While the Northwests' plan was far from a certain one, Preston's increasingly desperate state had convinced him it, ultimately, was for the greater good. After all, it couldn't be that unreasonable. Who hadn't conducted a seance underneath their one-time-haunted-mansion-house-on-top-of-a-hill?

Across town though, people could feel something. Something wasn't right. It was difficult to place what…but the already miserable end to the summer began to feel more violent. More imposing. The grey clouds above the valley turned, instead, to a deep, black swirl.

It stopped raining. But the smell of ozone - the taste of tension. It remained as strong, if not stronger than ever. The general atmosphere remained ever-unpleasant, ever-grim, ever-haunting.

The townspeople were sullen. At least, on the surface. The slapdash band of freedom fighters had taken the initiative to plant a bug in Deputy Durland's 'cool lookin' pebble-pocket'.

"Blubs, I think we should arrest them Yumberjacks fellas fer not givin' me no jolly meal toy."

"Sounds like we need ta use the taser."

"Oh, I lurves the taser, Blubs!"

"Edwin Durland, your smile is the only thing more electrifyin'."

The townspeople sat around the speakers at Greasy's diner, eating chilli fries and drinking black coffee as they listened. The lights were out, the door was locked, and Manly Dan was creating a particularly outsized redwood javelin, 'just in case'.

"Is this seriously where our taxes go?" Bud said, sipping his cup.

Soos blinked. "Dude, we're meant to pay taxes?"

Melody twisted her lip. She was pretty sure that Gravity Falls was even more corrupt than Portland. Which was pretty impressive.

"I had no ideaaaa they were even in a relationshiiip!" Susan smiled, hands on her hips. "Good for theeeem!"

Everyone looked at the middle-aged woman in bewilderment.

"Guys." Kevin said, impatiently. "We're meant to be getting info, not just listening to the Blubs and Durland soap opera."

"CAN'T GET NO INFO IF THEY AIN'T GIVIN' NO INFO!" Dan bellowed, thumping the counter. The coffee maker lept on its frames.

"Dad's right. It's pretty stale. And soppy." Gus said, bitterly. "No scandals, no fights, no brutality-"

"Hey, they kicked a gnome."

"Dude, we all kick gnomes." Robbie huffed from one of the booths, flicking his hair. The other teenagers were bored out of their skulls. Tambry had even put her phone down. Thompson had gone comatose after being dared to eat eighteen packets of expired sriracha. And Nate and Lee were also there.

Overall, the latest recon mission felt like an enormous pile of nothing. Nobody was any wiser, nobody knew what to do, and the atmosphere just felt… strange. They were meandering. Lost and confused…perhaps even irritable. Like a particularly malevolent force was stirring up a healthy dose of cynicism and darkness in their hearts.

Like, somehow, things were going to collapse around them.

That was far from how Wendy and her brother were feeling at the depot of the GFRR. Innocent of the upcoming disaster, Wendy had been up to her favourite hobby - goofing off - while Marcus was working on the locomotive. There were no plans. Marcus just really liked the new job, and Wendy really liked goofing off.

At over six feet tall, and with uncomfortably broad shoulders, Marcus was the perfect man for shovelling coal. This much everybody knew, so nobody was too surprised that he had become the stoker for the new engine. He now spent almost every day there practising, when he wasn't lumbering with lumber. A man of his father, through and through. It was only a coincidence that he was also so mechanically minded - a deceptively clever individual who had learnt the inner workings of his new loco within a week, and now seemed as if he had worked on it all of his life.

Today, though, Marcus was puzzled. Armed with a monkey wrench and at least six bulldog clips, even the big brother's natural abilities were being challenged. He clanked and clanged around inside the shallow, wooden box that made up the cab, opening, closing and shaking around valves.

Wendy sat back in her chair, feet up on a tree stump, drinking a can of Pitt and listening to the latest record from White Men with Dreadlocks. "Hey, come on, Marc. Quiet down, huh?"

