The party looked generic from the outside—like something ripped straight out of a '90s sitcom or a low-budget horror movie. Plastic cups littered the lawn, muffled music pulsed through the air, and groups of people stood around laughing and shouting. But what stood out to me was the sheer size of the crowd.

This wasn't just Gravity Falls' teenagers. There were unfamiliar faces everywhere, teenagers who had to have come from neighboring towns—or even further. It felt off, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it until I noticed Tambry glued to her phone, posting pictures of the party online.

Apparently, Summerween wasn't just a quirky local tradition. It had caught the attention of young people across the U.S., thanks to the novelty of a second Halloween in the summer. Some adults had even joined the mix, either tagging along with younger relatives or just trying to relive their glory days. The scale of the event was unexpected. I'd pictured something small, fitting the quiet vibe of Gravity Falls. This? This felt like it belonged in a big city.

Still, I couldn't afford to dwell on that. I had a job to do. But first, I needed to lay down some ground rules for the two kids I'd brought along.

I brought Mabel and Dipper to a quieter corner and knelt down, gripping their shoulders firmly.

"Okay, you two. I brought you here because I trust you can handle yourselves. That said, there are rules—strict ones."

Mabel groaned, already covering her ears. "Rules? Come on, Ray! Don't you trust me? After everything we've been through together?"

"Everything?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean like running headfirst into danger every chance you get? Yeah, that really inspires confidence."

Mabel opened her mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it, settling for a dramatic pout.

I turned to Dipper, narrowing my eyes. "And you…" He flinched, knowing what was coming. "I get that you like Wendy—"

Dipper's face flushed beet red. "W-what?! No, I don't—!"

"Let me finish," I interrupted. "I get it. She's cool, and you want to impress her. But please, for the love of sanity, don't do anything reckless. Just be yourself. Play it cool. That's all you need to do. Got it?"

Dipper hesitated, his face still burning, but eventually nodded.

"Good," I said, standing up and brushing my hands off like it was a done deal. "Now, here are the rules: One, if you see anything weird or suspicious, don't touch it. Don't investigate it. Just come to me. I'll handle it. Two, don't drink anything unless it's sealed, like bottled or canned. Same goes for food. You don't know what people might put in party stuff. And three, if you want to leave, don't wander off by yourselves. It's dark out there, and I'm not chasing you all over town. Got it?"

Mabel groaned louder, throwing her head back in exaggerated defeat. "You don't trust us at all!"

"Let's just say I've learned from experience," I said, crossing my arms. "Besides, it's not about trust. It's about me making sure I don't have to babysit again."

Dipper gave a sheepish nod, avoiding eye contact. Mabel muttered something under her breath but didn't argue further. Good. I knew they probably wouldn't follow the rules perfectly—they never did. But if things went sideways, I had my failsafe: retrying until they made the right decisions.

So for now, it was enough.

Wendy was waiting for us just outside the house, leaning casually against the railing of the porch. Despite the chaos of the party going on inside, she looked calm, giving a small wave when she saw us approach again.

"Hey, Ray. Talked to the kids?" she greeted, smiling easily.

"Yeah," I said. "Figured it'd be safer for them to stick close."

She nodded at Mabel and Dipper, her expression friendly as always. "Good call. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them for you."

I looked at her skeptically. "Will you, though?"

"Of course," she said with a grin, ruffling Dipper's hair playfully. "You can count on me."

She said it so casually, but something about her tone made me sigh. I knew she meant well, but her version of "keeping an eye" probably involved her joining them in causing mischief. Still, there wasn't much else I could do.

Stepping closer, I lowered my voice. "I need to ask you something serious," I said, my tone enough to catch her attention.

Her smile faded slightly, and she leaned in. "What's up?"

I glanced around to make sure no one else could hear, then whispered in her ear, "I'm investigating the Society of the Open Eye."

Her reaction was immediate. Her expression hardened, her casual demeanor evaporating as she straightened up. "The Society? Here?"

"Maybe," I replied. "I think that this party might be connected. That's why I need you to stay with the kids."

"Forget that—I should help you!" she said, her voice quiet but forceful. "If they're really involved, you shouldn't be walking into this alone."

"No," I said firmly. "I need you to stay safe. If something happens to me—if I… lose control—you'll be the only one who knows what I'm doing. You'll need to act then."

