"Are you okay? You look sick."

"...I'm...Fine. Now get out."

I instantly slammed the door, leaving Candy outside the room. Something was seriously wrong. My heart pounded loudly in my chest as I sprinted towards my phone lying on the studying desk. I opened it, and there it was, the date glaring back at me.

'...It..it's May.. But...this can't be real...I'm dead. Bill killed me!'

The relentless ticking filled the air, a haunting reminder of the surreal events that had unfolded. My head felt like it was splitting open, and I clutched my temples, trying to comprehend the impossible situation. The date on my phone insisted it was May, yet my memory vividly replayed my gruesome demise at the hands of Bill Cipher. How in the world could I be alive now?

With trembling hands, I reached up and touched my neck, half-expecting to feel the pain and horror of my death. But there was nothing, no trace of the agony I believed had consumed me. It was as if my mind was playing malevolent tricks on me.

As I peered outside, the warm sunlight streaming through the window seemed sinister, almost mocking. The peaceful town of Gravity Falls appeared unchanged, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of being trapped in a nightmarish loop of reality.

"Memento Mori," I whispered, the words carrying an eerie weight. The pocket watch, Stanford's enigmatic artifact, could it be the key to this madness? Was it my consumption of it that triggered these bizarre events?

. . .TICK.

The ticking grew louder, threatening to consume my sanity. I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the impossible choices before me. Should I intervene and alter the course of events, or would my actions only lead to further chaos?

. . .TICK.

Each tick felt like a pounding beat, urging me to make a decision. Desperation and uncertainty gnawed at my resolve as I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to ground myself in the harsh reality.

Could I escape Gravity Falls and find safety? My mind was a battleground of conflicting thoughts, torn between fleeing and confronting the malevolent entity that was Bill Cipher.

. . .TICK.

"How can I even begin to fight something like that?" My voice trembled, barely audible above the tormenting ticking.

With a sense of helplessness, I stood up, frantically searching for the source of the torment. The alarm clock on my bedside table taunted me, its ticking hauntingly persistent. I couldn't bear it any longer.

In a surge of frustration, I seized the clock and hurled it against the wall. The impact shattered the clock into pieces, but the ticking didn't stop; instead, it seemed to intensify, mocking my futile attempt to silence it.

The room spun, and I felt like I was losing my grip on reality. The ticking seemed to penetrate every fiber of my being, echoing in my ears and tearing at my sanity.

"No, make it stop!" I pleaded, but there was no escape. The ticking enveloped me, becoming an inescapable symphony of horror.

...This had to mean something. I needed to find... I NEEDED TO FIND WHERE THIS SOUND WAS COMING FROM.

The sound was unbearable, a relentless assault on my senses that made me struggle to maintain my balance. I crawled towards the door, desperate to locate the source. Maybe leaving the room would offer respite.

-TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!

"...Ugh...!"

Nausea overwhelmed me as I moved closer to the door. The sound grew louder, threatening to tear my mind apart. I fought against the dizziness, determined to uncover the origin of this madness.

What was causing this sound? I remembered there were no analog clocks in this house, all replaced with digital ones. The clock on my study desk, my alarm clock—none of them should have the capability to produce such a sound.

Then, a chilling realization dawned on me.

"...There...is no analog clock in this house."

My dad had once claimed the analog way was inefficient, and based on my body's memories, they had replaced all the analog-style clocks with digital ones. So, where was this maddening sound coming from? Was it a curse, a malevolent presence, or perhaps even Bill Cipher? But this had never happened before!

With a surge of urgency, I rushed towards the door, left the room, and slammed it shut behind me, hoping to contain the tormenting sound inside.

-TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!TICK!

To my horror, the sound persisted undeterred. It neither grew quieter nor softer as I moved away. This defied natural laws; usually, sounds became fainter as you distanced yourself from the source. So, was it moving with me?

"...Unless it's moving with me... Clock... Watch. Wait... Memento Mori."

