#Preventing Unauthorized | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 91 of Bill Cipher, still in drag as a Normal Human, getting an unusual amount of unsupervised time outside of the Mystery Shack: Agent Powers very seriously pursues the truth behind what happened last summer.

Meanwhile, the other agents very goofily pursue the truth behind what happened last summer.

Lookit'em go.

Meanwhile meanwhile, Bill faces down the metaphorical specter of his own dying legacy.

####

Ford paced across the ritual chamber, reading and re-reading the script Bill had handed him, stroking his chin in concentration.

Bill watched him from the Blind Eye's favorite brainwashing chair, one ankle hooked over the other knee in a figure 4, hands laced behind his head. "I know the script's a little hammy, but you saw those recordings! This is genuinely how these guys talk, I promise!"

"No no," Ford said. "The script's fine. It's just—I've never played a villain before. I need to get in character."

"Oh, you nerd!" Bill rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "This is a big DD & More D session to you, isn't it!"

"Of course not. DD & More D's RPG system is far better suited to swords & sorcery than cloak & dagger."

"You know what I mean."

Ford was fighting to prevent a giddy smile from breaking out across his face. "I assure you, I'm taking this completely seriously."

"Ha! Sure. You're lucky you're behind the camera, that face would ruin the performance," Bill said. "At least it's an improvement over that scowl you always give me." Slightly deflated, he said, "Yeah, that scowl."

"We shouldn't waste time. Should we...?" Ford gestured to the wrist straps on the chair.

"Ha! I don't trust you that much." Bill held his hands behind his back, wrists crossed. "Just pretend I'm tied up, it's fine."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"What's that supposed to mean."

"I'm not an actor. You're a liar but you're not an actor either. We're missing the chanting chorus the cult leader usually has when he does this. We need every tool we can get to make this look convincing."

"Pfff!" Bill waved off Ford's worries. "Re-lax, he won't suspect a thing. Guarantee it."

"Are you sure he's dumb enough to buy this?"

####

Powers sat on the floor, staring into space, as he reevaluated everything he knew about this town.

####

"It's like that goat can teleport," Trigger grunted, trying to get between a couple of trees. "How did it get all the way—?" He tripped over a fallen tree hidden beneath a blanket of ferns and crashed to the ground with a yelp.

Dale leaped over the log, offered Trigger a hand, and said, "Maybe the trees are messing with the radar?"

Trigger brushed some leaves out of his hair. "Where's it say it is now?"

"About twenty feet..." Dale pointed. "That way."

They looked.

Gompers was stood staring over a thick bush at them. Tauntingly.

"Ah-ha!" Trigger ran for him; Dale followed close behind, looking at his tablet. "Now we've got you!" Trigger fought through the bush forming a barrier between him and the goat. "Stay right there, you—"

He yelped as he stepped on air and lost his balance. Dale managed to stop just in time, the tips of his shoes over the edge, only for Trigger to grab his wrist and drag him down—straight into a ten foot deep crevasse that the bush had been hiding.

Gompers stood on the other side of the crevasse, looking down at them curiously.

Dale and Trigger were tangled at the bottom, stuck in a mud puddle that had been left over from the past weekend's rains. Dale groaned at the goat, "How'd you get over there?"

Trigger attempted to climb up the steep side, dislodged a sheet of dirt, and slid back down on top of Dale. "How do we get over there?"

Gompers bleated at them and took off deeper into the woods again.

####

While the agent was busy having what was no doubt a very exciting look into Gravity Falls' secret unauthorized mental health charity service, Bill decided to make a visit to that curtained-off wing of the museum he'd seen last night—the one with all the warnings against bringing a camera into the area.

It was a lot less exciting than Bill had expected. Just a display of a bunch of local Native art—hide clothes with elaborate quillwork and beadwork, jewelry made of shells and claws, stone carvings, baskets... Most of it was the kind of stuff that had been made in this area only long after the locals he'd befriended had so callously betrayed and banished him several thousand years back; only a couple of objects looked like things the people he'd known might have made, primarily the stone things. But even though most of the stuff in the room was "modern," he thought it looked too modern, not like the centuries-old works he'd expected.

The room was familiar—distantly, fuzzily familiar. As though he'd seen it in a dream.

A glance at a plaque on the wall explained why everything looked so new: most of the displayed items were replicas. This was a collection of objects that the Northwest family had stolen from tribes in the area over a hundred years ago. When the Northwest Manor had been sold to one Fiddleford H. McGucket, all objects left behind in it had conveyed, stolen artwork and crafts included—and an oil painting of the sleazy-looking Northwest who'd done a majority of the stealing, which was now hanging in the museum with a list of his known and suspected crimes and injustices displayed next to the painting. It was, Bill had to grudgingly admit, pretty funny. Kudos to whichever museum employee had thought that up.

According to the plaque, Fiddleford had contacted the nearest tribes to ask them whether they recognized anything in the Northwests' collection and to offer to return the pieces—which surprised Bill. He'd never seen Specs as the kind of guy to be particularly interested in repatriation. Most of the ill-gotten art had been gladly taken; anything that nobody had wanted, Fiddleford put in the museum; and a few artisans had even offered modern replicas of some of the items Fiddleford had returned, for public display with the artists credited.

He didn't see why this room was behind heavy curtains with half a dozen "no photography" warnings. It wasn't like these were priceless antiques at risk of degrading under flash photography; aside from the oil painting—which he doubted anyone was too precious about—everything in this room was under a decade old. So why...?

He had seen this little exhibit in a dream, he was sure of it. He tried to find the point of view he'd seen the room from. The room wasn't a perfect rectangle. It turned, L-shaped, into a little alcove. Bill wandered into the alcove—and froze when he saw his own face.

He was eyes-to-eye with the apocalyptic tapestry through which he'd watched the Northwest Manor's great hall for decades: black sky, red inferno, dead trees, dead humans, dying survivors, and above it all Bill's eye shining blood red like the sun hidden behind wildfire smoke. Another: the odd spaceship-shaped gap in the mountains around the town, and Bill—bright yellow against a deep red sky—framed by the gap as though his eye were the setting sun. And another—a pattern consisting of nothing but triangles with eyes, the geometry unusual for art in this region—and another—Bill surrounded by blue lightning, probably a distorted remembering of the unsuccessful redwood portal—and another, another...

Six tapestries in all, of varying sizes. These weren't replicas. Each showed varying degrees of age—broken quills, frayed edges, fading dye, the grime of an article centuries old that had been poorly cared for—but they were all centuries old. The tributes to him made during his long absence: the echoes of a millennia-old generational trauma memory.

The tapestries weren't all that was contained in this little alcove. He forced himself to break eye contact with himself to look at the other items on display. Photographs of several cave paintings—the zodiac, the ritual to summon Bill, the prophecy of his defeat. A few small carvings of his face in stone and wood. Spear tips with his face carved in them, broken due to the way a hollowed-out eye compromised the structural integrity of the stone. And—one of Mabel's blankets, sitting innocently behind a glass case. He stared at it in amazement. Who would have imagined that he'd find a little shrine to himself, right in the middle of the Gravity Falls Museum nearly a year after his death?

On the blanket, his eye had been crossed out with an X of black electrical tape. Bill's blood ran cold.

He forced himself to look at the tapestries again. Some of the quills were broken with age, yes; but someone had also taken a sharp knife and sliced two neat, clean lines across his eye in each of the tapestries, almost invisible except for a few of the broken quills that now bent out of place. The geometric pattern of triangles had been so criss-crossed with slashes that it was amazing it hadn't disintegrated.

His eyes darted over the rest of the objects, studying them more closely. The stone and wood depictions of his face—all freshly re-carved into, X'es covering the eyes. Where he'd first assumed the spear tips had broken with age, he could now see how they'd all been snapped neatly, precisely in half. In the photographs from the cave, he could see his eyes had each been covered by a red spray-painted X. The summoning ritual had also been defaced: apparently not content with painting over it, someone had fully scraped the ritual off of the cave wall, leaving behind only a few missed marks.

None of these items had been defaced before. Bill had made sure that the people in the area passed on a "superstition" against damaging any images of the One-Eyed Beast. (Translation: after they'd figured out that Bill was bad news and decided to cut ties to him, he'd contacted them in their dreams—"If any of you humans even try to take out my eyes, I'll haunt you all so hard. I'll be in your nightmares, I'll be in your kids' nightmares, I'll be in your grandkids' grandkids' nightmares, do not test me!" That had been about the time the shaman locked Bill out of the valley and ensured he couldn't make good on his threat—but the superstition lingered.) He knew for a fact that some of these eyes had even been working as recently as last summer: he'd watched the Northwests' every move through those tapestries. All this damage had been done after his death.

