Autumn quickly blustered into winter, with the first snows falling only a few weeks after Stanley arrived. The researchers were quickly trapped inside, unable to go out adventuring — which was chafing for Lee, but good for the portal project. Yet Fidds still braved the snows, leaving weekly, sometimes daily, for his fictional knitting club. Ford and Lee trained in appearing impassive when he mentioned the club, and they took turns following him.

They quickly discovered where he was disappearing to: the library, of all places. So he hadn't been lying about that. But he didn't take the usual door into the library; he entered through a back door, then disappeared. Once, the brothers followed him together, with Lee watching Fidds go through the door, and Ford entering the library to look for him. But Fidds wasn't inside. The mystery door didn't give access to the library. So what was behind it?

Short of asking him, they likely weren't going to find out anytime soon.

Fidds, Stan, and Ford spent a long winter indoors, with Stan driving Fidds up the wall and Ford failing to keep his pesky brother in check. Fidds looked forward with longing to the next time he could go to the Order and escape Stanley; whenever that escape arrived, he had to return to the lab far too soon. His visits to the Order weren't exactly enjoyable: Fidds tested the gun on whoever was brought down, and a stone-faced Gaston stood nearby, speaking only when directly spoken to, or occasionally in rebuke. But even that was better than being near Stanley.

"Does he have to be in the basement while we're working?" Fidds would repeatedly ask Ford. Then Ford would shrug, and Stan would make some overdramatic comment about being shunned. This pattern continued throughout the rest of the winter, and Fidds nearly wept with relief when, in March of 1982, it got warm enough to go out into the forest. This came with the downside of the Pines brothers going adventuring instead of working on the portal, but at least Stan could go somewhere else.

The spring weather cheered Stanley immensely, and he insisted that his brother take him to see the sights of the Gravity Rises forest. Sometimes, the brothers would convince Fidds to come with them; other times, Fidds would staunchly refuse, and the brothers would go without him. On those days, it was a relief for Fidds to have the lab to himself.

Soon enough, Stan convinced Ford to take him down to the bunker. "That place sounds cool," he said one day, down in the basement. "I mean, you wrote about it in all three Journals. That means it's gotta be important, right?"

Ford shrugged. "I described it in all three so I could always have the passcode and the layout handy, no matter what Journal I had with me that day."

"Didn't you keep creatures down there? Are they still there?"

Nearby, Fidds scoffed. "Really, Stanley? You arrived over half a year ago, and we haven't been to the bunker in all that time. Anything down there would have to have starved."

"Unless," Ford interrupted, "we preserved them. Which we did."

Fidds looked away with a disgruntled huff.

"Wait, what do you mean 'preserved them'?" asked Stan, concern lacing his voice.

Ford shrugged again, quite nonchalant. "When we started on the portal, we knew we wouldn't be able to go to the bunker anymore. So we let some of the creatures go, and we preserved others. I can describe it on the way."

"Wait, what?" demanded Fidds. "Now?"

"Why not?"

Fidds had a million reasons why not, but he deigned to express only one. "What about these calculations?"

"They can wait while we go get some sun."

"It's probably raining," Fidds muttered.

Much to his chagrin, it wasn't. He decided to come along, since he didn't trust Stanley near his things; and at this point, he didn't trust Ford to keep Stanley away from said things — namely, the machinery in the bunker. He hadn't been to the bunker in some time, but it was still one of his creations. He didn't want Stan's grubby hands all over it.

The trio went out into the forest and headed for the bunker. Even though the sun shone down from a cloudless sky, the ground was still quite wet from last night's rains. Fidds stepped gingerly through the mud; Ford took off his trenchcoat so it wouldn't drag in the muck; Stan happily galoshed in the worst puddles. A nostalgic smile whisked over Ford's face as he watched his brother, but Fidds thought the man was being obnoxiously childish.

Ford didn't end up explaining about the preservation, because Stan was too interested in the wet forest and the surrounding creatures and the balmy sun. Like an excited puppy: very annoying, with no attention span. It wasn't until they passed through the security room, into the observation room, that he remembered.

"So where are all the creatures? How have they been 'preserved'?"

Ford turned on the camera system; to Fidds' satisfaction, the computer easily flickered to life. Why shouldn't it? He had built it, after all.

Of course, it still took some time to boot up, given the speed of computers. "Sixer?" prompted Stan.

"I'm turning on the cameras so you can see."

"Well that's boring. And it's taking forever. Just take me to see the thing!"

Fidds pursed his lips. This man had no appreciation for the miracle of computers. Not that Fidds should've been surprised by this.

"Okay, fine." Ford led his brother to the decontamination chamber. "In here, then."