Memento Mori, the watch—the watch that had been swallowed by me. The source was within me. The cacophony emanated from within.

-TICK! .tick..tick..

As if sensing my realization, the sound began to abate, dwindling as if the watch's grip on me was loosening. I closed my eyes, embracing the trance-like state that overtook me.

-tick. tick. tick. tick.

'...Astounding.'

An intrusion gripped my consciousness, visions unveiling themselves.

In the depths of my mind—or wherever I was—I beheld the watch. Golden, ornate, its Latin inscriptions a whisper of ancient power. The cover, adorned with a skull encircled by serpents, spoke volumes. I knew what it represented.

'...Memento Mori..'

My hand extended, the watch's cold touch thrilling my senses. The incessant ticking continued as I held it, its rhythm like a pulse of the universe itself.

With trepidation, I unlocked the watch. The time blinked back at me, in sync with reality. A number slot on the side revealed the year and date, both accurate.

But the revelation lay on the back of the watch, a number etched onto the cover. The lid had its own number slot, currently displaying '0001'.

'...What is this number? What does it signify?'

To my touch, the watch remained unyielding, its secrets locked away. The button meant to cease the ticking defied my command. The dial, unmovable under my fingers. Disappointment mingled with the ticking's fading echo.

'...Really? After all that tormenting ticking, nothing?'

An hour passed, a futile search yielding no more answers. Memento Mori was nothing but a watch inside my mind, its mystery locked tight.

At least I had the convenience of knowing the time without glancing at a real watch. Silver lining, perhaps?

'...So, what now?'

What was my move? No superpowers unveiled, no grand epiphanies. But there was a hint, a thread of understanding.

Organizing the pieces, I began to decipher this enigmatic puzzle.

Inaction meant no happy ending—defying the natural course of 'Gravity Falls.'

According to Stanford, my mere presence disrupted 'causality.' The intricate web of cause and effect seemed to quiver around me.

Stanford's plea echoed: save the 'Zodiac,' protect his grandnephew and niece, and find the 'Journals.' The latter two—Dipper and Mabel, Stanford's kin—had succumbed to Bill Cipher's grip.

Bill showed a twisted fondness for me, hinting at my inter-dimensional nature. The same nature Stanford attributed to Bill, dubbing him an inter-dimensional demon. Was I a ghost, like Bill said? Something more? Or was that revelation yet to come?

Stanford entrusted me with Memento Mori. Why? The purpose remained elusive.

Putting everything together, a few things seem clearer. First off, Stanford probably didn't know how to activate Memento Mori. If he did, he could have easily saved Dipper and Mabel himself or at least given me the key to activate it.

Then there's the whole causality issue. My presence here is like a tear in the fabric of the show's plot, setting off a chain reaction that led to the death of major characters. It's like a butterfly effect, and simply offing myself or disappearing won't solve it. After all, I'm not even part of the original storyline. I just sort of showed up here.

And it's not just about my survival. My being here is influencing how people behave, think, and even the choices they make. Candy, for instance, might not have even had a brother in the original series. And my existence, that of Ray Chiu, it might have caused her to act and think differently, altering the course of events in more ways than I can imagine.

And then there's Bill Cipher. The guy's a total enigma. That eye of his, who knows where it came from? And what the heck does he want? The end of humanity? The complete annihilation of the world? Though if you ask me, he didn't strike me as all that serious. It's like he's just in it for some twisted fun, a sort of amusement that involves wiping out entire planets.

"...That's about all the sense I can make of this."

So, bottom line, I can't just sit on my hands and do nothing. My being here has already messed up the story's ending, so I need to step up. Even if Bill's not around, there's still a lot of weird stuff going on. Monsters, anomalies, you name it. Time to roll up my sleeves and make things right.

"...Ugh..."

A frustrated sigh escaped me, and I nearly let out a swear word. After Weirdmageddon, that kind of language had become a bit too familiar. Not that I'm usually a swearing type, but the situation's really pushing my buttons.

...Well, but now it was clear what to do. The only thing I can do now is...

