"Glass Shard Beach?!" Ford shouted in disbelief as he continued to stare at the city sign. "How is this possible? We came from the Arctic! How did the ocean current carry us all the way to Jersey?!"

"You're missing the point, Sixer," Stan said as he glanced over at Ford. "Out of all the places we could've landed after all this time, how the hell is it that we landed in our childhood home?"

Ford rubbed his chin curiously. "Well, yes, I suppose that's a far more interesting question that I, too, am wondering. But I'm still trying to figure out the logic in all of this. After four days of slowly floating out in the middle of the ocean, I figured if we'd wash up anywhere, it'd be Northern Maine or Southern Canada. But New Jersey is much further south than those predictions!"

He began to look back toward the beach behind them, staring directly at the spot in the shoreline where he and Stan had washed up moments ago.

"Perhaps, the storm's wind and the Snacken sent us floating in another direction..." he theorized. "But how did we manage to float off completely unscathed while somehow sticking together the whole time? Everything about this just sounds completely impossible!"

Another brief moment of silence passed right before Ford's face scrunched up as a sudden wave of panic rushed over him.

"Are we dead?!" he asked fearfully. "Maybe we died and we were sent back to the place it all began!"

The more he gave into the possibility, the worse he started to feel. He dropped to his knees weakly as his breathing picked up, becoming faster and deeper with every nervous pant.

"Oh, God! Is this it?! Is this what death is like? Have we really reached the end of the inevitable line? Is this how it feels?!"

Ford's panic was immediately cut as he was promptly struck across the face with the full force of his own brother's empty palm.

"Does it feel like that, you freakin' lunatic?" Stan asked, retracting his hand.

Ford rubbed his face as he began thinking sensibly again. "Alright, I admit- I needed that. I am calm now," he assured as he stood back up on his feet. "Anyways, what do we do now?"

"We need to find Mom and Dad."

Seemingly without zero hesitation, Stan began walking down the sidewalk as if it was a decision with no need for questioning. Standing in place for a brief moment to process this response, Ford's eyes suddenly widened in surprise.

"What?!" he exclaimed before running to catch up beside Stan, who didn't stop walking. "Mom and Dad?! Are you crazy?! We haven't seen them in years!"

"Sooo... then I say it's a good time as any to see them again," Stan said, not seeing any problem in the idea.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Stan came to a sudden stop on the sidewalk. "What's wrong, Sixer? You don't want to see our folks again?"

"You know damn well that that's not my issue, Stanley!" Ford said, narrowing his eyes at his brother for his daring assumption. "My issue is that you told me you haven't spoken to them once since getting kicked out of the house. Not even under my name! So in short... they still think that you're dead! And who knows what they even think of me if you haven't kept up with them since you faked your death? The son who went off to live in Oregon and never bothered calling for thirty-four years."

"You've been back for nearly four years and still haven't bothered calling."

"BECAUSE IT'S BEEN OVER THIRTY YEARS!" Ford shouted. "I mean, we have no idea if they're even ALIVE for crying out loud! Do you know how messed up that is? The fact that we don't even know if our own parents are alive or not?"

Stan thought over the question for a moment alongside Ford's general concerns, not quite sure how to answer. He didn't want to admit it, but they were things he wondered about as well. Still, to him, there was only one way they were going to get the answers.

"I guess we'll just have to find out."

He continued walking down the sidewalk, leaving Ford standing in place again to wonder whether or not this was a good idea or not. "Stanley, you can't seriously be insistent on finding and knocking on our parents' door to say hello after all this time."

"Yes, I seriously am, Stanford," Stan said stubbornly as he stopped in place again to turn back to his brother. "Think about it. We're stuck out in the middle of the ocean for days. Then one day, we suddenly hit shore and out of all the places we end up, it's our childhood home. On top of that, it's our birthday."

"So what if a bunch of unlikely coincidences occurred to bring us to this point?"

Stan shook his head. "These ain't coincidences, Poindexter. It's fate. It has to be."

"Fate, Stanley? Really?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Since when have you, of all people, been a believer in fate?"

"Since the kids came into my life and brought the pieces I've been searching thirty years for to bring you out of that portal."

The response surprised Ford, prompting him to think back to what had gone on before the portal incident itself. The fact he had left Stan with the first journal and he couldn't find the other two for until the year Dipper and Mabel had come to Gravity Falls. The series of events that transpired earlier that summer to bring those other journals right into his brother's hands were started by those two.

As an investigator, Ford had usually been one to look at things from a scientific and logical approach, despite his research on abnormal beings. He never looked to something as superstitious as fate too often. However, when he thinks back to that summer, he thinks back to something during Weirdmageddon. They may have defeated Bill Cipher by wiping him clean from Stan's mind, but that wasn't their originally planned method.

There was a prophecy he discovered in a cave years before including various symbols arranged on a large wheel. He didn't know what a fair number of the symbols meant at the time, but the second he stood in Bill's pyramid surrounded by friends, family, and a bunch of other Gravity Falls townsfolk, he knew exactly what it all meant. It was destiny. The kids that he had just come to meet that summer were actually the ones who were meant to help save the town and the rest of the world.

Fate. Perhaps it wasn't so far-fetched after all.

"Sure, it ain't the best idea showing up at their doorstep suddenly after so long. Especially when they still think I'm dead," Stan nodded as he looked out at the ocean. "Yeah, they'll probably be shocked to see us again. Yeah, they'll probably be terrified to see me specifically. And sure, they might faint. And then after they wake up, we'll have to give a much-needed explanation that neither of us really wants to give. And of course, they'll be really mad at us and probably give a long rant about how everything we've done has somehow affected them the most..."

He stopped speaking for a moment as he began to picture an image in his own head. As he painted this mental picture, he clenched his fist as he suppressed the emotions that started to build up inside. Ford gave him a look of concern as he noticed the growing silence in the midst of his brother's tender words.

"But then, after all of that is done…" he continued, unclenching his fist. "...they'll see how much we've grown. They'll see the men we've become. What we've accomplished. Mom will be happy to see that her two boys are actually alive and finally made it somewhere in the world. And Dad... maybe he'll actually be impressed."

"You still wanna impress Dad?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow. "After all he's done to you?"