Wendy stared at me, her jaw tightening. "Ray…"

"Your personal feelings don't help here," I interrupted, my voice low but unyielding. "Keep the kids safe. That's your job tonight."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, I thought she was going to argue. But then she exhaled sharply and nodded. "Fine. But you'd better not go doing something stupid, okay?"

"I'll try my best," I said, giving her a nod before stepping past her toward the door.

The party inside was a cacophony of noise and movement. Loud music thumped through the air, barely audible over the sound of people shouting to be heard over it. The space was packed wall-to-wall with teenagers talking, dancing, and laughing in various states of drunken enthusiasm.

This was not my kind of environment. I already missed the quiet solitude of the town library at night, where the only sound was the occasional creak of the old wooden shelves.

I navigated through the crowd with a red plastic cup in hand, though I had no intention of drinking. It was part of blending in—holding the cup made me less noticeable, less out of place. I sniffed the liquid and grimaced. Alcohol. Without hesitation, I tilted the cup and poured its contents into a nearby potted plant.

Now with an empty cup as my prop, I continued to walk through the throng of teenagers, my eyes scanning the room. Somewhere in this chaos, a clue was waiting for me. I just had to find it.

...And after hours I realized this wasn't working.

First of all, the party was loud and chaotic. The sea of noise and movement that made it hard to focus. Second, I'd been trying to eavesdrop, listening for anything remotely connected to cults or conspiracies, but all I'd picked up were fragmented conversations about school, relationships, and whatever mundane drama filled these teenagers' lives. It wasn't enough—this method wasn't working. Teenagers didn't talk about cults at parties. They talked about stupid teenager stuff.

I was beginning to feel like I was wasting my time when I noticed something out of place. Adults. There were a few scattered among the crowd, mingling far too comfortably. And then, I saw him.

Bud Gleeful.

My chest tightened with anger. The last time I'd seen him, he was trying to kill me with that twisted rulehorror anomaly. I'd fought back, went back in time, and sent the anomaly hurtling back at him, and left him for dead—or at least gravely injured. Yet here he was, alive, unharmed, and grinning like nothing had ever happened.

He was surrounded by a group of teenagers who laughed at every joke he told, their eyes practically sparkling with admiration. It didn't take long to spot it—the subtle mark of the Society of the Open Eye. The triangle with an eye symbol was discreetly pinned to his lapel.

Without thinking, I marched toward him. He noticed me immediately, and his grin widened.

"Ray! What a surprise!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the teens around him. "This young man is one of the brightest in town. Works at my rival's shop, but he's such a bright kid, isn't he?"

"Let's cut the compliments, Bud," I snapped, my voice low.

His smile didn't waver, but I could see the glint in his eye—he knew why I was here. "Alright, alright. Let's chat, then."

I pulled him away from the group, but as I did, I felt it. The weight of countless eyes boring into me from the crowd. The laughter, the chatter—it all felt too deliberate now. There were more Society members here than I had realized, scattered throughout the party, their attention locked onto me.

Memento Mori echoed in my mind, ticking louder, reminding me of the danger I was stepping into. But I had no choice.

-TICK! TICK! TICK! TICK!

I stopped Bud in a quieter corner and glared at him. "What's the Society up to, Bud?"

His smile remained, infuriatingly calm. "The Society? I don't know what you're talking about, kid. We're just practicing a good old religion. Helping people, honoring our god."

"Helping people?" I growled. "You mean sacrificing them? Killing them? Like Mary?"

His expression didn't flicker. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said smoothly. "We only run facilities to support orphans and the less fortunate. For the glory of our god, of course."

I clenched my fists, my frustration boiling over. "What about the anomaly? Did it mess you up enough? You know, the one that was 'misdelivered' to me."

For the first time, his mask cracked. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face, but he quickly covered it. "It…gave me some things to think about," he said carefully. "Took me some time to get back to normal, but here I am. That was a smart move, kid."

That was it. The last time we'd faced each other, he'd been full of confidence, singing praises to his god and mocking me. Now, he was holding back, skirting around the truth.

I realized then what I needed to do. If I wanted answers, I had to enrage him—enrage the cult. It was dangerous, but there was no other way.

I leaned in, lowering my voice to a razor-sharp whisper. "Your god's a fraud, Bud. A cheap knockoff of Christianity, all pomp and no substance. Hiding behind shadows and symbols like a scared little child. Is that all your Society is? A coward's club for people too weak to face the real world?"