"...going to..the mystery shack, and getting involved actively with the kids. probably."

If I want to ensure my survival, I should act more actively. Do more interactions, face the danger...whatsoever. I needed to ensure that they are doing the right thing.

It was pointless to cry about it any longer. I needed to find a way...a good, natural way to approach the main characters and keep them alive till the ending. I need to stay close to them, with...a fair reason.

...So...Where was this mystery shack located again?


Getting my parents on board with the whole part-time job idea turned out to be a breeze. Being a top student among my peers definitely played in my favor. All I had to do was assure them that I'd still prioritize my studies.

"Sure thing, son. A part-time job is a fantastic way to get a taste of the real world. Just don't forget that your studies come first."

"Absolutely, Dad. You can count on me."

"But what's the driving force behind this part-time gig? Did your allowance fall short?"

"...Nah, it's not that. I just thought it'd be a good way to beef up my extracurriculars. Oh, and you know, in case I end up going to Harvard, I might need to get used to being away from home."

"Well, alright then. Just make sure to fill me in on where you're planning to work part-time."

Leave it to Mom to ask the million-dollar question. And honestly, that was a tough one. How would they react if I told them I was considering working at some quirky tourist spot? Time to tread carefully here.

"...Um, you know, the Mystery Shack. The one down the road."

"...The place run by that eccentric old guy? I mean, I get it but..."

Mom's skepticism was palpable. Can't blame her though; that place did have a reputation.

"Mom, I know it might sound a bit odd, but hear me out. The Mystery Shack might have a unique vibe, but it's also a prime spot for tourists. And that's where I think I could learn a lot about, you know, human behavior, psychology, and stuff. Plus, it's all about managing people and customer service, which are skills I'll definitely need down the road."

Dad looked pensive, his arms crossed as he weighed my explanation. "Son, I just don't want you getting wrapped up in some strange business. Your future is important, and we want you to make the best choices."

"I totally get that, Dad. And I promise, I won't let this affect my studies. If anything, I think this experience could actually complement my education."

Mom looked thoughtful, her eyes locked onto mine. "Alright, you've made some good points. But don't let yourself get dragged into anything questionable, okay?"

"I won't, Mom. I'm going to approach this like any other learning opportunity. Besides, who knows? Maybe I'll even find some inspiration for my writing."

Dad sighed, giving a small nod. "Alright then. If you're sure about this, we'll support your decision. But remember, it's important to strike a balance."

"Thank you both so much. I really appreciate you trusting me on this."

Okay. Now, the first step was clear. Now...I had to go to the mystery shack. I need to get...a job, like watching the counter or some sort like that.

I walked through the road that lead to the mystery atmosphere was refreshingly clean, the air soothing, and the trees remained decidedly non-lethal. Luckily, it appeared that the bizarre horde of anomalies I had encountered during Weirdmageddon had been a one-time thing.

There were no signs pointing me in the direction of the shack, so I ended up spending a good twenty minutes navigating my way there. Eventually, around 3 pm, I arrived at my destination. Not the most efficient trip, but at least I made it.

"Thanks for stopping by, folks! Remember, the Mystery Shack is always ready to lighten your wallets!"

A crowd of people left the shack, guided away by someone energetically waving an eight-ball-topped stick. Wait a second, that voice... it sounded like...Stanford? No, it couldn't be. But the voice was so familiar...

My curiosity piqued, I made my way towards the shack, heading straight for the person who looked almost like a twin of Stanford. The wrinkled skin, pink nose, height, beard, and that distinct face - they all seemed like a replica of the Stanford I had seen during Weirdmageddon. This was too uncanny to be just a coincidence.

As I approached the Mystery Shack, my steps slowing as I got closer to the Stanford doppelganger, a sense of unease mixed with curiosity churned in my stomach. It was as if I had stepped into some sort of alternate reality, a version of Gravity Falls where things were a little off-kilter. Or perhaps I was still caught in some twisted aftermath of Weirdmageddon.