"I just want him to see that after all he's done and all the crap I've had to deal with, a knucklehead really can make it," Stan said, clenching his fist again. "Maybe not with the millions he always dreamed of, but with the dignity to be able to show up at his door after all this time. With how much time he spent trying to toughen me up as a kid, maybe that'll show him how tough I really am."

Realizing how off-track he was getting about trying to prove his dad wrong, he shook his head, trying to regain focus on the topic at hand.

"But that's not the point," he said. "The point is- in the end, we'll all be together again. And that's what matters most."

Ford stared at Stan, trying to mentally picture this overall description as well. The more he thought about it, the mistier his own eyes started to get. However, he fought back his own feelings too, knowing that it wasn't an appropriate moment to let them loose. Especially in public. But despite Stan's prediction relying on a very specific scenario and sequence of events, his words weren't any less convincing.

"Alright, Stanley. I'll bite," Ford nodded, finally caving in. "I suppose a family reunion has been long overdue anyway."

Stan looked over at Ford and smiled warmly. He looked down the beach again and continued to get lost in the sight. Being out in the middle of the ocean for several days straight made the ocean a tiring view. However, being home again and seeing the waves crash against the Jersey shores seemed to very quickly reawaken his love for the ocean view again.

"I missed this sight," Ford said as he also stared off into the distance.

"So did I."

"I feel like I can still envision ourselves running through the sand when we were kids," Ford said, taking a modest few steps forward.

"Yeah," Stan agreed, stepping beside him and placing his hands in his pockets. "The days we sat on the swings; the time we spent working on the first Stan O' War; the days we used to play Pirates..."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Well, I recall the swings and building the Stan O' War, but playing Pirates? What was that?"

That stung Stan a little, considering he had dreamed earlier that Ford had recalled the game himself. He didn't necessarily blame him for not remembering it right away because it had been a while, but he had hoped that he also held the memory in high enough regard to still remember it.

"Pirates was... erm…" Stan began, trying to figure out the best way to explain it. "...Pirates was a game we made that we used to play..."

[Several Years Ago]

"Alright, Sixer. You ready?"

"Ready!"

From behind the cabin of a wooden shipwreck popped out a young Stanley Pines, holding a small cardboard sword. He wore his usual white and red striped shirt, however, the sleeves were ripped off. He also wore a pirate hat made out of folded paper with a poorly drawn crossbones symbol on the front in black marker. And over his left eye, he wore an eyepatch.

"Arg! I'm Captain Pines!" Stan announced as he raised his cardboard sword in the air before getting into a battle stance. "Who dares invade me ship?"

Stepping out from behind the other side of the shipwreck's cabin stood a young Stanford Pines. He stood without his jacket, simply donning his white undershirt with his shirt sleeves rolled up rather than torn off. He wore a similar paper pirate hat to Stan's, but it was much more neatly put together and had an artistically designed crossbones symbol. Rather than a sword, Ford simply equipped two cardboard hook hands, one per hand.

"It is I, Sailor Hooks!" Ford announced as he stood across from Stan on the shipwreck.

"Huh?" Stan questioned, eyeballing Ford's hook hands.

"I said... it is I, Sailor-"

"No, I mean what's with the two hook hands?" Stan asked with a light chuckle.

"Well, I read that some pirates and sailors actually had both of their hands torn off by the beasts of the sea," Ford explained. "So it's not an inaccurate costume."

"Yeah, but it looks stupid," Stan said lightheartedly as he walked up to Ford and lightly poked one of his hooks with the tip of his cardboard sword. "I mean, if you wore a night mask to sleep the night before, how do you remove it without poking your eyes out?"

"Pirates don't wear night masks. They wear eyepatches."

"Yeah, well, a pirate's going to need two eyepatches if they had two hook hands like yours," Stan chuckled.

Ford didn't take too kindly to his joke and simply sighed sadly before hopping off the shipwreck and walking off. Stan raised an eyebrow in confusion as he watched his brother leave him.

"Hey, Sailor Hooks!" Stan called out, hopping off the shipwreck himself and running after him. "Where ya going?"

Ford eventually plopped down in the sand and sat sadly as Stan approached him. "I don't want to play anymore."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you're making fun of my hook hands," Ford said, looking away from him dejectedly.

"I was just messing around. Take a joke, Poindexter."

"How can I take a joke when I am a joke?" Ford said as he took off his cardboard hook hands and tossed them in the sand. "If you think my hook hands look stupid, then you probably think my six fingers look stupid too. And that all this time, you just didn't want to admit it because you're my brother."

Stan was shocked that Ford would even think he meant it that way. "C'mon, bro. You know I didn't mean stupid like that."

"It's true though," Ford said as he stared at one of his six-fingered hands as he clenched it. "Whether it's fantasy or reality, I'll always be a freak."

"Hey, what have I told you before? You're not a freak," Stan told him candidly as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

He then rubbed his own chin as he looked at his brother's cardboard hook hands in the sand. As he began to consider a few ideas, a smile formed.

"And ya know, now that I think about it... two hook hands actually ain't that bad of an idea," he admitted.

Ford looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Stan nodded reassuringly. "Ya know what two hook hands mean? It means you can do twice the poking!"

He then started playfully jabbing Ford in the side with both of his fingers, which successfully triggered a laugh out of him.

"It also means you don't need a sword to fight!" Stan continued. "And it means that you could say you survived up to two attacks by sea monsters and that you lived to tell the tales! You're like a hero!" He then leaned over to his ear and softly reminded him of something else. "And girls love a hero!"

Ford chuckled lightly. "They do, don't they?"

"Oh yeah!" Stan nodded. "So don't worry about your two hook hands and stop worrying about your six fingers! Both are awesome because they aren't normal! And they both come with their pluses."

Ford smiled at his brother as he thought over his words. "Thanks, Stan."

"Anytime, bro!" Stan told him as he picked up his two cardboard hook hands and held them out to him. "Now put these back on, and let's have a hook-hand-on-sword duel!"

Ford laughed as he accepted the hook hands and stood up from the sand. "Okay, but you'll probably beat me."

"Beat those hook hands of yours?" Stan questioned as he readied his cardboard sword again. "I'm not too sure..."

"I guess there's only one way to find out then," Ford said before jumping into a battle stance, holding out one of his hook hands offensively while holding his other one back defensively. "En garde!"

