Without the Empire State Building. Or the planes.


Apparently Ford was hiding in the basement again.

Stan told himself that was better than having him marching around the house like he owned-like a grumpy owl, glaring at all the attractions and the gift shop like they had personally offended him.

Better than getting in another argument with him, and upsetting the kids again.

He just focused on his same old routine of the last thirty years: charm and trick the tourists, sell the phony merchandise, smile and laugh, everything's fine, nothing to see here, just an old con man trying to make a living in this crazy messed-up world of ours, with no dark secrets in the basement whatsoever.

The kids were still unhappy, though.

Dipper spent most of the afternoon moping on the roof, and Mabel had dug out her leftover craft supplies from that weird play thing and disappeared to the attic with a look that said she had some new trick up her sleeve. Stan didn't have the heart to tell her not to hold her breath, or to tell Dipper to quit hiding and get back to work; he just told Soos to make sure Wendy didn't slack off too much and handled the rest of the usual chores himself, ignoring Wendy's slightly accusing look as she glanced up from her phone.

He definitely wasn't worried when dinnertime came and there was still no sign of Ford.

It was honestly kinda nice, because it meant the jerk wasn't sitting and glaring at him all through the meal like he usually was.

It was just him and the kids, almost like it had been at the beginning of the summer.

Really like the beginning of the summer, because Dipper was moodily picking at his food and Mabel, while she was trying to be her usual talkative self, kept turning uncomfortable glances at the kitchen door like she was waiting for someone.

After about the sixth time Stan said aloud, "...He's fine, pumpkin. He's probably just working on a project or something."

Cuz when it comes down to it, that's all he really cares about. His projects and his reputation and always being the smartest effing person in the room-

RrrrrrRRRRUMBLE!


Now what?!

For a moment Stan wondered if Ford had started up the portal again-if he had he was going to kill him-until he realized that they weren't levitating. And yeah, there was a kinda pulse to the shaking and rumbling that was making them all bounce up and down in their chairs, but it was different from the portal's, almost like-

Stan glanced out the window, and saw the giant metal monstrosity lurching erratically towards the house.

"...You gotta be kidding me."

It had to be another of McGucket's thingamajigs; no one else in town had that kinda skill, or was that crazy. Stan wondered idly if it was another one that had gone rogue, or if the old wacko was piloting it himself. Either way, he didn't know why it'd be coming here, since he usually avoided the Mystery Shack like the plague (which apparently was yet another thing that was Ford's fault)...but it wasn't a good sign that it had. And he had a feeling that his bat wasn't gonna be enough to deal with it.

"Kids, go hide in the basement."

Of course, instead of just obeying him Dipper had to look out the window to see what it was. He pulled back with an alarmed squeak.

"What the heck?!"

"Another giant robot?" Mabel watched the unfinished, advancing colossus with a mixture of alarm and interest. "Seems like every time we turn around there's another one of those-"

"Basement! Now!"

Stan didn't wait for them to argue; he quickly snatched one kid up in each arm, and carried them into the gift shop (while being near Ford wasn't necessarily any safer than being attacked by a giant robot, it was the lesser of two evils for the time being; and hey, maybe seeing his family in danger might be enough to get through the idiot's head-but then again, maybe that was just wishful thinking on Stan's part). It was a matter of seconds for him to push the buttons that opened the secret door behind the vending machine, and once it was open he set the kids on the stairs, ignoring their attempts at protest.

"Both of you stay put!" he ordered in his 'and I mean it' tone of voice, before shutting the door.

Then he stomped towards the front porch.


Once he was outside, Stan got a good look at big-and-ugly.

Even though he wasn't anything close to a robotics or engineering expert, he could tell this thing was only half-finished-and not just because the sparking wires hanging at the bottom were a dead giveaway. It was mostly general things, like seeing how dented and rusty the torso was, or the way one of the arms tended to jerk a little as it propelled itself along. It looked like it had just barely been thrown together; not up to McGucket's usual standards at all.

After a hesitant second he stepped to the edge of the porch, and cupped his hands over his mouth.

"MCGUCKET? YOU IN THERE?" Stan bellowed. "WHADDYA WANT?"

Please just be a weird invitation to a hootenanny in the dump or something.