They entered the chamber together. Before, Fidds and Ford had fit in here just fine. Now, with a third man, it was rather cramped. Fidds pushed down the rising sense of claustrophobia and simply waited for the process to be over. It wasn't long before the door opened into the cave with the cryogenic tubes, and they spilled out of the tight space.

"What am I looking at?" asked Stan, having just gotten his first glimpse of the cryogenic tubes.

"Cryogenics," Fidds responded simply. "The creatures in there are all frozen, their vitals in limbo, waiting to be awoken."

Stan turned to him, his mouth in a perfect 'O'. "Wait, for real? Like in the sci-fi movies?"

Fidds bristled at having his very real inventions compared to very fake movies, but Ford gave a little laugh. "Better than that. Fidds is quite the genius."

Stanley walked up to the tubes and peered inside, seeing the various creatures in there. "Why didn't you just let them go?"

"We let most of them go. But we wanted to study these ones further, when we got the chance."

Stan frowned. "That's pretty inhumane."

"They're inhuman," Fidds pointed out, "and they're perfectly safe."

"Still, it's like you're robbing them of their lives." He leaned in to get a better look at the giant star-nosed mole they had frozen in one of the tubes. "These are pretty awesome, though."

"Exactly," said Ford.

Stan kept looking at the tubes, until he got to a specific tube. Fidds saw the silhouette, accompanied by a pang of dread, only a moment before Stan leapt back with a yell. "What—! Fidds is in there!" He looked rapidly between the real Fidds and the frozen imposter.

"Oh, right," said Ford. "That's a shapeshifter."

"A shapeshifter?" asked Stan, his voice inordinately loud. "Why does it look like Fidds?"

"He attacked me," Fidds said stiffly. "He tied me up and posed as me and tried to escape. He was the first one we froze in these tubes."

"When was this?"

"Back in '79," answered Ford.

"Huh. I wonder if he would've been more fun in a conversation than the real Fidds," Stan joked.

"Oh, shut your scrabdoodlin' mouth," Fidds snapped. Which only made Stan's grin widen at the strange expletive.

"Listen, Sixer, I think you should let these guys go." Stan gestured to various cryogenic tubes. "I mean, they're cool and all, but you're so focused on the portal thingie, and I don't know if it's right to keep them waiting for you to get back to them. Y'know?"

"It'll seem like no time to them."

"Yeah, but — look, once you get that portal open, you're not going to want to study anything here. I know you, Sixer. You're going to want to go through the portal and study things on the other side. Maybe even bring them back here. You either won't have time for this place, or you'll need the space for other stuff."

Fidds rolled his eyes. Oh, yes, Stanley. 'Other stuff' was such a technical term for referring to the secrets of the multiverse.

"You're just worried about the creatures," Ford argued.

Stan shrugged. "Sue me, I am. What would June think?"

"What does Juniper have to do with any of this?" Ford sounded irritated, which was unsurprising. Stan did have an annoying habit of bringing up June at the most random times. It was one of the ways he'd been torturing Fidds all winter, by pining after a nymph girl he only meant once before.

"You're kidnapping her people and freezing them!"

How ignorant could you get? "These aren't her people, Stanley," Fidds said. "They're from entirely different species. I don't think a hamadryad can be related to that." He gestured to a nearby tube that held what looked like a giant pill bug, half-curled to fit in the tube.

Stan waved a dismissive hand. "She'd still care about them. The girl keeps the stuff of nightmares as pets, after all."

Well, Fidds couldn't disagree that the leprecorns were the 'stuff of nightmares,' but that was beside the point. "My cryogenic tubes can last for decades. But. . . I wouldn't mind releasing some of these specimens. It would help us stay focused on the portal." He gave Ford a pointed look as he said this last part.

Ford acknowledged him with a sigh, then turned to his brother. "At any rate, Lee, you're probably right that I won't have time for this place anytime soon. Okay. We can release them."

"Except the shapeshifter," Fidds said.

Stan put a hand on the shapeshifter's tube. "What? Why wouldn't you release poor Shifty here?"

Fidds raised his eyebrows. "Shifty?"

"Yeah, that's his name. Unless you two nerds already gave him one."

"Experiment Two-ten," Ford said helpfully.

"See, that's a lame name. You're lucky I'm here to help out."

"The name doesn't matter," Fidds spluttered. "We're not letting him out. Or are you forgetting that he attacked me? He can shapeshift into anything he sees. Can you imagine the chaos if he starts working mischief in the town? If he gets out to the rest of the world?"

"He won't get out. This place is like a bomb shelter. Look, we'll get a cage or something, put him in there, come take care of him so we don't go stir-crazy—"

"You're the only one who goes stir-crazy, Lee," Ford pointed out. It was a lie (Fidds knew from experience), but it was true that Stan got restless far easier than did his brother.