Stan gave him a funny look. "We're pirates, Sixer. Not fencers."

"Oh right..." Ford realized with a light chuckle. "I meant... ARGH, SCALLYWAG! Prepare to fork over yer booty!"

"ARGH! You'll have to cut it off yourself, matey!" Stan shouted, shaking his rear tauntingly as he raised his sword.

"ARGH! That is... not what I meant!" Ford clarified, somewhat disgusted despite his amusement.

"ARRRGH!"

"ARRRGH!"

The two began screaming as they started running toward one another along the beach. Stan charged with his sword pointed forward, while Ford charged swinging his hook hands in the air. Upon closing the gap between the two, they both leaped forward at one another with their attacks prepared.

[Present]

"Heh, yeah, I remember that day!" Ford said after listening to the events of that game as Stan explained to him.

He had slowly begun recollecting the day and what had gone on. The two hook hands. He had completely forgotten about them. Definitely not the most practical idea of his youth, but it made for some good fun.

"You won that duel, didn't you?" Ford asked, not quite remembering the result.

Stan always was the winner of any physical tussles or play-fighting between the two as kids. His play style always leaned more aggressive and rough than his own.

"Nope," Stan said. "You did."

"Huh..." Ford said. "In that case, you totally let me win then."

"Actually, I didn't. You won on your own."

Ford's eyes lit up in surprise at this additional revelation. He glanced over at Stan, scratching the back of his head as he tried to recall this victory in his mind. "I-I did?"

"You did," Stan nodded with a slight smile. "And I was gonna go easy. But I guess I didn't need to."

"Huh. Wow," Ford said as he came to terms with this supposed childhood victory. "So two hook hands really can beat a sword."

"Yep," Stan nodded as he began reflecting on how the rest of his early life panned out based on that one sentence. "A thought I lived with for years."

Before things got too melancholic, he snapped himself out of it. As great as the sight was, they weren't going to stand around and look at the beach all day. They had to keep moving and find a way to their parents. Wherever they were.

He turned away from the beach and began walking down the sidewalk again, gesturing for Ford to follow along. "C'mon, Sixer. Let's get a move on."

Ford stood in place as he glanced back between the beach and Stan as he walked off. He gave the beach one final long look, admiring its beauty once more.

As he did so, the Snacken on his back finally unplanted itself and moved upwards onto his shoulder, getting a view of the beach as well before glancing over at Ford himself. He looked over at it and gave it a warm, yet gloomy smile.

"Alright," he said as he offered his hand out to it, prompting the Snacken to latch onto it, sitting firmly on his wrist as he began walking. "Let's get moving."

Glass Shard Beach was a very different town than it used to be. Of course, it had been around forty years since either of the Stan twins had last seen it, so change was an obvious expectancy. Some buildings appeared newer, suggested by the vibrancy in bright colors and lack of wear. Other buildings, however, had a significant amount of wear and washed-up colors from age. The worn buildings were mostly old, abandoned shacks and local businesses that no one cared enough about to keep cleaned up in town.

Overall, the town itself appeared to have mostly modernized despite reflecting a silhouette of what it used to be. Being right beside a popular beach and boardwalk, it was an obvious tourist spot. People walked the streets snapping pictures of the town with their cell phones. Some were too invested in getting a decent shot that they stood right in the middle of the sidewalk, which brought annoyance to Stan as he struggled to pass one of the said tourists.

"WOULD YOU GET OUTTA THE WAY?!" Stan scolded the oblivious man in the street, who flinched at the sudden shouting in his ear. "PEOPLE ARE WALKIN' HERE!"

The man narrowed his eyes at Stan in disapproval of his tone, but at the same time, he stood aside as he was not so politely asked. If only out of brief fear. Stan didn't bother to thank the man, simply giving him a cold shoulder as he continued walking straight past him. The tourists gave cold, dissatisfied stares from behind.

But Stan couldn't care less about what a bunch of young tourists thought of him. To him, they were on his turf. If anyone deserved respect around on these streets, it was mostly certainly hi. Well, from his point of view, at least.

As low as he thought of a town like Gravity Falls, he was thankful for its seclusion not warranting nearly as much modernization and trend adaptation by its townsfolk. Amazingly enough, he knew people there who still didn't know what a phone even was. Outside the town, however, it seemed to him like everyone everywhere had a gimmick. Devices that he didn't have the time or patience for.

"God, Ford. People these days just don't pay attention to their surroundings with those damn phones," Stan remarked while walking the streets beside his brother.

"I understand your frustrations with the public and their use of advancing technology, Stanley, but could you try not to attract so much attention with your needless public scolding?" Ford asked, checking their surroundings cautiously. "The last thing we need is a bunch of attention in a town that we just washed up on... in a state where you're banned."

"Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry," Stan said with a nod. "But I mean, c'mon! The man was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk. Like, he couldn't move a foot closer to the right to take his picture?"

"Again, I understand your frustration and I don't blame you for it," Ford reiterated. "Just remember we need to keep a low profile while we're here. It's been several years since our last time in this town, so we aren't instant targets of suspicion. But should we become a source of constant attention, our presence may start to grow questionable in the eyes of others."

"Ah, relax, Ford. Even if I'm banned, I'm still dead! Remember?" Stan reminded. "Can't imagine anyone around here today still caring about the name Stan Pines."

"Well, give them the opportunity, and I'm sure Stan Pines coming back from the dead would make quite the headline."

Stan stroked his chin curiously at the thought. "Huh, you think so?"

"Let's not find out..." Ford warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," Stan said, rolling his eyes. "But man, this place has changed a lot, hasn't it?"

"Of course. It's been like forty years since either of us have last seen this place. It's been modernized to hell."

"Modernized. So that's what you call it," Stan said as he looked around the town. "In that case, I can't say I really like how modernized it's all become."

"Don't let your nostalgia blind you, Stanley," Ford said as he glanced around at the various buildings as well. "You may not like the initial sight of it all, but most of these changes are done for a reason. Stores and restaurants increasing in size to house more customers. Structures are updated with the latest and strongest types of building materials. Brighter colors continue attracting those who find visual appeal in the place. Nothing has changed for the sake of change."

"Nothing, huh?" Stan asked, willing to test that claim. "Well, I saw that the old Mermaid Reef restaurant on the corner of Sandy Trunks Street changed its mascot to a piranha. The Piranha Reef? Where's the excuse for that change?"