The only item that hadn't been defaced was the blanket. The plaque: "Artist: Mabel Pines, great-niece of town heroes Stanley and Stanford Pines, age 13. Acrylic yarn, 2012. Recreation of a ritual symbol designed to defeat the Beast with One Eye. Donated by Fiddleford McGucket." He suspected this blanket got electrical tape instead of a brutal slashing as a courtesy not to the artwork's subject, but to its artist.

He read the informational plaque accompanying this anti-shrine.

These were the only items in this wing that weren't replicas—because no tribe with ancestry around Gravity Falls Valley wanted them back. (So Fiddleford had offered to return art in Northwest Manor, had he? Begged was more likely.) The plaque explained that neighboring tribes considered depictions of "the Beast with One Eye" to be cursed. "Cursed" wasn't quite the correct term, Bill knew well; but the plaque didn't leave room to expand. It kept its description as terse as possible. (After all, anybody in Gravity Falls already knew exactly why these particular items were cursed; and tourists didn't need to know.) The plaque ended, firmly, "They say they would rather forget about the Beast with One Eye."

Somebody else had scrawled underneath in red marker, "AND SO WOULD WE!"

Underneath the marker scrawl , someone had written in smaller, neat, black pen, "יִמַּח שְׁמוֹ". Yimakh shemo. May his name be erased. A death threat would have hurt less.

There were under ten humans in Gravity Falls that Bill knew had studied Hebrew. He forced himself to wrench his eyes away before he could be sure he recognized the cursive handwriting.

Behold: the legacy of the great, the godly, the All-Knowing and All-Seeing Bill Cipher. Relegated to old history, shoved disdainfully in the corner of a stupid hick town's stupid local museum, with people fighting over who has to put up with the last remnants of him. For thousands of years, the locals had been driven to preserve his memory, but it hadn't been preserved out of reverence; and from now on, it wouldn't even be preserved out of fear.

Without Bill around to pull the strings, the superstitions would fade, the myths would be forgotten, and humans would get bored with the All-Seeing Eye symbol and stop using it. Eventually, humanity's influence would wane, and another species whose culture he'd never influenced would take over; and within a few short millennia, his face would be forgotten on Earth. His face would be forgotten everywhere.

How could this have happened to him?

He glowered at the array of blind eyes staring at him from the walls.

Bill's pocket vibrated. He pulled out his phone. Ah, right, Powers. He'd almost forgotten about him completely. Ha.

Powers had texted to ask him to come downstairs. He said there was something Bill needed to see. Yeah, he bet there was.

It was certainly better than this.

####

"Hey there," Dale said, crouched on the sidewalk, voice high and soothing, "come on, this way."

Gompers stared at him distrustfully from just within the protective boundary of the forest's treeline.

Dale was holding out a slice of Greasy's cherry pie on a paper plate. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "We want to help you. You've got a little piece of plastic inside you that we need to get out... it'll probably be good for your health..."

Slowly, Gompers crept out of the forest, watching the agents warily as he approached the plate of pie.

Standing a safe distance behind Dale with his arms crossed, supervising, Trigger said, "You have quite a way with animals."

"I've always found that animals have a calming effect on me, so I've tried to cultivate a calming air in return." He looked up at Trigger. "You see, the key is respect. Mutual respect. From man to animal and from animal to man. One time I was meditating with this Tibetan monk in a dream, and—"

He turned back toward the goat. The pie was gone. Along with half the paper plate, and a chunk of his suit's sleeve.

Gompers was hightailing it down the street.

"Oh."

Trigger said, "I don't think he reciprocates your respect."

####

One of the files Powers had found was in code—he'd have to ask Goldie to take a look at it—but the other file, the one on the Memory Gun, was all in plain English; and for the past few minutes, he'd been reading through a list of adverse side-effects the Blind Eye had discovered from using the gun. Victims who had forgotten how to drive, forgotten their children, forgotten their own names... The aim of the document seemed to be to determine how to refine their wording when they programmed the gun in order to more accurately select their desired memories.

But whoever had written it seemed more concerned with the victims who remembered more than they should have.

Powers was startled by a knock on the door. He slapped the file shut. "Hello?"

"It's me." That was Goldie's voice.

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Come in, it's safe."

There was a moment of silence. "It's stuck."

"What?"

"The door. It, ah—must be... heavy?"

Huh. He crossed the room to help open it. It was a pretty heavy door, but it didn't seem stuck to him; but Goldie just swept past him with a muttered thanks. "What's this room?"

"It's—memories, I think," Powers said. "As outrageous as it sounds, it appears that a secret society stores stolen memories in this room. I've only watched a few, so far I can't figure out the pattern to who's being targeted or why, but..."

He trailed off. Goldie had drifted past the piles of memory canisters with only quick glances, drawn to the odd-looking TV-like screen at the back of the room, as if mesmerized by its glow all the way from the door. He sighed quietly. "There's... something I think you should see."

He couldn't look at Goldie while the recording played. Instead, he watched it again, staring at the past Goldie's terror and rage.

When it was over, all she said was, "Wow." Her voice was strangely flat. It was another couple of seconds before she added, "That's—pretty bad, huh."

Her reaction was underwhelming. Powers turned to look at her, puzzled.

Her expression was terrifyingly blank. There was something hard and heavy and distant in her eyes. Exhausted. Like she was just holding it together under some sort of heartbreak. She was always so animated; the change was almost scary.

He said, "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. It must be a terrible shock." He'd been too shocked to think of warning her.

The comment seemed to shake her out of some sort of trance. "It's—fine. Just gimme a sec, I..." She rubbed her eyelids with one hand. "Wow! Okay. I can handle this. It's just..." She gestured vaguely at the screen. "It's a lot to process."

He could only imagine. "Do you remember this happening at all?"

She took a long moment to answer, fingers still pressing her eyes shut. "No," she finally said. "I think I remember being here before. The room looks familiar." That explained how she'd navigated it so confidently. "But—not that. I don't know when that happened. When did that happen?"

"I think it must have been last summer."

Powers explained everything he'd found so far—the contents of the other canisters, the blueprints for the Memory Gun. Goldie had to sit on a nearby table as she processed this—elbows on her knees, knuckles pressed against each other, index fingers tapping together as she listened.

"It looks as though this 'Society of the Blind Eye' has been erasing the memories of people in town—and people who know too much about them. But I don't know why they're here or why they're doing this," Powers said. "In one of the memories, Preston Northwest mentioned a secret town founder. It might be irrelevant to whatever's happening here, but it does sound like the most important thing on any of the recordings I watched. Aside from—yours."

He sat beside Goldie. "I suspect you were a part of the bureau." It was horrifying to think—that they might have worked together and both forgotten—but...

"Yeah. It's possible," Goldie said.

"Do you remember anything that might have suggested you were part of the bureau? Something we could look up and verify?" Powers asked. "Somewhere you lived in Washington, or maybe part of your training...?"

She winced and broke eye contact with him. "Uh... no. I—I don't."

How much had she lost? Far more than just the details of the investigation she'd come to town for. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders reassuringly. She tensed, then relaxed, then leaned against him—but hardly seemed to notice he was there.

"I think something's coming back," she said, gaze faraway. "Now that I'm here... I remember being in the museum. I think I was caught by somebody wearing a hooded robe."

(Powers glanced at the carving of a robed man in front of the altar.)

"They were angry that I'd taken... some kind of map? It was square, looked really old..."

"A map!" Powers jumped up to grab the file on the Memory Gun and pulled out an odd paper he'd found sticking out of it. "Is this it?"

"That's it!" Goldie favored him with a smile, her first since he'd shown her that memory.

"It looks like gibberish, though," Powers said. "There's several partial images, but nothing clear. I don't know what to make of it."

Goldie glanced over it. "Have you tried folding it?"

He gave her a quizzical look. "Folding it how?"

She raised her hands in a shrug. "It's got creases on it. Looks like somebody's folded it before."

He'd assumed that someone had just folded it to stuff in their pocket at some point—but the creases formed an odd, precise geometric pattern of triangles and diagonal squares. Now that she mentioned it, it didn't look the way anyone would normally fold a paper. He studied the directions of the creases, folded the four corners in to meet in the middle—and a drawing of a pointing hand emerged from what had once been unintelligible lines and curves on the corners of the page. Look at that.