Almost instantly, Bud's fake calm shattered. His face twisted into a mask of rage, veins bulging in his neck. Before I could react, his hand shot out and slapped me across the face.

Pain flared, sharp and hot, but I barely flinched. I glanced around. The crowd? Nothing. No gasps, no whispers, not even a flicker of interest. It was like they hadn't seen a thing—or maybe they just didn't care. My gut churned with a cold realization: this party wasn't just a teenage hangout. It was crawling with Society members as I expected. And it was even worse than I thought.

Anyway, quite a fanatical cult for sure. Being this angry immediately isn't an easy task.

"How dare you," Bud hissed, his voice a venomous growl. "You blasphemous little worm—"

"Oh, did I hurt your feelings?" I interrupted, my voice cutting through him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to step on your precious god's fragile ego. Or is it your ego, Bud? Because you seem awfully protective of a deity who can't even keep its followers out of my way. Weak. Just like your whole operation. Is it even real?"

Bud's hands balled into fists, trembling with barely contained fury. His eyes burned with a feral light. "You have no idea who you're messing with, boy. You're nothing—less than nothing. You can't even begin to comprehend the power we serve."

"Power?" I barked out a harsh laugh, stepping closer until we were practically nose-to-nose. "If your god's so powerful, why's it hiding? Why does it send you out like a pack of rabid dogs, preying on the weak? If it's so mighty, tell it to come face me itself. Or maybe it's scared. Maybe it knows I'll rip its pathetic little kingdom to shreds."

Bud screamed, actually screamed, the sound animalistic and raw. Spittle flew from his mouth as he jabbed a finger at my chest. "You will not speak of the Proprietor that way! You hear me? The Promised Land will come, and when it does, scum like you will be erased! Suffer...the eternal punishment!"

"Erased?" I leaned back and smirked, taunting him further. "Sounds like your god's afraid of competition. Figures. I've been ripping through its plans, what, a few weeks now? And it's done jack to stop me. What's it waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

"You... you insolent, blasphemous pest!" Bud roared, his voice cracking under the weight of his rage.

"And you're just another pawn," I shot back, my voice deadly calm. "Another useless sycophant groveling at the feet of a god too weak to fight its own battles. You talk about the Promised Land, but all I see is a group of cowards too scared to admit they're just making it all up as they go."

Bud's face twisted into something almost inhuman, his fury so intense it seemed to radiate off him. For a moment, I thought he might hit me again, but instead, he threw his head back and laughed—a harsh, deranged sound that echoed unnaturally through the room.

The laughter spread. First to the people nearest us, then rippling outward until it filled the entire party. The crowd wasn't laughing with me; they were laughing at me. Their eyes gleamed with a knowing malice, and I felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on me like a physical force.

Bud leaned in close, his breath hot and rancid. "You want to know our goal?" he sneered. "You want to know why we do what we do? It's simple. We're building a future—a better world. The Promised Land. You? You're just a speck of dirt in the way."

I didn't flinch, holding his gaze. "If that's your goal, then stay out of my way. Just achieve your little dreams and stay in the basement. Or I'll make it my mission to burn it to the ground. Every plan, every scheme, every delusion you've built your little cult on—I'll tear it all apart. And I'll start with you. You think I can't? Cause I warn you, I can do what I want."

His laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a glare so hateful it could've burned through steel. "You can't stop us," he hissed. "You're nothing. You don't even know what we've done for this town. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" I scoffed. "For what? Your god's scraps? Your so-called mercy? Don't make me laugh. Whatever you've done for this town, I'll undo it. I'll show everyone who and what you really are."

Bud stepped back, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. "You've sealed your fate," he spat, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a paper plane and flung it at me. It spun through the air, landing neatly in my hand.

"Prove it," he growled, his voice low and venomous, before turning and storming out of the room.

I unfolded the paper, my hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. It was a flyer for the party, identical to the ones scattered everywhere. But at the bottom, in bold, unmistakable letters, was a single line:

"If you see an unknown smiling woman, act naturally."

The flyers began to rain down from the ceiling like snow, fluttering into the hands of laughing, jeering partygoers. The laughter grew louder, more dissonant, and the ticking in my head—the Memento Mori—crescendoed like a drumbeat.

The rulehorror anomaly. Again.