"I don't know," Ford shrugged. "Maybe mermaids are outdated around here and piranhas are the new 'cool'."

"Uh-huh," Stan said sarcastically. "Well, I'm not sure you'd consider mermaids being outdated two years ago back in the Bermuda."

"I'm not saying they're outdated," Ford clarified. "I'm saying maybe it's an outdated image for the town. Maybe they just want to try something new."

"So change for the sake of chan-?"

"Alright, fine. You got me," Ford gave in, rolling his eyes in slight annoyance at Stan's determination to get him.

"Ha," Stan chuckled. "Ahh, after all this time, getting you to admit you're wrong is still one of the best feelings."

"Glad it still satisfies you," Ford sarcastically replied. At that moment, he suddenly felt his empty stomach rumble painfully. "Ugh, damn. What time is it?"

Stan glanced around for a clock, spotting one inside a building right across the street. "Err... four o'clock, it looks like. Why?"

"I haven't eaten since this morning," Ford said as he rubbed his stomach.

"Whip out a little wristwatch toast then."

"I'm sick of toast, Stan. And I know you are too."

"Well, what are you feeling? It's not like we haven't passed a bunch of restaurants already."

"I don't know," Ford said as he thought about it. "Anything beats toast, honestly. A burger, perhaps?"

"Hmm, burgers..." Stan said, thinking as well. "Well, the only good joint to get burgers in this town that I remember was none other than the good ol' Juke Joint herself. Still the finest burgers I've ever had to this day."

"Sounds good," Ford nodded. "But honestly, I can settle for any burger."

"Of course, YOU would," Stan jabbed as he placed his arm around his brother's shoulder as they turned a corner. "But luckily, you have a brother like me who won't let you settle for mediocrity when the good stuff is at the tips of our fingers..."

As the two finished turning a corner, Stan's eyes immediately glanced toward something, bulging in surprise as he smiled widely.

"...or in plain sight!"

Ford turned his head toward where Stan was looking and immediately noticed a sign on top of a white and red colored building that read 'The Juke Joint'. The diner was located right down the street ahead of them.

"Well, that's certainly convenient," Ford said with a smile.

"I can't believe it!" Stan said excitedly. "It's the same look and everything! It's like she hasn't aged a day!"

"It certainly stands out," Ford noted while analyzing the surrounding buildings. "I assume it still must be a popular spot considering they've maintained it in such condition after all these years."

"Damn right it's a popular spot!" Stan cheered as they continued walking toward. "Glad to see that at least some of this town still has a bit of sense. I betcha this is where all the original Glass Shard folks still hang out. The kids these days probably stick to the Hermano's Tacos or the Yumberjacks. But for old folks like us? Nah... We have the Juke Joint! Kids call us the old school when really, we're the old cool!"

Ford chuckled at Stan's eagerness. "I'm not too sure I want to be called the old cool either, but I suppose it will be nice to relive the feeling of 50s-themed 70s again."

"You said it, bro!" Stan said excitedly as he sped up their walking.

The two reached the front door of the diner and Stan eagerly opened the door in anticipation of eating at his old favorite Glass Shard Beach diner. He enthusiastically took a few large steps inside.

"50s-themed 70s, here we c-"

Stan found himself frozen in place once he caught sight of the diner's interior. The excitement in his eyes began to shrink the longer he looked around.

While the exterior of the Juke Joint appeared to display the old 50s-themed diner, the interior was something entirely different. Rather than an old-school diner-type of setting, it appeared to have been transformed into something of a modern sports bar. The place was dark and illuminated by neon lights and multiple flatscreen televisions among the walls and hanging from corners of the building, most of them displaying the same scene of a live baseball game.

Additionally, there were mostly teens and young adults, all hanging out and having a good time. As Stan and Ford stood inside, they looked to be some of the oldest people that were currently there. Not that people paid any attention to them, as most were either having their own conversations or fixated on the baseball game. In fact, many sat and stood at the main bar cheering for the game.

Overall, the place had virtually no right to call itself a diner anymore, as it looked like anything but one.

"No! NO! NOOOOO!" Stan cried out as he dropped to his knees in horror. "THEY DID IT! THEY DID IT TO THE JUKE JOINT! THEY…THEY, UH…." He pondered for a moment before glancing back at Ford. "What was that word you used earlier again?"

"Modernized?" Ford suggested.

"Right," Stan said before turning his head back forward with his horrified expression again. "THEY MODERNIZED THE JUKE JOINT! NOOOOO!"

"Hey, can ya keep it down, old man?" an adult male called out to him from his seat at the bar. "We're tryin' to watch the game! The Glass Shard Shards are up right now!"

The Glass Shard Shards were Glass Shard Beach's home baseball team. And it seemed like, at that moment, a player for the team successfully completed a home run during the game on the TV, to which everyone at the bar cheered at once. Many began giving one another celebratory high-fives and clinked glasses before taking long sips of their beverages.

The man that scolded Stan for his screaming had jumped up from his seat jubilantly with his drink in hand as he turned to a male friend of his. "HELL YEAH, MAN! GO SHARDS! WOO-WOO!"

The two men then decided to bump heads with one another as hard as they possibly could as some sort of celebratory gesture, but they only went on to knock each other out, sending their bodies falling backward to the ground with their drinks spilling in the process. Stan and Ford watched this occurrence unfold right before their eyes.

"Charming," Ford sarcastically remarked as he stared at the two unconscious bodies.

"A bar?! Sports?! Young people?!" Stan questioned as he glanced around the restaurant. "What the hell is this?!"

"Why- you're at the Juke Joint, mister!" a very short, yet sharp-looking restaurant host said as he approached the two brothers.

"This ain't the Juke Joint I remember!" Stan passionately objected. "What happened to the 50s theme? Or the rollerskating waitresses? Or the actual freakin' diner?!"

The host chuckled. "Sir, this place hasn't had any of that stuff in years! The original joint has long since been transformed into your everyday sports bar and grill! What you see now has been the norm for the past decade!"

"But why is the original diner's exterior design still the same?" Ford asked. "If you've since changed the inside, why not the outside?"

"Costs quite a bit for an entire exterior redesign and the owner ain't too interested in that," the host explained. "On the bright side, it still fools old school suckas like you two into thinking this is still some 50s place!"