But now the four new corners of the image were covered in inscrutable lines of their own; maybe...? He turned the map over and repeated the process, folding the four corners into the center; and there was a new image, but it looked like a couple of different images jumbled together. "Hmm..." He stroked his chin, staring perplexed at the image.

(Next to him, Bill pressed his lips flat together to keep himself from telling Powers to unfold two opposite flaps and see what happened, come on, do a little experimenting, man. Schoolchildren made these things when they were bored in class and pretended to tell each other's fortune with them, this wasn't that complicated. But no, be patient, it was fine, it was fine, Bill had shown more tolerance for denser humans solving simpler problems than this. What kind of a muse and mentor would he be if he couldn't show a little patience with ignorant mortals? Heck, it was a tribute to Bill's personal patience and strength of character that he hadn't spontaneously combusted the entire Nightmare Realm in the process of trying to get a portal built.)

Eventually, Powers figured it out himself, unfolding the top and bottom flaps to reveal a hidden diagram: a crude graveyard with a tunnel weaving underneath, the tunnel marked with arrows pointing at it. Closing the top and bottom flaps and unfolding the left and right flaps revealed another diagram: it looked like a building floor plan, with a dotted line that led to an equilateral triangle pointed downward. He recognized the floor plan. Aside from the triangle, he'd seen the same map upstairs less than an hour ago. "This is the museum."

"Looks like it. Think it's something important?" Goldie smiled wanly. "You don't typically think of important things being left to rot in some dusty corner of a small-town museum."

"Don't you? If a small town has a museum, I'd think that's where they'd preserve the most important objects they have."

Goldie processed that silently. "Yeah," she said, voice hollow. "Maybe."

"At any rate, it was important enough to erase your mind over. Let's go."

At the door to the pneumatic tube room, Powers said, "I'll follow this map; you watch the exits and alert me if anyone's coming. We don't know who at the museum might be working for..." He turned to look at Goldie, and found she was no longer at his side. "Goldie?" He turned around.

She was storming back across the room, finger pointed like the tip of a saber at the wooden cultist sculpture. "You think you can erase me?! You think you can make the whole world forget I ever existed?!" She clawed at the wooden hood like she was trying to get her fingers into the fabric and strangle the placid-looking figure. "I bet you think you're such a hero! Defending your precious little town from the big scary monster who came here to help you! But you'll never destroy me! I'll make your skin into shower curtains! I'll—let go of me—I'll flip your electrons into positrons, I'll—"

Powers managed to get an arm around Goldie's shoulder and lead her back to the door. She spat in its blinded eye as she left.

####

While Goldie stared at a display on the town's lumber industry (Powers suspected she wasn't actually reading it), he followed the map to find a painting—an odd inclusion in a history museum. It took him a few minutes to realize it should be turned upside-down to match the shape in the map, snapped a picture, and turned his phone over to find an image of an angel.

He didn't know what to make of that; and when he asked Goldie if she could see any sort of codes or disguised messages in it, she said she couldn't. The angel appeared to be a dead end; their only other lead was the town graveyard drawn on the map.

Goldie was uncharacteristically forlorn as they returned to Powers's car and he opened the passenger door for her. As they got on the road, Powers asked, "Are... you alright?" Stupid question. "If there's anything you need..."

"Promise you'll never forget me." He could feel her eyes blazing against the side of his face, staring at him, commandingly.

He nodded. "I promise." Traffic was light; he took one hand off the steering wheel to offer to her.

She seized it firmly, like they were sealing a pact.

####

Gompers ran across the roofs of the businesses lining Main Street, jumping from rooftop to rooftop and bleating in fear as he was chased. And Trigger chased after him, just a building behind Gompers.

But Main Street wasn't very long. Gompers scrabbled over the sloped shingles of a small salon, jumped down to the flat roof of the rival barber shop next door, and found himself out of buildings. He turned around to nervously watch his pursuer.

"I've got you cornered now," Trigger said. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. Just come along quietly, and..." The roof creaked under him. "Uh oh." It collapsed under him.

He landed flat on his back in the middle of a salon. A couple of hairdressers and their customers stared at him. He sat up, looked around at them sheepishly, and said, "Afternoon, ladies."

####

The angel statue was visible through the trees even before the rest of Gravity Falls Cemetery. When they were close enough to inspect it, it was clear the angel's left hand matched the hand drawn on the map; as Powers was inspecting the hand, he accidentally bent its index finger, and the ground opened up.

Goldie elected to stand guard near the entrance, sitting on the steps, as Powers explored deeper; which was just as well, because the tunnel was apparently boobytrapped. (What in the world was the Blind Eye's budget? Hidden subterranean chambers in the museum, hidden underground tunnel in the cemetery, a memory-erasing ray gun, a poison dart trap...)

At the bottom of a steep incline, the tunnel opened up into a chamber. He expected maybe money, or stolen and forged property deeds, or even bootleg maple syrup... you never knew in this town. He didn't expect piles upon piles of crates and files with the Official United States Government Cover-Up Seal—the seal of the Bureau of Covert Investigations' parent department.

He didn't like this.

He steeled himself and began exploring the room.

####

Goldie lifted her head as she saw Powers coming up the tunnel. "Hey!" She held up one of the files they'd taken from the Blind Eye's filing cabinet. "I decoded that ciphered document you found. It wasn't even a good cipher. I think we've got the Blind Eye's address book! Names, addresses, officer titles—say, what do you think a 'secretary' does in a society that tries to erase memories? He's probably not recording meeting notes..."

She fell silent as Powers flung down a file on the step beside her. "What's that?" She picked it up. The file was titled "THE NORTHWEST COVER-UP" and stamped TOP SECRET. The cover-up seal took up most of the cover; beneath it was an X'ed out eye and the typewritten letters, "in collaboration with the Society of the Blind Eye".

"Everything about this town is a lie," Powers said.

"Everything? What do you mean?" Goldie flipped open the file, skimmed it, and frowned. "Who founded the town?"

"President. Sir. Quentin Trembley. The third. Esquire." Powers pronounced each title separately. He sat down next to Goldie; his hands were trembling. "He was a secret United States president. When he was evicted from office—he wasn't even impeached, they just kicked him out!—he fled across the country and founded This. Town." He shook his head in disbelief. If he hadn't read it himself... "This—this Trembley was an utter madman. He declared war against pancakes, appointed infants to the Supreme Court, banned pants, raved publicly about giant spiders... I'm not surprised he was ousted, he sounds like a complete lunatic."

As he spoke, Goldie's expression darkened. "Huh." But she didn't say anything else. She just stared at the cover-up file.

"Somebody decided to erase his entire existence from history. Nathaniel Northwest was named the founder of Gravity Falls in his place. He sounds like he was just as mad as Trembley was, but—he was just the village idiot, I suppose he must have been easier to control than this Trembley." Powers shook his head.

"So... what does all this have to do with the Blind Eye?" Goldie asked.

"In one of the memory canisters, I saw them discussing this cover-up with Preston Northwest—Nathaniel's descendant. He knew about the cover-up—of course he would, his family's fortune rests upon it!—but... they erased Preston's knowledge of it, too. Not only is this town the center of a cover-up to hide the fact that we once had a lunatic for a president, but also the government set up an entire secret cult to erase the memories of anyone who finds out about it... or, by the looks of things, about anything else happening in Gravity Falls that the government doesn't want civilians looking at too closely."

Powers took a shaky breath. "And that's not the worst of it."

"Oh-oh." Goldie closed the cover-up file and looked at him warily. "What's the worst?"

Powers held out a business card—bent, dusty, worn around the edges from age—that he'd found sitting next to the projector. It was his own business card. "The worst part is, I already knew about it."

####

Dale waited outside the salon, hands in his pockets. He checked his watch, then rocked back on his heels.

Trigger stepped out of the salon with frosted tips. Dale stared at him. Awkwardly, Trigger said, "Well?"

Dale nodded. "Yeah, you look nice, it's nice."

"Thanks. I've always wanted to try the look but never had an excuse," Trigger said. "Anyway—what do we do about the goat."

They started walking back to where they'd parked their car. Dale said, "In my opinion, it's time we call in the big guns."

"You mean...?"

"That's right. Animal control," Dale said. "We can set up a perimeter around town, then slowly close in. We'll tighten the net around it, and—"

Trigger clapped a hand on Dale's shoulder. He pointed down the alley they were passing.

Gompers was eating out of a spilled trash can. He looked up like a kid who'd just been caught shoplifting by two cops.

The agents exchanged a look, then lunged at Gompers.