The robot tilted its head, and there was a loud whizzing noise as its left eye appeared to focus in on him. After a second, a loud, computerized voice came crackling from the mouth.

"TARGET ACQUIRED. COMMENCING DIRECTIVE: ATTACK STAN PINES."

"WHAT?!"

Stan barely had time to process what he'd just heard, much less start trying to figure out why he'd heard it, when a giant metal claw came slicing through the air. He barely had time to jump out of the way in a move that his back definitely would not thank him for later, and landed on the lawn just as the claw smashed the middle of the porch with a sickening crunch!

Oh, come on! I just paid to have that fixed!

Fortunately Stan's legs were thinking faster than his brain, and forced him to get up. Covering his head to avoid being hit by splinters, he rushed towards the totem pole. He could hear the robot clumsily turning around (apparently it wasn't easy when it was balancing on its arms; good, that gave him a little bit of an advantage), but just focused his attention on touching a spot at the base of the pole which looked exactly like the rest of them. It slid open, allowing him to pull out some of his emergency supplies: a double-barrelled shotgun and a box of ammo.

It might not be enough to beat that thing, but hopefully he could at least slow it down and keep it from hurting the kids.


"That's gotta be them morality circuits actin' up!" Fiddleford panted as they rushed down the street; despite how bony and emaciated he was, he could move remarkably fast, even if his gait had become a lot more animalistic than Ford remembered. He leaped onto the hood of a nearby car, and appeared oblivious to the alarm that was instantly triggered as he skidded across it and down the other side. "Oh, banjo polish, Ah knew Ah shoulda put the brakes on!"

"What's it going to do?!" Ford demanded, wishing he'd built his cabin a little closer to town, even though there was no way he could possibly have anticipated something like this happening.

"Jes' what ya told it to-attack Stan Pines!" Fiddleford swung around a lamppost in a style that's usually done in movies during a rainstorm and while carrying an umbrella, and cast Ford a sharp look as he landed. "Ya said jes' ta 'attack,' right? Not 'kill' or 'destroy'?"

"Certainly not!"

"Jes' checkin'-it can be kinda literal sometimes!"

Ford's stomach gave yet another horrified lurch as he thought about how even an order to 'attack' instead of 'kill' could still go horribly wrong. "How do we stop it?!"

"Welp, ideally we'll be able ta order it ta stop its directive, unless o' course it's achieved sentience enough ta rise up against its masters-"

Before Ford could demand why in the name of all that was holy Fiddleford would create a robot that was capable of that, his ears picked up the two loud cracks of a shotgun being fired off in the distance. His stomach now felt like it was trying to crawl up into his throat-what if they were too late? What if the robot decided to target the children as well? What if his ill-advised words led to them all being-

They reached the clearing, and saw all hell breaking loose.

Fiddleford's robot was somehow managing to balance on only one arm-though probably not for long, since he could see it shuddering and trembling under the weight-while the other one was clutching a small, struggling form in its massive fist.

To his relief, Stan was clearly still alive, and not going down easily; as he was lifted into the air he pulled a shotgun up against his shoulder, and got off another blast. There was the sound of shattering glass, and one of the lights that made up the robot's eyes went out.

The robot uttered an unholy screech that sounded almost like it was in pain, and Ford saw its claws starting to clench tighter around his brother.

"STOP!"


Ford rushed forward until he was standing in front of the robot, waving his arms frantically.

"Directive concluded! Stop! Do not continue attacking Stan Pines!"

The robot looked confused; its head tilted with a creaking noise as it stared down at him. Ford stared back, feeling his pulse pounding as he waited for some sign that the robot was acknowledging this new order-

"...Directive?"

The voice that asked it was soft, but it still carried just enough that Ford heard it perfectly.

He glanced up at Stan-and suddenly they were no longer old men, they were just barely on the edge of adulthood and Stan was staring up at him from the sidewalk, not wanting to believe that he would do this.

"I-Stanley, it's not what it sounds like, I promise." The words sounded weak even to his own ears, and he struggled desperately to think of the right ones. "I was just-the robot overheard me saying-"

At that moment the robot's arm, the one struggling to maintain its balance on the ground, made a dangerous crunching noise, and Ford saw the metal slowly start to bend in on itself.


Yet another cliffhanger of doom! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!