"Why you…" Stan grumbled angrily as he started to roll up his sleeve.

"Ah-ah," the host said with a smirk as he glared at Stan confidently."We may not be some 50s place no more, but we're still the number one go-to bar and grill in Glass Shard. Still got the best-of-the-best burgers! You two fellas are hungry, no? Well, you lay a finga on me, and you both can go eat mediocrity at some other place because your butts ain't gonna be welcome here! What's it gonna be?"

Stan narrowed his eyes tightly and angrily at the host, but he gave into his game and proceeded to lower his sleeve back down. "I see at least the Jersey way hasn't changed after all this time."

"The Jersey way never changes, my friend," the host told Stan with a smile, before gesturing over to two empty seats at the bar. "Have a seat. Someone will be with you two shortly."

The host began to walk off, leaving the two on their own. However, Stan remembered one last thing.

"Hey, shorty!" he called out, grabbing the host's attention once more. "Since you still call yourself The Juke Joint, do you, at the very least, still have the jukebox?"

"Of course, friend! We ain't that misleading!" the host nodded as he pointed to a spot right behind the two. "It's... err... right in that corner over there!"

The two glanced over at the corner the host pointed to. There, they spotted an old, broken-down jukebox that was clearly unused and possibly not even functional. Thematically, it was the most retro thing in the entire building, as everything that surrounded it was all modern.

"Well, that's just pathetic," Stan said as he stared at the jukebox. "And heartbreaking..."

Stan then walked over to one of the two seats that the host originally offered them and sat down. Ford raised an eyebrow at this as he caught up and sat beside him.

"So what? We're actually going to eat here and give into that man's manipulative business principles?" he asked.

"Have you forgotten, Sixer?" Stan asked back. "This is how Jersey businessmen are. They're manipulative, greedy folks who don't care what they gotta do to make a buck. Doesn't that remind you of someone you know? Someone else who grew up here?"

"Yes, well…" Ford began before looking straight up at him. "...oh…"

"Uh-huh," Stan nodded with confirmation. "Besides, we ain't gonna be here much longer than a day anyway. Just order yourself something and relax."

An acne-ridden young adult server soon appeared from behind the bar and stepped across the counter in front of the two brothers with an overly mellow demeanor.

"Hello, my name is Logan," he introduced, his tone as dry and sleepy as can be. "I'll be your server today. May I start you both off with anything to drink?"

"Um, we'll just take some glasses of water," Ford said before quickly opening the menu that sat in front of them. "And I think we may be ready to order."

He gave a quick glance to Stan for confirmation, and he nodded. If the menu was anything like they remembered, then they still had both of their go-to choices in mind.

"Okay, no problem," Logan said as he took out a little notepad. "What'll it be?"

"We'll just have two Sailor Bacon Cheeseburgers," Ford told him.

"Actually, just normal Sailor Cheeseburgers," Stan corrected. "Our niece has a pet pig, and she'll never let us hear the end of it if she finds out about this."

"You're right. My mistake," Ford admitted upon realizing.

"I mean... is she here right now?" Logan asked.

"No," Stan said.

Logan stared at him with growing confusion. "Then why don't you just-"

"You don't know my niece, kid," Stan cut off. "Trust me. She has her ways."

Ford nodded. "She does."

Logan gave the two odd looks for a good minute before he reverted his eyes back to his notepad to finish writing the order.

"Ooookay…" he said before popping open a cash register right beside him. "Your total is nineteen dollars and sixty-five cents."

"Wait, you need us to pay before we get served?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's how we handle all the runners we be getting here in Jersey," Logan said as he rubbed his nose.

"Oh, yeah. Now you've done something about it," Stan said to himself with an eye roll. He vividly recalled being one of said runners in his youth, getting away with several unpaid meals.

"Crap!" Ford's eyes then bulged as he came to a sudden realization. He leaned over to Stan and turned him away from the waiter. "Stan, all of our money was left in our backpacks on the boat!"

"So you're saying we got nothing?!" Stan asked.

Ford checked the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a few coins. "I do have some spare change in my pocket."

"Spare change ain't gonna cover twenty bucks worth of burgers, Ford!" Stan scolded loud enough for Logan to overhear.

"Is there a problem?" Logan asked.

"No! No problems here!" Stan reassured him as they turned back toward him. "We're just getting that money for you and…" He suddenly pointed off in a direction behind Logan. "Hey, look at that distraction over there!"

Logan turned around on command. "Where?"

As soon as Logan turned around, Stan shoved a small tray that sat on the counter containing napkins, salt, pepper, and condiments right off onto Logan's side. The tray and all its contents fell onto the floor, which prompted Logan to turn back around.

"Oh no!" Stan exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. "It looks like your stuff dropped!"

Logan looked down at the ground and saw all the fallen items, before slumping dejectedly. "Aw man, my stuff..."

He bent down and started picking up all the items to place back on the tray. While he did this, Stan stood up and leaned over the counter to grab a fistful of cash from the open register, assuming that no one else was looking at him. He then sat back down with the cash in hand and counted it up in his head.

Ford saw the large wad of cash Stan had obtained and how it was much more than necessary to pay for the meal. "Geez, Stan. We only needed a twenty."

"I know."

He then separated a twenty dollar bill in his hand before greedily stuffing the rest inside his jacket, something that Ford frowned upon, but wasn't surprised by. Logan stood back up and placed the tray with all the dropped items back on the counter. Stan then casually handed him the twenty as if he had it waiting all that time.

"Here you go, son. Keep the change, buy yourself something nice," Stan told him confidently.

Logan raised an eyebrow at Stan. "What can I do with thirty-five cents?"

"I don't know. Buy a gumball?" Stan suggested. "Why are you asking me? It's your money now. Go figure that out yourself."

Logan proceeded to complete the transaction as he maintained an odd look on Stan before walking off with their order in his hands.

"Complaining about thirty-five cents…" Stan grumbled. "When I was his age, I woulda killed for thirty-five cents! These millennials... They'll never understand how it was." He sighed sadly as he put a hand under his head. "God, how I miss the old Joint."

"Well, on the bright side, it didn't look like the menu had changed much at all since the old days," Ford told him.

"True, but who knows? Might not even taste the same," Stan said, still skeptical. "Did you know that people nowadays are trying to make meat that ain't even meat? Artificial meat I think they call it."