"Wendy?" He finally said, clambering back out of the cab.

"Yeah?"

"Engine's broke."

Wendy stood up and furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Engine's broke."

"Marcus, I need more than 'engine's broke'. What's broke?"

"Dunno."

She rolled her eyes and clambered into the cabin, where the fire was burning hot, the water gauges full… and nothing was happening. She looked at him in confusion.

"Can't understand it. Thing's full of water, thing isn't boiling it. Like, the temperature ain't going up." He shrugged.

Wendy never considered herself much of a scientist or chemist. But these things were pretty simple - fire makes heat, heats water, makes steam, makes engine go. Here everything but the water seemed to be playing ball.

She wrinkled her nose. "Let's… let's just - I dunno, put out the fire? And like, try again in a couple of days?"

"Guess there ain't many reasons to run the train anyway. Nobody's really out at the moment. You noticed that?"

"I guess things do feel a little… strange," Wendy murmured, looking up at the swirling, seemingly imminent tempest that seemed to be drenching the little town's skies. Rain refused to fall, sure, but the atmosphere - that foreboding, terrible, electrifying feeling in the air, the reflection of every business being closed, every person being indoors, every window being shuttered…

The town felt like it was barely alive. Like it wasn't just the end of summer. It was the end.

She remembered Weirdmageddon and couldn't help but think that the town had another cataclysm on the way. And if there was one thing she'd learnt, it was probably connected to her friends from the Shack.

Back underground, Dipper, Pacifica, Mabel and the Grunkles felt it in much the same way. Quentin Trembley's warning had hit harder than his usual brand of nonsense. This time, he seemed genuinely concerned. Even frantic.

The eccentric old man had noticed and was attempting to reassure them as much as he was able, without downplaying what they were up against. After all, he was an honest politician. You could tell due to his insanity.

"I and my flotilla of geese will do all we can. But I can't do a thing until we see what we're up against. It's like the invisible-man-war of 1837 that my doctor insisted I hallucinated after licking a toad." He insisted, extravagantly twirling a finger in the air with his usual brand of valiance. "But I knew different. Had them all sent to New Jersey!"

The Pines exchanged their usual weary glance.

"Look, Quentin, are you - are you absolutely sure about this?" Pacifica said. "You are kinda, like, known for being a bit silly."

"Listen here, Northwest. Silly I may be, but I am not a liar." He replied. "If this wasn't the truth, I simply would not tell it. I cannot tell a lie."

"I think that was George Washington."

"He was affected by the same witch's curse," Trembley said, solemnly. "A terrible affliction, it was."

The room fell silent.

"W-well, okay then." Pacifica huffed. "We really think my Dad is gonna call upon Nathaniel Northwest, and we really think Nathaniel is that nuts. Th-that's just great."

Dipper held a hand around her and tried to give her a reassuring smile. "We'll get through this."

"If any of you get hurt, I'll rebury him myself." Pacifica snarled.

Mabel chuckled. "We'll kick his big hairy zombie butt!"

"If he's a zombie, kid," Stan said. "We dunno what we're facing, yet."

"I don't care! I'll punch him! I'll kick him! Boom! Pow!"

Ford chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Your Uncle Stanley is rubbing off on you."

"I'm a freakin' great influence." Stan beamed, hands on his hips. "We'll kick his butt something fierce."

"The butt-kicking will be legendary!" Quentin bellowed, proudly. "I eagerly await the kicking of cheeks!"

Pacifica winced and held onto Dipper. "D-do you really think we will?"

"If anybody can kick zombie butt? It's Grunkle Stan. Don't worry." He smiled, brushing her hair back and looking into her eyes. "We'll kick zombie butt...together."

She smirked and tapped his nose. "I don't think that's as romantic as you think it is."

"...Noted." He squirmed.

"But I do appreciate the effort." She giggled and kissed his cheek. "Dork."