"Then I'll come out here and take care of him. Spend time with him."

"Get attacked by him," Fidds added. Though the more he thought about it, the more he liked that idea.

"Nah, he'll like me better," Stan said with egregious self-confidence.

He kept insisting that they unfreeze the shapeshifter, for whatever inane reason. Ford soon agreed, and Fidds decided to simply stay away when that happened. They released all the creatures, save the shapeshifter, that very afternoon. Many of the specimens were understandably discombobulated and snappish after their year-long nap, but Stan only laughed as they came alarmingly close to maiming him.

No wonder Ford didn't seem to understand Fidds' nervousness. He grew up with someone who had none.

So it was that Stan would often go out to the bunker, taking Ford with him much of the time, and sometimes Fidds as well. Fidds would bring along his laptop and calculations, so he could get some work done and consult with Ford in the observation room while Stan was in the cave with the shapeshifter. Though Fidds made it a point to never be in the same room as the shapeshifter, he'd watch the cameras at times. The way the Pines brothers treated "Shifty" as a pet was disgusting, to be frank. But there wasn't much Fidds could do about it, so he kept his nose in his work and his mouth shut.

He also started building a keypad for the Order, mainly using parts from around the bunker. With the gun almost being completed, he felt he could spend some time on this other project he'd been meaning to do for years.

He had no idea that completing the gun was all that could keep the Pines brothers from discovering his secrets.

Between working on the portal, going to the bunker to see Shifty, and going on other adventures (Lee had a pair of brass knuckles, and he was eager to use them on monsters), the brothers still found time to occasionally follow Fidds when he went to his 'knitting club'. As the months went on, they still couldn't discern where he was actually going. It was driving Stanley crazy, and he wanted to confront Fidds, but Ford held him back. The scientist was determined to figure things out for himself. After all, he'd given Fidds an opportunity to come clean last year, and the mechanic had shown that he wasn't going to give this up easily.

Whatever this was.

Finally, in May of 1982, it all came to a head. Fidds left for his club with a bulging satchel, and of course Ford had to follow him. What could be in there?

Stanley was out in the forest somewhere, presumably with Shifty. It was the middle of the afternoon, which added another layer of oddity to Fidds' behavior. Usually he went to his mystery room in the library at night. The daylight would make it harder to follow him, but Ford was determined. He quickly changed into a simple black shirt and jeans (given that his turtleneck and trenchcoat would make him stick out like a sore thumb) and left the lab only a few minutes after Fidds.

When he got to the library and went around to the back, Fidds was already gone. He had gone through the mystery door, then. Ford looked around, wondering where he could position himself to see Fidds exit without his friend seeing him.

His eyes alighted on the roof.

All right, that was all well and good, but how would he get up there? He had no idea how long Fidds would be in there — he had to act fast.

Fortunately, he did some theatre in high school, to give him a break from his scientific studies. He had an idea.

He went into the library and headed for the help desk. "Ma'am?" he asked the woman sitting there. "I'm from maintenance. I'm here for the air conditioner?" His tone didn't suggest that he was unsure of his purpose, but that he was unsure of the receptionist recognizing his purpose.

Of course, he didn't actually know if the AC had problems. But it was one of the hottest months of the year, and people often complained about their air conditioners even if they were working fine.

The receptionist blinked. "I don't remember calling for maintenance." She considered this. "Probably from a coworker, then. Do you know where to go?"

Ford shook his head sheepishly. "I was only told I needed to work on the roof. If you show me how to get up there, I'm sure I could figure it out from there."

The receptionist frowned. For a moment, Ford was worried she'd catch him in his act — receptionists were usually sharp people, after all, especially library receptionists.

"Where are your tools?"

"Outside. I'll get them in a moment, after I find the easiest way to get them up to the roof." It was a lame excuse, but it had to do.

Thankfully, he could see the suspicion gradually fade from the receptionist's eyes. She stood. "Follow me, then."

With her help, Ford got up to the roof. He gave her his thanks, then wondered how long he could stay up here, sans tools, without raising the alarm. He positioned himself on the edge of the roof, directly above the mysterious back door, and waited for Fidds to reappear.

He didn't have to wait long, as it turned out. Fidds soon exited the door, but he didn't immediately head for the lab. Instead, he walked around, peering into different areas.

Ford realized he was looking for spies and ducked back.

"It's all clear," he heard.

He carefully inched forward until he could see over the edge again. Fidds was holding the door open for another person. Ford's heart sped up.

A middle-aged man in a purple robe emerged from the mystery door.

What?

"I don't want to be out here for long in my robes, Fiddleford," the man said. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

"Here, I — I have it right here." Fidds opened his satchel and pulled out some kind of device. 