####

When Bill got back to the shack, he owed the Pines a round of congratulations. Stan for stealing back the file on the Northwest cover-up from the police department, and for planting the papers from the case file and the threatening letter in Powers's motel room without getting caught; Mabel for the terrific forgery work on the fake map, the modifications to the cover-up file's cover, and the threatening letter itself; Ford for—well, he hadn't done a lot, but he'd been a decent actor—but on the other hand that yimakh shemo had burned up nearly all the goodwill Ford had earned last night, maybe Bill would skip thanking him; and Dipper had barely done anything, he'd just helped plant the file and the old business card in the chamber beneath the graveyard, Bill could skip thanking him too. Maybe he'd make a point of praising Soos for his chauffeuring just to rub in the fact that he was leaving Ford and Dipper out in the cold.

Thinking over his plans gave Bill something to entertain himself with while Powers clung to Bill's hand and reevaluated his entire life and career.

"I just don't... What else did I forget?" Powers asked. "I apparently forgot about the first time I learned all this... I must have forgotten you..."

"Hold on. Did we know each other before?" asked Bill, as if he hadn't planted all the clues to ensure Powers would come to that exact conclusion.

"We must have," Powers said. "You were investigating in this town, and yet I don't know you; the letter I received threatened that I might lose 'another' team member; and in your stolen memory, the Blind Eye told you that your team wouldn't remember you. I don't have a cryptologist on my team, and you're a cryptology expert. It all fits together."

Bill nodded encouragingly—yes, that was exactly what he'd wanted him to conclude.

"And there's all the other little clues that fit into place. The way you were so interested in this investigation, right from the outset. It makes sense if it was subconsciously familiar. And you think you're a visitor to town but the people here talk about you like you're a resident. They even seem to know you by two different genders... and when you told me to buy a car, you said to say that a 'Mr. Locke' sent me. You must have been communicating with people in town under two identities."

Hold on. That was dangerously close to information Powers shouldn't have. How had he found that out?

"And you know my first name," Powers went on. "Most of the BCI's field agents use code names even in the office. I've been working with Trigger since he joined, and he still doesn't know my first name. If you do..."

Bill was relieved they were back on track. He'd planted that clue on purpose. "Then we must have been close. No wonder I can't keep away from you."

Powers glanced away bashfully. (Ha! Too easy.) "And yet... I don't even know your name."

Alarm shot up Bill's spine. "What?"

"I thought 'Goldie Locke was an improbable name the first time I heard it. But, it's the exact kind of name the bureau would give a field agent. It has to be a code name."

Bill mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time for not choosing a subtler fake name. At least Powers had drawn the wrong conclusion. "Oh. Well. When you put it that way."

"Do you remember your real name?"

He hadn't prepared a backup fake name. He scrambled for another name that wasn't too masculine, too exotic, or even more fake sounding, and came up blank. "Uhhh, yyy—no."

"I wish I could help you remember it," Powers grumbled. "How much do you remember about your life?"

Bill had been deciding that since Powers asked at the museum if he remembered any verifiable biographical details (a question he should have anticipated sooner). He didn't want to say nothing, that might look too suspicious; but he didn't want to give any leads Powers could follow up on. "Not much. Faces without names, flashes of different cities I must've visited... I thought I just... had some kind of amnesia. The people in town have been nice enough to let me bum around here while I figure things out."

"At the Mystery Shack?" Powers asked. "You've been working with Stanford Pines."

Bill flinched. "I—yeah. I have." Sheesh, how did he know that?

"You didn't mention you were staying there," Powers said wryly.

Bill laughed. It came out more nervous than he'd have liked. "Yeah, well. I'm gonna come clean with you: I didn't want you to find out when I was trying to charm you into charming me out of my dress." (He was gratified to see Powers flush pink and turn away to loudly clear his throat. Bill had lost control of this conversation so fast, it was nice to know humans were still predictable in some ways.) "I mean, who wants to tell the handsome federal agent in the nice suit that you're a brain damaged bum couch-surfing in Oregon's most rickety tourist trap?"

"With all due respect, the brain damage wasn't as well-hidden as you think."

"Wh—hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Your trouble with your eyes. Issues with binocular vision are a common consequence of brain damage." (For the first time that day, Bill was suddenly hyperconscious of the way one of his overtaxed eyes was twitching as he struggled not to let it squint shut.) "And I skimmed the file on the Memory Gun. It mentioned cases of victims forgetting how to safely cross a street, how to ride a bike, how to throw a ball... I figure forgetting how to open doors falls under the same umbrella."

A chill settled over Bill. "Oh," he croaked. "Noticed that, did you. You've... been paying pretty close attention to me." Not to mention talking to someone about him.

"Of course. You're a mysterious woman. I want to learn more about you," Powers said. "We spent all day talking yesterday, and I don't think I learned anything about you except that you've been in town for a month, you have an uncanny knack for cracking ciphers, and you make very interesting culinary choices. You kept the conversation off yourself."

Bill hadn't realized he'd noticed that. Powers wasn't supposed to have noticed any of this. This was what Bill got for trying to dupe a professional investigator. Thank goodness he'd gotten him set him up on this wild goose chase before he'd really dug up too much about Bill's history. Sometimes it was easy to forget that some of this planet's idiots were smart. "Well," he said awkwardly, "now you know why. At the moment, I don't have much I can tell you about myself."

Powers gave Bill a wan, sad smile. "It'll be alright," he said, sliding a reassuring arm around Bill's shoulders, and Bill realized more of his panic must be showing on his face than he'd wanted. "We'll fill in the gaps."

That was just what he was afraid of.

For the first time, the arm around Bill's shoulder felt less like a piece of a puzzle slotted into the proper place—all according to plan—and more like the kill bar of a mousetrap that hadn't yet realized a rodent was standing on the trigger.

Powers's phone rang. He picked it up, and Bill quietly sighed in relief. "Hello?"

"Sir!" That was Dale's excited voice on the line. "We got it! We've captured, extracted, and sterilized the flash drive!"

"Didn't you say it was in a goat? How did you get it out?"

"The, uhh... old fashioned way. Apparently cherry pie didn't agree with his digestive tract."

His voice a little more distant, Trigger emphasized, "Thoroughly sterilized."

"Excellent work," Powers said. "Where are you now?"

"En route to the motel."

"Very well. We'll meet you there."

Perfect, thought Bill. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he'd never have to worry about the agents learning too much again.

####

(Post-TBOB edits! Had to change the age of the items on display in the museum, since TBOB changed Bill's interactions with the shaman from being about 1000 years ago to about 4000 years ago; and since a tapestry like we saw in the Northwest Manor is unlikely to have lasted 4000 years and is made in an art style that seems to be about 1500 years old, had to make up an excuse for it to exist; in the tapestry description, added in the tapestry in Pacifica's room mentioned on TINAWDC; and I think that's it? Just minor details.

And now y'all know why a few chapters ago I had to very clearly establish the distance between Powers's team and the guys who actually know about Trembley lol.

Anyway we are MOST OF THE WAY through the exciting action! Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this week's chapter! And I mentioned it on my blog but for those of y'all that only show up for the chapters: we're switching to every other week posts for a while because working on another flashback arc ate up more of my chapter buffer than I'd like. In between weeks with new chapters, I'll be editing and posting old chapters to AO3.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #agent powers #agent trigger #(also featuring: agent dale cooper from hit tv show twin peaks!! he is not—I repeat—NOT a cheap knockoff.)#(you have to read the previous tag in stan's voice to get the full effect.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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purplepirate123 · 5 months ago

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Time for Citizens to Hit Elon with a Privacy Act Violation

Email Template

To: [email protected]

Subject Line: Civil Liberties Complaint

Hello,

I am making a civil liberties complaint under the Privacy Act of 1974, 5 U.S.C. § 552a. It has been brought to my attention that Elon Musk and his associates, under the guise of a directive of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) (an IT office in the White House), have acquired access to Treasury Department Records in Systems of Records as defined in the Act. As an individual covered by the Act, I believe that there may be records about me in these Treasury Department systems, and I am concerned for the following reasons:

Elon Musk is not an elected official.

Even if Musk were an elected official, the System of Records Notices (SORNs) governing the Treasury Department Privacy Act systems do not allow for disclosure to Musk and his associates per the Routine Uses.

Disclosure of personally identifiable information (PII) and sensitive personally identifiable information (SPII) to Musk and his associates would be an unauthorized disclosure and therefore breach of information.

The Treasury Department must (1) quickly investigate what Privacy Act records that Musk and his associates have unlawfully accessed, (2) reveal to the public what unauthorized disclosures were made, (3) stop further access, (4) force any files acquired by Musk and his associates to be returned and/or permanently destroyed, and (5) seek criminal penalties against Musk and his associates for violations of the Act.

