Ford writhed on the ground, hands covering his ears, screaming. He was clearly suffering excruciating pain, yet without an obvious cause. Only he could hear the shrill shrieking noise burning holes in his eardrums.

"Ford, what's wrong?" Pauline sputtered helplessly, bending down next to him. Pickering, who had woken up, shuffled over to them, looking on helplessly.

"Looks like he's having a seizure," Pickering said. "We need to get him out of here."

"A seizure? But he's never had one before," Pauline protested. She reflexively started unbuttoning his jacket.

It certainly didn't resemble any kind of seizure she was familiar with. He wasn't foaming at the mouth, he wasn't shaking or lacking control of his body. His heart was racing, and his hands were cupped around his ears, but otherwise he seemed unafflicted.

He was just screaming, like he was possessed, or as if he was in incredible pain.

Ford screamed again. Short bursts of angry yelping, like he was trying desperately to communicate something.

Farther down the mine shaft, the Snallygaster groaned.

At that, Pauline's mind raced back to their first source, Mr. Keel. How he died mysteriously just a few hours after. And how Chet Wilcox, whose death they'd just confirmed in gruesome detail, had been on the creature's trail when it killed him.

She started putting things together. Even if she didn't have Ford's scientist mind, it seemed obvious to her that the Snallygaster was responsible for Ford's condition. Somehow the creature was targeting him with some kind of ultra high-frequency...damn it, he could explain it better than her!

But it made sense. It explained why it was affecting Ford and neither she nor Pickering. Though she wasn't quite sure why it picked on Ford, in particular. Maybe because Ford had attacked it with the magnet gun (whereas her pistol had only annoyed it)? Maybe because Pickering was a wimp and obviously no real threat? Who knows what, if anything, it was thinking? She was pretty sure that the Snallygaster wouldn't behave long enough for an interview!

"It's getting closer," Pickering fretted, cutting into her thoughts. "Jesus, how are we gonna...?"

"We'll carry him if we have to," Pauline said. "No time for wimping out."

"I'm not really the type to carry things," Pickering admitted.

Then Pauline looked up. And noticed the explosives hanging on the mine wall, just over their heads.

In a moment, her life flashed before her eyes. A life of misery and regret, abductions and nightmares and an inability to find normal happiness. And suddenly, trapped between a monster and a bomb, she knew what she had to do.

"You, Pickles," Pauline snapped.

"Pickering," the archivist corrected.

"Don't care, Pickles," Pauline said, re-loading her gun. "Get Ford the hell out of here. Now. I'll try and hold this thing off until the two of you get to safety."

Pickering hesitated, looking at Ford, then at her.

"Are you saying...?" He still couldn't believe it.

"Don't worry about me. I've never had a life to lose. Ford does. And I'm guessing you do, too. If I make it out, great. If not, well, no more nightmares."

Pickering stared for another moment, not sure what to do, perhaps wondering how chivalrous it was to

"Didn't you hear me, Pickles?" she barked angrily. "Get your ass moving, now, before I shoot you myself."

The creature made another loud snarl, and the mine shook under its footsteps. At that, and Pauline's continuing glare, the archivist finally snapped into action. Then he latched on to Ford's arm and tried lifting him off the ground, straining under his weight.

"What are we gonna do about all this?" Pickering protested, gesturing to the crates of documents and forgeries. "Can't just leave it here!"

He had a point - this cache of documents was the whole reason she'd dragged Ford out here to begin with. But, she reasoned, there were plenty of other sites with other documents that they could find later. And Ford knew there was a mystery to solve.

And that, she realized, would be enough to keep things going, files or not.

"Goddammit, none of that matters if we're all dragon food," Pauline told Pickering. "There are other files we'll have to track down later. Now, beat it. I'm not kidding."

Pickering nodded, then carried Ford, still screaming and slowly made their way towards the elevator. Pauline looked back at them, wistfully, ignoring for a moment the giant monster trying to force its way through the mine, the bomb blinking over her head.

Ford, I'm sorry, she thought, watching her ex for possibly the last time. But it's for the best.

The Snallygaster struggled to fit through the mine. Pauline, hiding behind a crate of documents, watched it try to stick its long bird neck through an opening and sniff the air. She heard it growl and smelled a foul rusty stink emitting from its mouth, followed by a sick gurgle.

Pauline knew that her .38 wouldn't do much against the creature - not when she'd shot it in the skull without leaving so much as a scratch. The best she could hope for was to distract it long enough, at the very least, to save Ford, or to blow up the explosive and trap or destroy the creature. If it wasn't far enough into the mine, it wouldn't work, as the damn thing could just fly back out through the whole in the roof.

The monster, nonetheless, squeezed its wings and shoulders through the wall, its little bat claws clinging desperately to the wall, trying to pull itself through. It was clearly aggravated, and wasn't thinking clearly enough to extract itself and fly outside. It wanted blood, it wanted to defend its home, and it would do both of those things however it damn well pleased.