To be honest, Ford felt a little disappointed. He was expecting something more. . . showy. But then he had to roll his eyes at himself. This was Fiddleford, after all. Wasn't he most likely to carry around his machines?

"It looks great," the stranger in purple said. "I'll have to admit I don't know anything about machines, though. Why are you risking my being discovered to show this to me out here?"

Ford could almost hear Fidds' gulp from here.

"I had questions about the installation. The lock — it's more than just this box. I'll have to wire it into the entire door."

"And risk exposure?"

"W-w-well, M-Master Pleasure, it'll be worth the risk. Instead of carrying keys that could get lost or stolen, each member could simply memorize a passcode to get in. I've, um, talked with Cipher about it — he approves."

Ford frowned. Cipher?

"Yes, he's told me not to get in your way." The stranger sighed. "Scrabdoodle, I don't like it. But I'll help."

Fidds paused, and Ford imagined his blank blink when he was confused. "Sir? When did you start saying 'scrabdoodle'?"

When the stranger replied, it was with amusement in his voice. "I've picked it up from you, I suppose. One of your many accomplishments since you joined us." The amusement dissipated somewhat. "What are your questions for me? I should get back inside before some unsuspecting tourist wanders back here."

Fiddleford recovered from the shock of someone assimilating the pseudo-curse word into his vocabulary (though even Ford had to admit to thinking it to himself at times). "These hinges here — could they be mechanized, do you think? Or would I need to build an entirely new door?"

Ford stayed and listened to the rest of their conversation, but Fidds and this "Master Pleasure" character didn't give any more clues as to what was going on. Eventually, Master Pleasure went back through the mystery door, and Fidds set to work installing his machine.

And Ford was left to wonder what on earth had just happened.

A strange man. Stranger purple robes. Mentions of Fidds joining something — mentions of Bill Cipher. Or, he assumed it was Bill, for he knew of no other Ciphers. What did Ford's old muse have to do with any of this? He hadn't even thought about him for months.

Juniper's voice, from so many months ago, floated into his head. "There's a conflict, running deeper than you can know. . . . Your friend has gotten into it — and he's on the wrong side."

Of course. Ford knew who he could go to. Maybe now she'd give him some real answers.

He left Fidds to his project and went back down to the library proper. Time was of the essence — who knew how long Fidds would be here? He hurried to past the receptionist's desk; when she called after him in confusion, he said over his shoulder, "I'm not a criminal, I promise!"

It'd have to be good enough.

He was careful to blend in with the crowds of tourists on the streets, in case Fidds came out from behind the library. There certainly were a lot of tourists in the burgeoning summer — Stanley had been talking about turning part of the lab into a tourist trap, which Ford vehemently denied to him. It probably would attract a lot of people, though.

Ford walked through the crowd until he was by the lab, then hurried inside to grab his trenchcoat for warmth, his stun gun for security, and the third Journal with a pen to record any answers June gave him. With those supplies, he left the lab and ran for the forest.

The woods went by in a blur. As he stumbled into the leprecorn clearing, Ford called, "Juniper! June, I need to talk to you."

The juniper tree rippled, and its namesake stepped out of its branches. "Fordsie? It's been half a year!"

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry I never visit. But now I need answers."

June narrowed her eyes. "What kind of answers?" she asked, sounding like she had an idea.

"I need to know what Fiddleford McGucket is involved in," he said. As he said it, he wondered why he didn't come visit Juniper earlier and ask about it. But he'd been busy and distracted and — well, he wasn't expecting his friend to be doing anything that bad. Not that he had proof of something bad, not even now. He just had. . . a really bad feeling, after what he'd seen.

Juniper led him away from the clearing, away from the leprecorns. "What did you see?" she asked.

So Ford described it. There wasn't much to tell, and it made even less sense when he said it out loud, but he managed. "And they mentioned Cipher," he finished. "Bill Cipher, I assume. I don't know if you know him, he's—"

"Oh, I know him," June said, and the gravity of her voice was stronger than Ford had ever heard from her. "What do you think he is?"

Ford frowned. "A muse. A business partner. He once helped me with my work, but I haven't seen him since around the last time I saw you."

June just stared at him as a mask of sadness and alarm descended upon her face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should've told you more. It's just. . . the more you know, the more he can use you. Take Percy Pleasure. He knows the most of any human, and he's Cipher's righthand man."

Ford put up his hands. "Please, June, I don't understand. What's going on?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe you should sit down."

He pulled out his Journal and readied his pen over a blank page. "Tell me," he replied stubbornly, without sitting.

So June told him. She told him about the Order of the Crescent Eye, about the mind-wiping, about the true nature of Bill Cipher.

And she told him what he needed to do to keep himself safe from this demon.