Sincerely,

[INSERT NAME AND CONTACT INFORMATION]

Privacy Act of 1974

The spirit of this law is rooted in presidential drama and corruption. It was passed as a direct result of the Watergate Scandal which uncovered the federal government’s scheme of illegally investigating and maintaining records about individuals. So in an effort to provide transparency to the public and an assurance that the government would not misuse records about us all, the Privacy Act of 1974 was born.

Multiple unions have now filed a lawsuit against the Department of the Treasury and the Bureau of the Fiscal Service under the Privacy Act as well as other privacy laws. They are seeking a civil remedy in the form of a restraining order to prevent DOGE from accessing records. But the Act also allows for criminal penalties to be assessed. The two that could apply to Musk and his associates include:

“Any person who knowingly and willfully requests or obtains any record concerning an individual from an agency under false pretenses shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and fined not more than $5,000.” 5 U.S.C. § 552a(i)(3).”

“Any officer or employee of any agency who willfully maintains a system of records without meeting the notice requirements of subsection (e)(4) of this section shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and fined not more than $5,000.” 5 U.S.C. § 552a(i)(2).”

The first applies to Musk accessing Privacy Act records from the Treasury Department under false pretenses of carrying out official government duties.

The second could apply if Musk creates a system of records in the DOGE office without complying with the law. For example, if he began using his IT office role to create records about individuals in the government or who receive government assistance, that would be a violation. It is very likely we will need to demand an investigation into DOGE and what they have on US citizens, too.

Email the Treasury Department today with the template up above. We deserve to have our privacy protected, and some loser who isn’t even from this country shouldn’t be allowed to stomp all over our rights.

ELON MUSK IS STAGING A COUP AT THE US TREASURY!!! He has not right to be there, no authorization for what he's doing, no oversight. AND THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA IS INSTEAD FOCUSING ON DICKFACE'S INSANE GAZA COMMENTS.

Write emails. Call your senators. ALSO, TODAY, MARCH. Every Us capital city in every state. And if you can get to DC or are in DC, hit the streets.

#stop musk #us treasury #elon musk #us politics #coup #american politics #DO NOT LET THEM DISTRACT YOU #HE HAS OUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBERS #HE HAS OUR USER DATA #HE HAS OUR BANK ACCOUNT INFORMATION #resist #march #protest #stop him

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dailyfinancial · 3 months ago

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Did You Know? Your WhatsApp Could Be Accessed from Multiple Devices

“Worried about unauthorized access to your WhatsApp? Learn how to check for suspicious activity, log out from all devices, and secure your account with our 2023 guide. Protect your privacy with expert tips on WhatsApp security, two-step verification, and more. Stay safe online!” With over 2 billion users worldwide, WhatsApp is one of the most popular messaging platforms. However, its widespread…

#how to check WhatsApp login #log out WhatsApp from all devices #secure WhatsApp account #unauthorized WhatsApp access #WhatsApp account compromised #WhatsApp hacking prevention #WhatsApp privacy tips #WhatsApp security #WhatsApp two-step verification #WhatsApp Web security

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netincomesource · 5 months ago

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Understanding the “Bridgepointe PUS San Mateo, CA” Charge on Credit Card Statement

If you’ve spotted a charge labeled “Bridgepointe PUS San Mateo using your credit card CA” on your credit card statement, you’re not alone. Report the unauthorized charge if you notice discrepancies or unauthorized charges. By reviewing your transaction details should be reviewed to check the charge.s, you can ensure the legitimacy of the charge. Many people wonder what this charge on your credit…

#credit card issuer #credit card statements #credit card tips #dispute charges #financial safety #fraud prevention #merchant contact #monitoring tools #transaction alerts #unauthorized charges

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fanfictionlibrary01 · 2 months ago

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AO3 Data Scraped for AI Training Dataset

What is happening, and what you can do. Check for potential edits with additions at the end of the post!

What is happening? What do we know?

A user going by "nyuuzyou" on the HuggingFace platform uploaded a dataset a few days ago - containing scraped content from AO3. HuggingFace is a very popular platform and widely used for sharing machine learning and AI models/datasets. The scraped dataset includes fics, fanart, and other fanworks - all taken without permission and intended for use in training gen AI models. You can find more information in this Reddit post.

This dataset is one of several compiled from various websites—at least seven in total. While two datasets have been removed, the AO3 one was only disabled on HuggingFace. This means that it’s not downloadable at the moment but still visible. It may also return if takedown efforts end up being challenged/reversed by that user.

Key Details

Scope: On AO3, all content with work IDs between 1 and 63,200,000 has been targeted. The work ID is the number at the end of a work's URL — for example, in https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345678, 12345678 is the work ID. You can find it by simply opening the work and checking the URL in your browser’s address bar. So, if your work falls in that range and is publicly accessible (i.e., not locked and open to everyone, including guests), it’s mostly likely included in the dataset. This dataset is currently disabled on HuggingFace, but that doesn't mean it's gone. It's only a temporary takedown as of now.

Takedown notices have been issued, but this user has also uploaded the dataset to other sites after backlash and partial removal.

There are talks in the discussion forums of potentially moving this dataset to Telegram, torrents, and/or other private channels.

HuggingFace AO3 dataset page

Other distributed sites listed here (as per a Reddit comment)

Currently deleted from ModelScope

What can you do?

Should the dataset return again and you see that your work was affected: file your own DMCA or copyright takedown notice. The uploader, in their own words, "has not agreed to take down the entire repo. At this time, the scraper has agreed with taking down art from the person who owns the copyright. That means each of you will need to request a takedown."

Instructions and a sample CSV template to list your work IDs for removal are provided in this guide. You can find more details in this announcement by PaperDemon.

Lock your works! It would limit visibility to registered users only, and is a very good step to prevent scraping or unauthorized use. To lock all your works on AO3, go to “My Works,” click “Edit Works,” and select all. Then click “Edit” and check the box labeled “Only show to registered users.” Scroll down and click “Update All Works” to apply the change.

⚠️ | Final Notes:

This user has so far shown no signs of stopping and is continuing to redistribute the data across multiple sites, even after numerous takedown requests (read more here). So, we can only recommend to be cautious and beware, lock your works, feel free to make use of takedown notices if you're unfortunately affected, and spread the word to fellow creators.

Follow up on this and get the latest updated in the Fanfic Communities Network (FCN) Discord Server!

If you have more information regarding this - e.g. if works from other sites are affected too - please reach out to us in the FCN!!

Edit (2025-04-26):

The user who has scraped the works has, upon request by another person, posted a way to convert ao3 json to markdown:

https://huggingface.co/datasets/nyuuzyou/archiveofourown/discussions/170

https://gist.github.com/nyuuzyou/b2f83669ad80a22e435728245ebcdf9f

This shows us that nyuuzyou continues to show no signs of taking down the scraped works.

Edit (2025-04-28):

A user warned that even archive-locked AO3 fics were included in a scraped dataset (most likely taken while the scraper was logged in, before they were banned or switched to public-only access). Some public works were missed as well:

https://huggingface.co/datasets/nyuuzyou/archiveofourown/discussions/213#680fcdb76d9e022324a70cf1

Edit (2025-05-03):

Hey everybody, this is a bit late, but the AO3 dataset has been permanently removed from HuggingFace: https://huggingface.co/datasets/nyuuzyou/archiveofourown. While this unfortunately doesn’t prevent it from being shared elsewhere (like torrents) nor does it guarantee any deletion of past downloads and whatnot, having it taken down from a major platform like HF is still a significant step forward. (There is more info about other sites on PaperDemon.)

So please don’t be disheartened—every action counts, and this shows that pushing back and filing DMCAs and copyright notices as appropriate does make a difference. We’ll certainly keep an eye out for more info and post updates here, but thank you again to everyone who helped report, spread the word, or supported the effort. Keep reading, keep writing. ♥️

#fanfiction #community #discordserver #fanfiction community #theft #ao3 works being stolen #fanfic theft #fanfiction stealing #ao3

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kenobiwaned · 3 days ago

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At your tags. The editing out of Beren and Lúthien from Elrond and Finrod's stories! Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Thinking about inputting Maedhros in all of this, cause I'm a glutton for punishment. It would definitely involve the total erasure of all family ties. Family supercedes all for Maedhros and it has driven him to do some heinous things. I think he did them all knowing that he was doing wrong but telling himself that he would do anything to save his family from the consequences of Oath. Since they probably didn't know if failing to fulfill it would condemn their spirits to the Void or not.