Ford snorted in amusement. "Please. People in this dimension are only now figuring out how to do that?"

"Ah, get the hell outta here with your advanced interdimensional smartness," Stan told him. "My point is, it ain't real meat. At least not to me, it ain't. Like seriously. Who's asking for this crap?"

"Vegetarians and vegans, Stan," Ford reminded him. "And people who are just generally against the whole process of eating meat from animals because of cruelty and such. It's wise, just takes adapting."

"True. Maybe that's the real reason Carla left me all those years ago. Why date a selfish jerk who eats meat when she can eat leaves and tofu all day with a local hippie? Of all people…"

"Right. That's surely the reason," Ford sarcastically remarked.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." a voice suddenly emerged over a speaker.

Stan, Ford, and most people in the restaurant then turned their heads toward the direction the sound came from. Everyone's eyes were soon fixated on a small stage in the corner of the room. There, the short host stood at a mic stand in front of a wooden stool.

"It's another late Wednesday afternoon," he announced. "That means it's time for some dimensional healing with the man himself- please welcome back our good friend and beloved local act, Thistle Downe!"

At that moment, the server stood aside from the stage as an elderly man with long, tied-back white hair, circular glasses, and loud hippie attire stood on stage with his guitar. "Hello there, peacemakers!"

The people of the restaurant got loud for Thistle, giving him cheers and claps as he readied up on stage. Stan, on the other hand, stared at Thistle in disbelief.

"Speaking of hippies…" Stan said as his eye began to twitch at the mere sight of Thistle.

"Who here is ready to let loose with some dimensional healing?" Thistle asked the audience in a calm, soothing voice as he sat on the stool and tuned his guitar. The question had the restaurant cheering more for him. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

He began strumming his guitar, playing a very psychedelic and odd chord progression. But the entire bar still went crazy as he played, which seemed to imply he was doing just fine.

Ford glanced over at Stan with a look of concern, aware of his history with Thistle. He could easily see how furious Stan was becoming at the sight and sound of his old rival after all these years.

"Stan…?"

Stan slammed his fist on the counter angrily. "I can't believe this! They modernize the hell outta this joint because it's old school, yet they still bring that girlfriend-stealing tree-hugger around to play his new-age hippie music? What kinda bullcrap is that?!" He then began to stand up from his seat at the bar. "Why I oughta…"

"Stan, please..." Ford begged as he pulled his brother back down to his seat. "This is no time to start a scene!"

Stan gave him a look, almost like he felt a bit betrayed being held back by him. "Don't you remember what that peace-sign-loving prick took from me, Ford?"

"Look, I understand you still hold resentment toward Thistle for taking your high school love away from you, but c'mon Stan, that was a lifetime ago!" Ford reasoned. "Besides, you already crashed the man's car! What the hell do you wanna do to him now, after all these years? Kill him?"

"Good God, Ford! No!" Stan denied, shocked by the assumption. "Who do you think I am? I was thinking more along the lines of letting him know I'm still around and that he better watch out. Ya know... like a warning."

"Well, I strongly urge against that notion," Ford said. "You don't have anything left to prove to him. Aside from letting him and others know that you're still alive and blowing our cover, there's no good reason to do this that will benefit you or us." He put a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Stanley. That was another life. You can let this go, can't you?"

Stan looked down to the side for a moment. "Yeah, I guess..." he nodded in agreement. "Crashing Thistle's car was enough to drive Carla further away in the first place. If she were to somehow find out I was still at it with Thistle after all this time, I don't know what she'd think of me."

"Well, for starters, she'd be shocked you're even alive," Ford joked.

Stan chuckled. "True." He then stood up from his seat. "Anyway, if I'm not gonna get up to distract Thistle, then I might as well get up to use the can."

"Please don't get caught up in a bathroom fight if you happen to run into someone like Crampelter or anyone else from the old days."

"Oh, well, if it's Crampelter, no promises," Stan said, only to receive a stern glare back from Ford. "I'm kidding! I'll be good. I promise."

Ford nodded as he watched his brother walk off. He then turned back in his seat, to which he saw Logan approach the diner and drop off the two glasses of water they had ordered. He thanked him as he took his glass and took a long sip.

It was his first sip of normal, purified freshwater in a little over four days, and man was it refreshing. He could already feel the water moisturizing his mostly dried-up insides. He stopped drinking and took a second to exhale, feeling his hydration replenish. The simple sip of water already started to make him feel like he could see better, think better, and generally breathe better. All it took was a sip from a glass of cold water. Never again would he undervalue such a pivotal nature.

He then looked down at his wrist and saw the little Snacken still wrapped around him. It had barely made itself known during their travels through town up to that point. Frankly, he was surprised no one else had even noticed it either. But it had made it this far just hanging out on his wrist without issue so perhaps that was for the better.

"How are you doing, little fella?" he softly asked.

It stared up at him as he held the water in his hand. He realized that the Snacken had probably spent a lot of time in the ocean alongside its mother, covered in salt water. It must've been thirsty for normal freshwater as well.

"Do you... erm... want a drink?" Ford asked it, gesturing toward the glass in his other hand.

The Snacken just continued to stare back at him. Snackens didn't talk, so he didn't know what he was expecting when he asked that. But he simply figured it might've been thirsty anyway. He looked around him, making sure no one was looking at him talking to a little octopus wrapped around his wrist. Assuming he wasn't being watched, he slowly poured a little bit of the cold water on the Snacken itself, not knowing another way to deliver it. He couldn't tell if it was drinking it because its mouth was right on his hand, but the fact it wasn't responding negatively seemed like a good indicator.

"I'm going to assume you're enjoying that."

He put his glass back down and turned his head back toward Thistle and his performance. Unlike Stan, he didn't have anything personally against the man. He didn't respect him for taking away someone that his brother truly cared about back in high school, but he didn't hold the same hatred for him as his brother. Therefore he was able to more easily acknowledge that Thistle was a talented musician at his age.

Psychedelic hippie folk or whatever it was called wasn't his personal taste, but the way he played his guitar seemed passable. And of course, the fact that the rest of the restaurant was actively listening to him instead of booing and disregarding him like the Jersey people he knew must've meant he was doing something right.