The man, who was still energetically waving that eight-ball-topped stick, caught sight of me and his eyes widened slightly. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly that I couldn't be sure.

"Hey there, new face! You stopping by for some mystery and fun?" His voice had the same lighthearted and slightly eccentric tone that I remembered from Stanford, yet this man's mannerisms seemed a touch more flamboyant, his enthusiasm dialed up a notch.

I nodded, trying to keep my surprise in check. "Yeah, thought I'd see what the Mystery Shack is all about."

"Well, you're in for a treat, my friend! The name's Stan—short for Stanford, but you can call me Stan. Welcome to the one and only Mystery Shack, where the inexplicable becomes the expected!" He punctuated his introduction with a grand gesture, his eight-ball stick twirling in the air.

My heart skipped a beat. Stanford, a serious scientist, running a roadside attraction? It was mind-boggling. But as I looked more closely, something caught my eye. My heart raced even faster, and I discreetly examined his hands.

Five fingers. Stan had five fingers on each hand, just like a regular person. Stanford, however, had six fingers.

My mind raced, considering the implications. If this was indeed another version of Stanford, why didn't he have six fingers? Was this an alternate dimension? Or was there something even more sinister at play? Then it hit me. This man here is not Stanford. He's...Stanley. Stanley Pines, the one Stanford mentioned was dead during Weirdmageddon. Probably his brother, then? Maybe a twin?

As if sensing my scrutiny, Stan's cheerful expression wavered slightly, his eyes narrowing in surprise and anger. Without missing a beat, he locked his gaze onto mine. "Something on your mind, kid?"

I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. "Oh, nothing much. Just admiring the craftsmanship on that stick of yours."

Stan's eyes bore into mine for a moment longer, as if assessing whether I was telling the truth. Then, his grin returned, though it seemed a touch strained. "Craftsmanship, huh? Well, I've had that thing for years. Now, if you're done inspecting, you planning on coming in or just blocking the entrance?"

I quickly looked away, my heart pounding. "Right, sorry about that. I'll head in."

As I stepped past him, I felt his gaze lingering on me, his surprise and suspicion palpable. This was it, the moment of truth. I needed to find a way to navigate this situation carefully. I couldn't afford to reveal too much, but I had to convince him that I wasn't a threat.

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face him. "Hey, Stan. Listen, I know this might sound a bit strange, but I'm not just here for fun. I'm actually looking for a part-time job, and I think the Mystery Shack might be the perfect place for me to gain some valuable skills."

Stan's eyes narrowed further, his guard clearly up. "Oh yeah? And why should I hire you?"

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Because I'm aware that you're not Stanford Pines. He had six fingers, and you don't. I'm not entirely sure what's happening here, but I assure you I'm not your enemy. All I want is an opportunity to work and learn."

For a moment, Stan's face twisted with anger, his fists clenching. "Kid, you have no idea what you're getting into. This isn't your typical part-time gig... I have no clue where you got that idea, but..."

"I get it, and I promise I won't interfere with anything if you give me a chance to work here."

Stan's gaze bore into mine for what felt like an eternity. Then, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You're quite persistent, I'll give you that. Fine, you want in? You've got yourself a job. But one wrong move, and you're out. And if you so much as mention my brother..."

Relief surged through me, and I managed a grateful smile. "Thank you, Stan. You won't regret giving me this opportunity."

Stan's expression remained guarded, but a flicker of something else passed through his eyes. "We'll see about that. Welcome to the Mystery Shack, kid."

Then, before he walked away, he shot me a stern look, pointing his stick at me.

"You'll be earning minimum wage, got it?!"

"Don't worry about my wage, I'm perfectly fine with whatever."

Money wasn't my focus. That was never my purpose to begin with. But Stan, seemingly content, turned away with a slightly improved demeanor.

Stan then faced me again, grunting. "What's your name, kid? I need your name to draw up the contract."

With a grin, I answered his question.

"Ah, it's Ray. Ray Chiu."