So yeah. I think in Sauron's messed up fantasy. He would have to erase all family loyalty. Maybe something along the lines of either:

"Yes, Mairon. I have seen the light! My family were just burdening me. My mother abandoned me, my father cursed me with the oath and left me to deal with it's fallout after he died, my brothers betrayed me. Fingon maimed and USED me to make himself feel special/important. He led me into danger! You're the only one who really cares about me. Thank you for giving me the use of both my hands and for the pretty golden shackles bracelets that will prevent anyone from lopping them off. I totally love having all the gnarly scars that you gave me again."

Given that is a lot of hoop-jumping for even Sauron, that two of his "darlings" living in close proximity are family (Celebrimbor and Elrond), and that Maedhros has that pesky Fëanorian stubborness. Sauron could just totally blank-slate him. Take away all of his memories "to relieve him of all the pain and burden" of the past.

If it's the second option. Sauron keeps Fingon alive so that he can relish how much it hurts Fingon to have Maedhros look at him with a total lack of recognition. And so that he can gloat: "The only person who you were able to trick into thinking you were special doesn't even know your name now."

I was staring in delight at @kenobiwaned tags because YES. That was what I was going for (I actually described it in the replies as ‘I wanted it be so loving and tender - gentle loving banter, a family day except the Uncanny Fucking Valley Horror’) - that Sauron is taking everything from them out of a desire to ‘keep them/keep them safe’ and it really is like - a golden cage is still a cage quote because no matter how Sauron moulds it to himself he’s still chaining them and who they are away.

(Also the things that happened to the people they loved here are AAAGH),

#gold cages #if it's the first option he gives fingon the thangorodrim treatment on Mt. Doom #with lots of nazgul patrols and advanced locking system to prevent any unauthorized jail breaks

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typewritingyip · 11 days ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Eight - Conversation

Part Forty Seven

TW: Mention of Homophobia/Homophobic Tones

———

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was an official United States military policy, issued in December 1993 and put into effect in February of 1994. It was a policy designed to “prevent” discrimination against closeted homosexual or bisexual service members of the varying branches, while barring openly homosexual civilians from service.

This act prevented any non-heterosexual person from discussing or disclosing their sexual orientation or any same-sex relationships, while serving in the United States armed forces. If such discussions were had or disclosed or actions were taken by the service member, they would be separated from the military service.

The only time this was prevented is if the conduct was to avoid service or if it was deemed in the best interest of the military.

For the term, don’t ask, it was a section of the act specifically depicting the policy that superiors not initiate investigations for a service member without witnessing the banned behaviors. If evidence was deemed credibly however, it could be perused. The term became expendaed after multiple unauthorized investigations took place, turning into “don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t pursue, and don’t harass.” Which of course was just as effective.

It wasn’t until July of 2011 that the policy was repealed by the then president, secretary of defense, and chairmen of the joint chiefs of staff. Though the legal challenges started in the early 2000’s, the actual legislation to repeal DADT was enacted in December of 2010.

DADT ended in September of 2011.

Even with DADT repealed, there were further standing issues with the standing Defense of Marriage act, which meant that although same-sex partners were no longer banned, their marriages would not be recognized by the military or federal government.

They would not have access to the same benefits as heterosexual couples, whether health care, military pay, family separation allowance, and basic allowance for housing if they had dependents.

It wasn’t until 2013 that it was replaced with the Respect for Marriage Act, which went into regulation in June of 2013. Wither further arguments at the state and federal level continuing into 2015.

Arcturus One launched July 10th of 2013.

—

It had been hours, long and painful hours of strategizing, which was far from his strong suit. Instinct, working with instinct was his normal but being in the room with basically the leaders of their planet was far from instinctual to him.

Even when he was in the military, he hadn’t risen through the ranks, or even tried to. Before all this Arcturus mess, he wasn’t a leader of people. Far from it. Being a hunter class had been as solo as it could get, no observer in his ear and no mission control in his interface. Even when he became a striker, he usually cut his audio to them.

Fighting on pure instinct was what he always did and working that into the plan was at least helpful, “It’s reckless,” “It’s how the humans seem to operate Optimus, just leave them to their business. They’ll listen to orders when they are thought out.” Megatron’s voice had a strange tone that almost made Hound grin.

He was desperate for water when they finally left the office, sighing as he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and grabbing his water pouch to drink from. Taking several gulps before sighing, the suit's hand resting in front of his face as if blocking out the light thankfully. He could see eyes on him though.

Taking one more drink, he sighs slowly, “Raj’, just cause my eyes are closed doesn’t mean I can’t tell you’re there.” The near choking sound almost made him laugh, almost, “Hound, you realize how terrifying that is, right?” That made him smile, setting down the water pouch, he lets his arm hang when he opens his eyes.

They land on where Mirage appears, invisible one moment to in front of him the next, smiling stupidly at him. It made his skin crawl in an unfamiliar way, not dissimilar to how his so-called field felt to him.

“How’d the meeting go?” And that sinking feeling was back, shrugging some, Hound turned and started toward the exit. Mirage fell in next to him, walking by his side. Shaking his head a bit, Hound sighs again, “About as good as it could have, I think Breakdown is going to be moved to another unit, work under Joan.” Mirage chuckled.

To be fair, it was an inside joke among the humans, mostly. But Mirage, Prowl, and Bluestreak had heard it too many times to not know.

Nodding his head, Mirage shrugged, “I guess Knockout made his voice heard. Doesn’t want to be near you or have Breakdown near you either.” Wincing, Hound sighed, “God, you threaten a guy's life once, huh?” Snorting with laughter, Mirage covers his mouth and shakes his head, “Hound, when did you get so funny?” Smiling a bit, he shrugs and starts walking, “Always have been, there have just been translation errors.” Mirage quickly catches up, his hand finding its familiar resting spot on his back, “Hey, where are we going?” Sighing a bit, Hound shrugs, “Probably home.” With a glance, his visor brightens slightly.

Mirage was smiling softly, walking with him, “So that I can get repainted before we ship back out.” He turns away, continuing through the halls.

Headquarters was still quiet, though there was evidence of people having passed through in the hours since arriving. Everything having seemed to be cleared or brushed off, new scuffs on the floor from people walking and the light shifted through the windows without reflecting on the previously shined surfaces.

“It might be a bit before we go off world, since yesterday, but I will say it will be a relief to see you in green again.” Mirage’s voice was soft and it made Hound shudder slightly, shifting a bit, chuckling weakly, “Yeah, I know I look like the dead walking.” Shaking his head a bit, Mirage shifts his grip slightly as they step into the sunshine, “It’s not about that. You look plenty alive now, with or without the paint, but I like the green.” His throat tightened.

Glancing around, nearly desperately, the line from earlier was gone and it was the perfect distraction, “Where did the people go?” Frowning slightly, he hardly glanced at Mirage, “The ones from the attack.” Humming, Mirage looks over and nods slightly, “They’ve all probably been moved to a new building already, it doesn’t take long to move that many mecha, it was probably under fifty.” Nodding slowly, Hound’s hands flex uncomfortably.

Tightening his fists, he sighs slowly, “So, your kind’s population is truly that small?” Chuckling, Mirage shrugs, “We are certainly more than fifty, but not very many. We lost a fair bit during the war but our people were never many. Not like what your kind seems to have, right now the city's population stands around seven thousand or so.” Nodding slowly, Hound sighed deeply, “For a city so large, the population is so small.”

Chuckling a bit, Mirage shakes his head, “One of us takes up a lot of space, I’m surprised that the five of you can stand to fit into your hab.” He nearly came to a full stop, the apartment was huge, but if he were actually the size of his suit, it would still be pretty comfortable, “Uh, well, it’s more space than we’d usually have on Earth. By a lot.” Mirage smiles and looks at him before slowing.

His hand flexed slightly on Hound’s back, “How many people live on your planet again?” Sighing, Hound looks at the sky briefly, “Somewhere between five and six billion, I think.” It was always such a weird thing, watching the color drain from Cybertronian’s faces, like when humans would go pale.

”And you’ve lost a billion in thirty years?” Nodding again, Hound sighs, “We can’t save everyone, those who aren’t pilots are a lot more fragile, breakable.” He didn’t know how else to describe it, his throat tightening slightly. Mirage hummed, looking down, “We lost under a hundred thousand in nearly a million years. Now we stand at just thirty-five thousand strong and haven’t had more than fifteen unnatural deaths in a thousand years of peace.” Hound stared.