Thistle put his mouth up to the microphone as he played. "This piece is called... Grazing the Land."

"More like Grating and Bland!" a voice yelled out from around the front of the stage.

Eyes turned to the direction of the voice, including Thistle's and Ford's. They all landed on Stan, who was standing right beside the stage with a smug look on his face.

"Stanley?!" Ford whispered to himself with sudden nervous confusion.

"Dude..." Thistle said, placing his hand over the strings of his guitar, muting them as he looked over at Stan disapprovingly. "That is, like, totally not cool."

"Oh yeah?" Stan questioned as he made himself appear more visible to the rest of the bar beside the stage. "You wanna know what else isn't cool? Still talking like you're thirteen when you're in your late sixties!"

"OOH!" cried the voices of a few people around the bar, accompanied by some audible chuckling.

"C'mon, brother. Where's your soul?" Thistle asked Stan in a passive tone. "I'm just trying to play mine for the good Jersey people."

"My soul?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow. "My soul is in the body of another man in his late sixties. But I find better music in his awfully rough and grating voice over your amateur fingerpicking. Still, it's not as offensive as whatever you're wearing. A shirt with that many bright and unmatching colors is more than enough to cause a migraine!"

People throughout the restaurant burst out laughing in response. Ford wasn't one of those people, maintaining a look of both nervousness and skepticism as he focused closely on Stan.

"Also, did you just say you're playing your soul?" Stan asked with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, 'brother', but l believe that thing is called a guitar. Man, no wonder you sound terrible. If you don't even know the name of the instrument you're playing, then you're just bound to not know anything else!"

The people around the bar kept laughing at the insults as Stan himself laughed along with them. Thistle narrowed his eyes at Stan but then began to scan his appearance, finding him strangely familiar.

"Stan Pines?" Thistle asked into the microphone.

The mention of his name instantly prompted Stan to shut up, wiping the smile clean off his face. He glanced around the room nervously as he felt his heart sink. As the room quieted down from the laughter too, Ford could also feel his own heart sink.

"Um, no..." Stan said simply as sweat began to form on his face.

"It is you!" Thistle realized after a moment of analyzing his appearance. "Haha! I thought your face looked familiar."

Stan scoffed. "Familiar? What do you mean? I've never seen you before in my life."

"Ah, don't play those games, Stanley," Thistle said, unconvinced. "I know it's you. Never could I have ever guessed I'd be seeing you again after all these years. Part of the reason being that you've been a dead man for most of them. But hey, at least we know now that coming back from the dead gave you the ability to make jokes!"

Stan heard a few laughs behind him, which he found a bit irksome. "Please. I've always known how to make jokes."

"Oh, you're right," Thistle said as he stood up from his seat and placed his guitar down. "I remember this really funny one in particular. The one where you broke your brother's science fair project and ruined his entire future, which ended up with you getting kicked out of your parents' house!"

There was yet another wave of "OH"s around the restaurant, followed by a bunch of laughter. It may have been mean to laugh at Stan's past, but it was somewhat warranted after Stan's shots at Thistle. Suddenly insulting him the way he did was just asking for a roast of his own.

"Oh, and the time you were ran out of the state because of your failed Scam Total!" Thistle added.

"It was the Sham Total!" Stan corrected angrily, clenching his fist.

"So you WERE serious about that name. How ironic. Actually, do you know what that word means or did you already flunk outta school before they taught you that?" Thistle joked further, causing the audience to break out into another round of contagious laughter.

Stan just stood there silently as he took the shots from Thistle and the people's laughter. One might feel embarrassed in his shoes, but he didn't. Rather, he was growing somewhat angry by Thistle's cruel mention of his past, which he had long since overcome. That didn't mean it still didn't sting.

"And you know, when I heard about the car crash that supposedly ended your life, I actually felt bad for you," Thistle admitted. "That's saying something, right? Me feeling bad for the guy who crashed my car? I feel like that says a lot." Thistle took the microphone off the stand and made his way off the stage over to Stan. "But then you come into this bar all these years later, disrupt my performance, and start making fun of me in front of my people. My spirits. So you think I'll feel remorse for a man who hasn't changed at all?"

"NO!" a lot of customers shouted as an answer for him.

"Exactly," Thistle nodded in agreement before turning back to Stan. "I don't feel bad for anything anymore, Stanley. Not your past. Not your 'death'. Not anything," he listed before smirking. "Not even Carla. And Lord knows I gave her a better time than you ever could."

Stan's eyes lit up at this and he snapped. He clenched his fist tightly and without hesitation, he lunged and decked Thistle right in the face, hard enough to knock him down. All of the customers around the restaurant gasped in shock, including Ford.

Still conscious, Thistle put a hand on his face where he was punched. It was a punch hard enough to leave a bright red mark and cause his nose to start bleeding. He then looked back up at Stan, who began marching his way back toward him. He quickly stood up from the ground and began frantically backing up away from him.

"How DARE you!" Stan yelled as he kept approaching him.

People throughout the restaurant stood out of the way of the two, mostly trying to stay out of the debacle itself. Some customers attempted to restrain Stan, but he quickly pushed them away without much effort.

"THAT'S ENOUGH, STAN!" Ford shouted as he jumped behind his brother and grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "What has gotten into you?!"

"This doesn't CONCERN you, Six-Fingers!" Stan yelled at him, putting his other hand on his face and pushing him back against a counter.

"AGH!" Ford yelped as his back violently collided with the counter.

As he rubbed his back, he returned his focus to Stan. He was confused. Stan's behavior and words didn't mesh well with the Stan he knew. Even if irrationally lashing out wasn't out of character for him, there was still something very off about it this time.

"Six-Fingers?" he quietly repeated to himself. "What the hell…?"

Thistle kept backing up nervously away from Stan. "Look, Stanley. I'm just a regular old guy who advocates strongly for peace. W-we don't need to do this!"

"For a man of peace, you sure know how to make a man angry," Stan said menacingly as he got closer and closer to Thistle. "From stealing a young man's love to stealing that same man's pride over forty years later. You don't know what that woman meant to me. She was the closest I've ever had to a real love. And that's saying something because I've been married twice! Neither of them lasted longer than a few hours. And they both just wanted money. And one was literally a coin machine..."

"What does any of that have to do with anything?!" Thistle asked, utterly confused.