Pauline looked at the creature, trying to force itself through, then up at the explosive. Then at the gun in her hand.

She didn't know if it had a timer or was being remote-controlled by the jackass from earlier. She couldn't rely on it to go off at the appropriate time. She had to try her best and hope. Or else to make it happen.

She stepped out from behind the crate and stood in front of the monster.

"You want Ford? You're gonna have to eat some lead first."

And she raised her gun and fired a shot, which struck the creature on the shoulder blade. It didn't flinch, but it did turn its head towards her, squinting its one eye in curiosity mixed with rage.

"Not so tough underground, huh?" she said, hoping to egg the monster on. "Can't fly or do any of your weird Snally shit down here, huh? Kind of in a jam. Well, that's tough."

She fired again. The bullet ricocheted off its beak, with the creature snarling loudly in response, stretching out its neck and snapping.

"I don't care if you kill me," she told the creature, trying to aim for its eyeball. "No one on the Planet will give a shit when I'm gone. But you're gonna leave Ford alone. He's got more to offer than either of us."

BANG! The shot hit the creature in the face, causing it to scream.

"Damn, I can't believe I'm explaining myself to a dragon," she sighed, before cocking back the hammer again.

BANG! This shot missed.

Two rounds to go. Starting to sweat, she looked over her shoulder and saw the explosive start to blink faster. Or maybe she was imagining it?

Hard to tell. Her heart was racing and her head spinning with excitement as adrenaline surged through her. She felt thrilled and scared and yet, strangely relieved about what was happening.

Now the Snallygaster fell to the ground and pressed against the floor with its claws. It managed to push its shoulders and wings through the passageway, only to become caught around its mid section. It cried out again, thrashing its neck about.

Pauline's eyes widened in terror as it opened its mouth, and the tentacles came out. Reaching towards her.

She raised her gun again and aimed it at the creature's eye, now wide with terror and rage.

BANG!

The creature squealed in pain, titling its head back, tentacles spilling out of the mouth, around its neck. It tried to correct itself, shaking its head, tentacles smashing against the mine walls, the arms and wings again becoming tangled against the mine floor. Unable to escape, hurting and exhausting itself with its desperate movements.

Pauline glanced at the elevator, just once, wondering if it was worth trying to escape. Maybe she could get out of here after all. Maybe she could chat and explain herself to Ford and they could, if not get back together, at least be friends and partners in crime. The possibilities suddenly seemed very real.

Until reality, in the form of a Snallygaster tentacle, set her straight.

She felt the gross thing, feeling like slimy leather, sink into her leg. It didn't hurt - in fact it seemed to numb instead, as if injecting her with some kind of poison. She felt her whole leg quickly lose feeling, felt a heaviness spreading up her body that prevented her from struggling against the beast. Suddenly realized that, no matter what happened, she was dying and it was only a matter of how.

Still, even as it pulled her body across the cave floor, Pauline had enough wit and strength to wrap one arm around a rock, delaying her fate by a few moments. The creature lunged forward, infuriated, and managing to wrench another segment of its body through the passageway. Then, with her free hand, Pauline aimed her gun at the explosive on the wall.

Her last conscious thought wasn't of Ford or the files or the conspiracy or the Snallygaster or the aliens who had ruined her life. Instead, for some reason, she thought back to the last news broadcast she'd been watching before the nightmare began. The last time she was content. The last time the world, as crazy as it was, made sense.

The Snallygaster let out another shriek and unspooled another tentacle, which wrapped around Pauline's arm just as she pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Much later, Ford sat in his hotel room, dazed and exhausted, still recovering from their ordeal. Pickering watched over him warily.

"We got out of the mine just moments before the whole thing blew," Pickering explained. "Pauline must have known. She insisted that she stay and that I take you out of there."

Ford shook his head, still sore and hurting from the nightmarish experience. "Any chance she made it out?"

Pickering shook his head. "The explosion collapsed the mine and most of the building on top of it. Must have been one heck of a bomb to do that much damage. At least it was enough to bury the Snallygaster with her."

Ford sat up on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He felt guilty about her death, wishing that she'd been able to escape. But more than that, he remembered that their last conversation was an argument about his reaction to Chet's death. And he replayed that conversation in his mind.

Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe I do take things like that too clinically. But realistically, what was he supposed to do? Perhaps it was cowardly, but he would rather live to escape another day than to fight a creature to the death over a friend's corpse. Chet Wilcox was dead, and no amount of misguided vengeance would change that fact. No amount of guilt or remorse would make him live again.

But maybe he could have been a bit more compassionate, under the circumstances. Especially since it was virtually the last words that they exchanged.

"Sorry about your friend, though," Pickering said, as if reading Ford's thoughts. "I figured you guys..." He prudently left the sentence hanging.

"Thanks," Ford grumbled. "Yeah, we were together ages ago, but...well, there's been a lot of water under the bridge."

"Still can't believe she did that. She must really have cared for you."