Struggling for words, he gulps slightly, “Wow.” Sighing, Mirage nods a bit, “Yeah, a staggering difference there, huh?” With a hum, Hound turned down the street towards the apartment.

They walked in silence for the next few minutes, until they came up on a bench, “Let’s sit out here for a bit, I think your apartment would be a bit claustrophobic.” He wanted to argue, to mention how tired he was, even the pain that Sunny was going to help him with but slowly they sat.

Iacon moved by easily, other people walking around, some driving, as if the city hadn’t been attacked the day before. As if he hadn’t just heard that their shields for the city had some sort of fault, as if Prowl and Soundwave were showering through alien information to know what was happening.

Sitting back, Hound closes his eyes and sighs slowly. Mirage shifts his weight next to him, resting a hand on his knee, the knee of his suit. Gulping, Hound opens his eyes and looks over, “I actually wanted to talk to you before you disappeared again.” His heart sank.

—

Jazz and Breakdown were the last ones up and they both woke up to the smell of fresh paint wafting in under the door, disturbing them both enough to wake them up.

Sunny was still out of his suit, but was working on his brother's mech, while Sideswipe was eating in the greenhouse. Helmet on and an oxygen mask covering his face, he was spraying carefully. It was a tool kit he’d brought with him, but the paint was from Cybertron, its makeup was rather odd.

Not really thicker than any paint from Earth, but it was odd, the layer was more opaque than typical auto body paint from Earth but the color was nearly perfect. A stunning hot rod cherry red. It shined brighter than the paint back home would, as if he were applying the top coat with it. This would buff to a near painful shine.

Setting down the sprayer, he wipes his hands on his pants with a grin, each piece disconnected from the suit with the engineered ease and they were taking the paint like sand would absorb water. Smiling, he steps back to admire it, the paint didn’t have any of that glitter in it either, though there were apparently ones you could buy with it but he was glad that Bluestreak knew him well enough to not get that.

Most of the paints and waxes had been bought by Blue for him, though some of them he’d chosen. When he’d learned about waxes, he’d bought several while using his suit to scan them for general structure. He’d returned a few rather quickly after smelling them though.

Sighing, he steps back to admire the work when the door to the bathroom opens behind him, “Oh god, it reeks of paint in here.” Turning, Sunny grinned at Jazz, and Jazz laughed, “You know, you look nuts with that stuff covering your head.” Nodding a bit, he lifts his sprayer with a wicked grin, “It’s for my protection, so I don’t die from inhaling this crap.” Nodding a bit, Jazz crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

”Are you working on just your brother's suit right now?” Shaking his head a bit, he turns and hefts one of the sections of plating, “Nope, I’m doing all the red detail work. I’m trying to figure out all our numbers, since I don’t have a stencil.” He shoves the piece upright and holds it for Jazz to see.

With a smile, Jazz tilts his head slightly, “You really think we still need that? It’s not like the public needs to identify the suit or even the pilot in the suit anymore.” Shrugging a bit, Sunny shifts it back down carefully, “I don’t know. I’ve always put the numbers back on peoples suits. If you don’t want it, I can sand it back down.” Stepping away from the pieces, he tilts his head a bit.

Jazz moved over and sighed slowly, “Keep em’. We’re still human in there.” Smiling and nodding, he looks over, “You think the others will still want theirs too?” Jazz rubs a hand over his implants, sighing deeply, “I think we’re all too beat to have to think about it.” His heart clenched painfully, nodding a bit.

Walking back over to pick up the paint sprayer, he holds it carefully in his hands, “The last time a building fell on me was the day my mom died. Caused my dad to die too.” His voice shook lightly and he gripped the sprayer, “Sides was at school but he always took it really hard, that’s why I’m trying to get his done first. Uh, I always felt more at home in the suit than not.” Jazz slowly nodded.

He took a step closer, “And?” Sighing shakily, Sunny nodded a bit, “It was ten years ago this year that it happened. I just… I didn’t realize how much it wouldn’t faze me.” His voice grew quieter, “I mean, yeah, my fucking parents died and I was reliving that trauma today but do you want to know what was the worst part of all of this?” He turned to Jazz, who nodded and his voice caught in his throat.

How do you even go about describing it?

”Sunny,” Sighing again, he nodded, “The worst part of yesterday was how freaked out I was when Blue wasn’t there, watching my back. I never realized till then that I have literally never fought these things alone. Not like you, not like Hound. I’ve always had someone there, then with only one of my bracers,” He gulps for air desperately, “I felt helpless. Useless. And was stuck in a repeating loop of it all.” Carefully, Jazz’s hand rested on his shoulder.

Jazz took a breath, “Welcome to the realization.” Blinking slowly, he shook his head a bit, “What realization?” Smiling a bit, Jazz shrugged, “That your human. Even in a giant robotic suit, you're human at the core of it.” Jazz’s finger gabbed into his chest, “Not everything can be solved by being in a big suit. Having a giant robot at your back who’d lay down their life for you is one of the most relieving things there is out here but we’re not on Earth, this isn’t our home turf. Yet, we still throw ourselves at everything that comes for us and them, but we’re human.” His smile was relieving.

Nodding slowly, Sunny takes a slow breath and shifts his hold on the paint sprayer, “How’d you figure that out?” Jazz shrugged a bit and turned toward the door, “When Prowl found out I was organic, it’s cause I was almost in the crash, I was dying and he saved me. Only one who could have.” Opening the door, he glances back, “Not everything can be solved by being in a suit Sunny, having someone you trust at your back isn’t a weakness until you let it be.” The door swished shut behind him.

Sighing slowly, Sunny moves over and picks up the canister of white paint next, detaching the red paint canister. His hands shook lightly.

Of course he was human, but maybe since coming here he’d tried to forget that.

—

Mirage was smiling, softly, stupidly at him.

God, this was probably the weirdest his life had ever gotten. Meeting with the leaders of a free society and having one of the most stunning things in the universe smiling at him like this wasn’t painfully awkward.

Clearing his throat a bit, he tried to smile, brightening his visor slightly, “I wasn’t planning on disappearing. So, what do you want to talk about?” Shifting a bit, he leans back against the bench. Mirage nodded slightly and cleared his throat, trying to maintain his smile.

”You saved my life yesterday.” Trying not to roll his eyes, Hound moved to get up, “I was doing what I do,” Mirage grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the bench, “No Hound, listen.” Slowly sitting back down, he sighed and nodded a bit.

Keeping hold on his arm, Mirage nodded and still held his soft smile, “You saved my life, you found me in the rubble and dug me out even when no one else would have been able to see me. Not even Jazz and I thought he was the freakiest person for the longest time, cause he nearly always knew I was there. You always know.” Carefully, Hound rested his hand over Mirage’s.

Nodding a bit, he shrugged a bit, “Yeah, well, I’m sure I could find you just about anywhere.” His tone was flat, honest, and Mirage grinned, “Exactly. You can find me anywhere, when no one else can.” He stopped and took a breath, “When I was down in the under-layer, I could hardly think straight. My mind was wandering in every direction but it kept coming back to you.”

Wherever this was heading, Hound didn’t think it was anywhere good as his heart clenched painfully, “Mirage,” “Hound, you’ve worked your way into my spark without even realizing it.” Blue hands took his grey and held them, “You can find me across a battlefield even when I’m invisible, you find me and you protect me without a second thought.” Mirage’s smile was bright, blinding and made Hound’s heart ache.

“You’ve saved me just as many times as I’ve saved you in the incredibly short time we’ve known each other.” Hound’s throat tightened again, shifting his hands in Mirage’s hold which tightened.

“I’ve survived a million years of war, the fall of my caste and kind, and haven’t realized that all I have wanted in this life is for someone to see me when no one else could.” Hound tried to pull away, even as his heart thudded against his ribs, “Mirage, I’m only human.” And Mirage smiled, nodding, “I know.”

His hands held tightly to Hound, even as Hound pinged anyone in the apartment desperately, “That’s what you humans seem to do, just find us and work yourselves into our sparks. You might be stupid and reckless to a fault, but you’re brave and willing to lay down your already short life for so many.” Mirage’s fingers brushed over the back of his hands.

The back of his suits hands.

Finally able to pull back when he got a ping, he stood, “Let’s go inside, talk inside, everyone should be asleep or just, yeah.” He nodded, almost offering a hand but instead standing slightly stiffly. Nodding slowly, Mirage stands and follows him into the building.

The elevator ride was one of the most awkward in his life, both of them shifting around like two teenagers trying to figure out how to speak. Hell, it’s how he felt right now.