"I'm getting off track," Stan admitted. "My point is- Carla was as real as you could get. And it's because of YOU that I lost her!"

"Look, Carla and I haven't been a thing in forever!" Thistle said. "She broke it off shortly after we heard about your death. She left the state and I haven't seen or spoken to her since! So why don't you just let me go? I mean... she ain't gonna hear about any of this anyway!"

Stan then grabbed Thistle by the throat with one of his hands and held him up, choking him violently. The white in his eyes flickered a very light yellow for a second as he then grinned at Thistle maliciously.

"Good."

"STANLEY!" Ford shouted as he reached a hand out to him. "NO!"

Ignoring his pleas, Stan placed his other hand on Thistle's shoulder and forced his body down so his knee met his face. The violent hit sent Thistle recoiling back a bit until Stan grabbed him by the neck once again. He then ran up to a large glass window beside the front door and chucked him at it from a few feet away. Still, his strength sent Thistle flying until he crashed straight through the window, shattering the glass. His body then rolled back against the sidewalk concrete before tumbling against the wheel of a car parked outside.

After a moment of shock, everyone's eyes turned to look at Stan, each with a look of pure horror. Stan stood breathing heavily for a brief moment until he stood up straight. His pupils then quickly dilated and constricted before returning to normal size. He looked around the room at the people staring at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you people looking at?" Stan asked as he noticed he was standing in the middle of the restaurant. "Why am I standing here? I thought I was on my way to the bathroom."

People throughout the restaurant then started to exit the building and run away in fear for their lives. Stan just watched them all in confusion, but he was starting to feel somewhat anxious due to not having a clue of what was happening.

"What the hell's going on?" Stan asked, looking around at the people quickly leaving.

"DAMMIT, STANLEY!" Ford shouted as he suddenly walked up to Stan and grabbed him by the collar angrily. "WHAT'S GOTTEN INTO YOU?! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TROUBLE YOU'VE JUST GOTTEN US IN?"

"ME?! Trouble?!" Stan asked. "Ford, I don't even know what the hell just happened!"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU JUST THREW THISTLE DOWNE THROUGH A WINDOW!" Ford scolded as he pointed through the shattered window.

Just as he was told this, Stan's eyes glanced outside in disbelief. Right against a car, he saw Thistle's body lying outside surrounded by civilians attempting to assist him. He was bloodied, his entire body knicked and marked from glass shards and his face was badly bruised. He was still conscious, but looked very weak and beaten. The civilians appeared to be trying to keep him awake, while some others were on their phones, presumably trying to contact medical attention or other assistance.

Stan was being told that he was the one who did this, but he couldn't remember doing such a thing. One second, he was telling Ford he had to use the bathroom and the next, he had apparently beaten up and severely injured Thistle Downe for some reason. He had no recollection of any in-between events besides a mix of angry and saddened emotions, but he couldn't remember what they were about or what prompted them.

"I... I did?!" Stan asked as he continued looking at Thistle through the shattered window frame. "I couldn't have! That's impossible!"

"You just did it, Stanley!" Ford reinforced. "I saw it! The entire restaurant saw it! I told you to drop it, but you just couldn't help yourself! You HAD to beat up Thistle like any beef you had with him years ago still mattered! You just can't let things go, can you?"

"Ford, I swear on my life that I don't remember doing it! I really don't!" Stan tried to tell him. "I said I would drop it! I know I did! Why would I hurt Thistle like that?!"

Before Ford could answer, he heard something behind him. He turned his head and looked back at the short host they met earlier talking on the telephone.

"Yeah, some goon came in and threw our weekly performer through a window," the host explained, presumably to the police. He glanced over at the twins standing and made a quick note of them before turning back. "Yeah, he's still here. Think he said his name is like Stan Pines or somethin'. I dunno. And he's got an accomplice. Brothers, I think. Hell, maybe even twins. That's how similar they look. Can ya please get here soon?

Ford's eyes widened and his head turned back to Stan, who had his face in his hands, looking around in disbelief at the current situation.

"This isn't happening..." Stan told himself quietly. "This ISN'T happening. There's no way…"

Ford grabbed Stan's arm and pulled him along as he started making a run for the exit. "C'mon. The police are on the way. We gotta get the hell out of here."

He jumped through the shattered window frame and let go of Stan's arm, beginning to make a run for it on his own, expecting Stan to follow. Stan, however, stood at the window and stared down at the injured Thistle. He looked on at his injuries in horror, still in disbelief that he'd do such a thing to him. Despite his past with Thistle, he knew he didn't deserve this. Stealing his girlfriend decades ago was no excuse to nearly kill him now, no matter how angry he might've made him.

Why would I do this? WHY would I do this?!

A woman who was crouched down to aid Thistle looked up and noticed Stan. She narrowed her eyes at him. "WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!"

The rest of the people helping Thistle then glanced over at Stan and started angrily yelling things at him as well. Stan's look of horror then changed to one of guilt as he looked at the people.

"WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THIS?!" one bystander shouted.

"THE MAN'S AN ARTIST!"

"WHAT ARE YOU?! SOME KIND OF MONSTER?!"

"YOU ARE A MONSTER!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," Stan said under their yelling, which didn't stop them. "I... I don't know why I'd do such a thing. I really don't."

Thistle's head on the ground slowly and weakly turned to look over at Stan, who looked down at him. The two made direct eye contact with one another. This contact was haunting to Stan, and he had begun to tune out the yelling and berating of the bystanders. Stan didn't know what to say, but he saw that Thistle was clearly and rightfully angry at him.

"STANLEY!" Ford's voice called out to Stan from across the street, having noticed that Stan hadn't been following him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WE NEED TO GO NOW!"

Stan glanced back and forth between Ford and Thistle once before he quickly began running to catch up to his brother, running past a bunch of other civilians on the street who looked upon the incident in confusion. As he ran up beside Ford, they began to hear faint sirens in the near distance.

"STANLEY PINES!" Thistle Downe cried out angrily. His scream was loud enough to echo around the entire block. "YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS! SOON, YOU'LL BE A DEAD MAN FOR REAL!"

Stan and Ford turned into an alleyway as the volume of the sirens began to increase with their nearing distance. They kept on running as one final cry from Thistle echoed in the distance.

"JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!"

(Chapter updated as of February 26, 2024)