thought we could, anyway. Bill let the Shapeshifter kill him because he wasn't interesting anymore, because he'd rung all the fun he could out of him and there was nothing left to do to. The only way we can win is if Bill loses interest in us: that way, he won't bother putting us back together when we break and he won't bother bringing us back when we die. This way, we'll die for good… but at least we'll die free. That's the only way we'll ever find peace in this world…"
In spite of herself, she smiled. "And that's why you have to stay with me."
"To join the Society of the Enduring, in other words," said Gideon quietly.
"Shut up."
"Look, it's not the only way, Wendy-"
"I told you to shut up!"
"I swear, I've been in contact with people who can help us stop Bill! There's Mr A for one thing, and for another, there's Jheselbraum-"
"More lies! You're just making up words at random, now, aren't you?"
"For the love of God, would it hurt you to acknowledge that I might have a better plan than you? I mean, anything on the planet would be better than suicide-by-Bill, but there has to be a more optimistic solution to this mess. Or maybe, just maybe, could you at the very least try to understand that I'm not actually working for the enemy?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe you've never given me proof that you're anything other than a petty little con artist who joined the Zodiac because it was your last shot at escaping slavery!"
"And maybe the only reason why you keep blaming me for everything because without me, you'll have to go back to hating yourself! Oh shit, did I just say that?"
"I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT, YOU LITTLE-"
"ENOUGH!" Pacifica bellowed.. "That's enough, thanks very much. We've all had a very bad day, and I think we all have grievances that should probably be aired at some point."
"I know I do."
"Shut up, Preston. It's just that I think we should probably table this little disagreement until we're safely off the streets and away from the crazy preachers and guards and god only knows what else. You can argue for as long as you like on whatever subject works best for you… just as soon as we've found a place to stay for the night."
Gideon coughed. "Well, now that you mention it, there's a little hotel a few blocks away…"
Somehow, even with Mabel's shaky grasp of her powers and Wendy's unwillingness to back down from a fight, they managed to escape without getting arrested or shot. It took the better part of half an hour, but somehow they managed it and eventually began the long, slow march towards the Rallying Flag Hotel.
The journey was conducted in almost perfect silence; then again, after the confrontation and arguments they'd had back in the courtyard, what could they possibly say to each other? Wendy was still fuming with rage at having her vengeance thwarted; Gideon was too busy walking on eggshells around Wendy to speak; Mabel was still in shock over everything she'd seen and heard; Pacifica was struggling with the effort of keeping an eye on the rest of the group; Amanda was still in a lot of pain and trying not to fracture any other bones through unnecessary conversation; Preston had been terrified speechless by Wendy and the Society; and as for Priscilla, she might as well have been on a different planet.
In the meantime, the rest of the Society followed from a distance, watching their mistress's new companions with a mixture of interest and open suspicion.
After a long and complicated hour spent creeping through the increasingly gloomy town, the Rallying Flag Hotel crept into view at long last, a tumbledown husk of a building squatting on the horizon, overshadowed by the tower headquarters of the gangs and the skyline-dominating shrine to Bill Cipher himself.
Clearly, the hotel was large enough to house the refugees that had followed Gideon to this pestilential town – and possibly even the Society as well – but could it do so safely? The number of holes in the walls suggested otherwise.
By the time they reached the front gates, it was nightfall, and the streets were lit only by crude torches and crudely-powered Christmas-tree-lights; as such, with crime on the rise and the streets rapidly emptying, none of them stuck around for very long to admire the place – or to comment on the ruin they'd somehow picked as a sanctuary. Instead, they simply pushed open the doors and filed inside, hoping that they'd at least get to settle their
…only to find themselves facing an empty room.
For several seconds, they could only stare in consternation at the desolate lobby, with its abandoned front desk and empty seats, trying not to give voice to all the horrible possibilities that were being imagined in that moment.
"Where is everybody?" Amanda whispered.
Then, there was a hiss of static from the hotel PA system, and a low, chuckling voice suddenly echoed across the lobby. "Welcome to the reunion, boys and girls," it whispered. "Don't worry. John's got everything in hand. I've even got the perfect mood music for the two lovebirds to help get them reacquainted…"
And as the slow opening strains of "Unforgettable" began to ripple out from the speakers, all eight of them belatedly noticed the figure clinging to the ceiling directly above their heads.
"Hello, Wendy," chortled the Shapeshifter. "I hope you've saved a dance for me…"
A/N: This chapter's soundtrack choice is Thorn In My Side, from Fallout: New Vegas.
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