The words struck Ford, even though it didn't seem quite right.

Did he love her? Many years ago, he thought he had. But not any more. Not even now.

Maybe he shouldn't hold such a minor lie against her. It was well-intentioned, it was trying to keep him safe. But he still couldn't stand anyone who double-crossed him, whether for good or ill, even if the end result. And while it led to a fascinating discovery, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

"I think she hated herself more than she loved me," Ford said. "She had a rough life - something happened to her as a kid that ruined her, made her perpetually miserable, and she never got over it. I tried to help her as best I could, but..." He sighed. "I wasn't good at it. In fact, someone like me...I was probably the worst thing that could have happened to her."

And that, more than what had happened in the mine, was what he really regretted.

"Hmm." Pickering wanted to comfort his acquaintance, but didn't know him well enough to say much of anything.

"Well, anyway..." he said, reaching into his jacket. "We did get something from that whole mess."

He pulled out a manila folder and laid it on the hotel table. Ford was still too exhausted to get up, but he leaned forward in interest.

"Got a chance to look it over once we made it back here," Pickering said, pulling out the first sheet of paper and handing it to Ford. "Remember the cataloging data on that file we were looking at down in the mine? Well, this is a directory of all the storage sites throughout the country. Looks like there's at least forty of them."

Ford read the document, which indeed listed further "sites" with code names - invariably French words, or names, some of them crossed out or annotated.

"Surprised it isn't encrypted in any way," he said, handing the paper. He was too tired to give it more than a cursory glance for now.

"Might well be," he said. "Those French words certainly don't make any sense, beyond I suppose their historical significance. I'll have a friend of mine take a look at it."

"Can you leave a copy with me?" Ford asked. "Or at least some of them? I'll take them back home and give them a look. One of my friends," he said, thinking obliquely of Dipper, "is good at this kind of thing."

Pickering nodded. "I'll try and make you a copy before I take off. I have to go back to DC and report to my boss before doing anything else. But at least we can take some steps in the right direction."

Ford nodded, daunted at the prospect of where to even begin investigating such a massive project.

"Do you need anything?" Pickering asked. "Should I take you to a doctor or the hospital or something like that?"

"I should be fine," Ford insisted, laying his head back on the pillow. "Just give me an aspirin and I'll sleep it off. Unless there's some kind of after-effect from the scream, I'll be all right."

"I hope so," Pickering said. "Sorry I wasn't much help back there..."

"Are you kidding?" Ford said. "I'd have been dead in that cave if it wasn't for you. Besides, you aren't the first person to lose his cool when faced with a giant cryptid."

"Well, be that as it may..." Pickering said. "I'm gonna go back to my apartment. I've got a safe, a gun and a triple-locked door, so everything should be secure there. Maybe you can stop by before you leave?"

"How about tomorrow?" Ford said, his eyes still closed. "I feel like I need at least 12 hours of sleep before I'm back to normal."

"Fair enough," Pickering said. "I'll leave you alone for now, and...I look forward to working with you."

Pickering exited without further acknowledgment from Ford. Once he was alone, his fatigue fought with the thoughts swimming through his head.

Did he trust Pickering? Pickering, after all, had lied to him, too. But he didn't feel the same sense of betrayal as he did with Pauline, and could almost forgive the man given his job and what he was doing.

Still...he had to tread carefully. He'd dealt with the government more times than he cared to recall, and had to remember that their motives were rarely (try never) pure, and only accidentally in league with yours. He would have to keep a wary eye on the investigator and only cooperate as far as seemed safe. But for now, he was willing to give him benefit of the doubt.

Besides, once Ford was back in Gravity Falls, he'd have the Mystery Team. Stan and McGucket, and Dipper and Mabel, and their friends and associates whom he knew he could trust, who would have his back no matter what. Who could pool their talents and resources to unravel this project, as they'd done so many times in the past. Even if it seemed far more daunting than anything.

Still, what was a massive national conspiracy after he'd traveled across the Multiverse? That thought had kept him going through a lot over the past few years. He certainly wasn't going to stop now.

Ford had just about nodded off to sleep when he heard his hotel phone ring. He picked it up, surprised, figuring it was the front desk.

"Hello, Professor Pines," a familiar voice intoned on the other end. "Surprised you made it out of the mine, and not entirely a pleasant surprise. Well, hopefully you realize how serious all of this is. I'd strongly advise you, for your own good, not to go any further. We'll be listening."

After the voice cut out, he heard Pauline's familiar voice from a phone call earlier that week.

"Ford, I can't believe it's you! Hey listen, I've got a mystery..."

And Ford hung up, then disconnected the phone. Before he could fully absorb the call or worry about what it meant, he was fast asleep.

THE END

Author's note: Thanks to everyone for reading this, especially Mr. Easley and Scarve for your reviews, advice and encouragement! This story was unusually tough to write, mostly because it's set up for a story arc to come, but I'm reasonably happy with how it turned out. Should have a new story soon!