Stepping out of the elevator, they walked to the apartment in silence until Hound unlocked the door and stepped inside.

No one was in the living room, all the doors to other spaces were closed, gulping slightly as he steps forward to let Mirage in.

“Alright,” His voice was tight and his hands were shaking lightly, “Say what you’re going to say here.” The door closes behind Mirage and he steps back slightly away from the mech.

Mirage frowned a bit, “Hound, are you alright?” Shaking his head a bit, he sighs shakily, “Honestly? No, because right now you sound like a love struck idiot trying to confess and that’s terrifying.” Mirage smiled a bit and shrugged, “Yeah well, that’s what I sound like in that situation.” Shaking his head again, Hound starts to pace.

”God,” He takes a breath and looks to Mirage, “What you feel for me is barely legal on Earth, Mirage. Me being a part of the military makes all of this conversation illegal.” The soft look on Mirage’s face vanished, his face turning hard, “Damn your world.” And he marched over and took hold of Hound’s face.

The face of his suit.

Holding his face, Mirage stared at him, trying to stare into his soul, “Hound, being a pilot does not mean you should not be allowed to love.” His heart was in his throat, “It’s, it’s not love that is specifically illegal Mirage. Not even love for pilots, but love between those deemed the same sex. Talking about it.” Blinking at him, Mirage frowned a bit.

He even tilted his head like Hound usually did, “That didn’t translate.” Groaning, Hound pulled away, desperate for space and started to pace, “Love between people with the same build, similar frame, one between mechs or femmes, not one of each.” Mirage chuckled slightly, shaking his head a bit, “There aren’t enough femmes for that to ever work here.”

Everything in him screamed to try and put his head through the wall, “Yeah, well on Earth were pretty evenly split.” His hands were shaking again, struggling to breathe before he started to strap his oxygen mask on, “Mirage, you can’t love me.” And Mirage stared.

Shifting forward, Mirage lightly took his arm, “Why? Why not? Because your government has deemed it wrong? Because your kind seems to have some sort of strict guidelines for love?” “Because you don’t know anything about me!” Hound shook his arm off.

“I’m not gay!” His throat tightened with the fear, with the hint of a lie, the lie he’d had to uphold for years. Hiding his bi-sexuality.

Trying to stop pacing, his hands clenching at his sides briefly, “I was married before Mirage, you know this. I was married to Sarah for years, I loved her Mirage,” Jabbing at his own chest, he closes his eyes and brings his fists to his eyes gasping painfully, “I loved her so damn much and being a pilot, being me, pushed her away.” Mirage moved over slowly before resting a hand on his shoulder.

”I love you for who you are. For your past, for your future. You say I don’t know anything about you, but I know how much you care. I see your life and everything you do because of the person you are.” Shoving him off, Hound stumbled back, he was crying.

Grasping at his helmet, he struggles, “I, I am not what you think I am Mirage. God, you think I am like you.” He could feel it building to the tip of his tongue, then he got a ping from Jazz, the reassurance he needed to end this.

Mirage smiled a bit, “I think your fantastic, your kind are certainly more resilient,” He paused as Hound stills his suit and pulled the connector from his implants, hitting the cockpit opening button with his fist. It was dizzying, the sudden disconnection, pulling his microphone in front of his face and adjusting the speaker slightly.

Standing uneasily, he stepped forward and threw his arms wide, “Ta-fucking-da.” Mirage stared, blinking, eyes widening as Hound pulled himself from his suit. Using the magnets in his assistance suit to pull himself to his suits shoulder, “This is me.” And he did the stupidest thing ever, tearing off his helmet and oxygen mask.

Revealing his organic face, hair, eyes, all of it. His disheveled appearance, eyes red from crying, breath heavy. Pausing for a moment, he pulls his helmet back on and adjusts the microphone, “I actually need this to understand you.” Mirage was still staring.

Gulping slightly, he patted the suit awkwardly, “My suit is what I pilot. What we pilot are our suits. They were built to fight Quintessons, we were just… reformatted to control them.” Mirage stepped forward carefully, “So, so, you're a techno-organic?” He paused and shrugged weakly, “I guess.”

Nodding quickly, Mirage still stared, looking around, “Are, are you all this, small?” His face burned, “No, I am just short.” They both chuckled weakly.

Hound shifted a bit before sitting down, “My suit,” he patted the platting under his hand, “Is just an extension of me, now. This is just me if I were bigger.” Mirage stepped forward again and tilted his head slightly, “So, this is what I didn’t know. Is that your organic? Am I missing anything?” His mouth was dry and he shook his head a bit.

”No, I, I don’t think so. This,” He gestured to himself then to his suit, “Is me.” Mirage nodded, “What is it like, in the suit?” He nearly tripped over the word, “It’s just, me. If I were big and made of metal. I can feel some of my plating as if it were my skin, I see through its cameras like my eyes, it’s not typical for how I see and feel things.” He chuckled weakly and brushed a hand over his implants.

Still fighting back more tears, he struggled, “I’m organic Mirage, I’m small and my life expectancy is shit. Being in love with you is a crime back on Earth for me and I don’t think you love this,” he gestured to himself, “You love who you thought I was.” His eyes burned as he held back tears.

Mirage stepped forward and his hands rested on the space on the back of his suit, “You said it yourself, the suit is just a further extension of who you are. And I like who you are. You see me.” And Mirage blinked out, though Hound’s glance didn’t waver from his eyes, “Even when no one else can. Isn’t that what matters? Sure, this is weird, but we wouldn’t be the first to make it work and I doubt we’d be the last.” Mirage reappeared and extended a hand.

This was a mistake, a dire mistake, but Hound stepped forward shakily.

Carefully, almost too carefully, Hound stepped into his hold, lightly grasping at Mirage’s fingers before pushing the visor on his helmet up. That horrific buzzing. feeling returned and was joined by a strong one, “You see me Hound and now I see you. Call it even?”

Gently, Mirage helped him back to his cockpit and he shuffled in. Taking back up the connector, wincing slightly as it snaps into place.

Mirage felt the slight bit of pain rip through his field before so much of the worry in it washed away.

Closing his cockpit, his visor lit back up and he stared back at Mirage. While Mirage stared back, tilting his head in a way Hound knew was terribly familiar, “You’re you both in and out of the suit. So, are you going to accept how I feel? How I know you feel or continue to be worried about it?” Rolling his eyes a bit, Hound shook his head.

”You’re ridiculous. Even after all that—?” Mirage brought his hands down his arms and held his hands carefully, “Especially after all that. Hound, I love you, let that be enough. You're you and I love who you are, even if I still have a lot to discover.” He squeezed Hound’s hands and Hound squeezed back, even as his heart raced.

Stepping forward, Hound tilted his head back slightly, “It’s going to take time, this isn’t normal for me. Plus, there is a war out there.” Mirage nodded, smiling, “That’s fair, you’ve got other pilots to think of.” He nodded a bit.

If the elevator had been awkward, this was painfully so.

Moving one hand from his hold, Mirage slid it to cover the gap in his armor, like he’d been doing for ages, “Hound, no one here will judge you for this. None of us care about organic gender roles or the rules they seem to place for so called moral reasons. Someday, we’ll explain our own concept of gender.” Chuckling lightly, he shook his head, “Other kinds of being are so strict about that slag, we fought a million years so we didn’t have to be.” His fingers brushed over the still colorless plating of Hound’s armor absently.

Nodding slowly, Hound sighed and pulled Mirage closed, closing his eyes, “I do care for you Mirage, more than I have for anyone in a very long time.” Mirage’s arms wrapped around him, his own eyes closing.

They stood like that for a long moment, fields buzzing to a calm before Mirage glanced around, “No wonder you all live in this one space though, being so tiny.” Scoffing, Hound shook his head, “You are now walking on thin ice.” And Mirage laughed.

One of the doors behind him whooshed open and Mirage let out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, there are others.” Resting his forehead against Mirage’s shoulder, Hound groaned. There was never a moment of quiet here.

———

A/N

This chapter took so long lmao, but I honestly think that it might be the longest chapter yet? Is 4.8k the longest? I don’t know… I also can’t believe how close we are to part fifty. Like, that is insane to me.

Also, disclosure.. I am a straight woman writing this, but I try to write romance just as.. romance. So, please let me know if I’m doing anything wrong, please.

With everything that has happened in like the last two weeks, writing has been such a stress relief. Nothing bad has happened but it’s been hectic.

So let me know what you think of the development, I’ve been sort of planning this scene for a little while and I’ve struggled to find the right place for it. But yeah, it’s fun.