Backtown was a small town in the Appalachians but unlike other towns, a few monsters walked through the streets by supernatural means or otherwise.
"Hey BB!"
"Hey Trish."
BB was a man at about twenty years old and five eleven. He had bad posture, and it made him look a lot shorter than he actually was. He was skinny at about a hundred and twenty pounds at most. He only ate sweets like jam and chocolate; he usually used so much brain power that he lost most weight he got from sugary sweets. He was known in his neighborhood and had a job as a detective. Though, he didn't work as a detective at the police department. They were too stuck up for his tastes and he never did something he disapproved of. He also wasn't a private detective as such things didn't happen in the town. He was an un-private detective. 'that's a smart way of saying you don't have a license.' Those were words spoken against him by others who didn't like freelancers who were smarter than them.
"Hello BB."
"Hello sheriff."
Another murder had happened at the house of one Brittany Bills. She had been beaten to death with a hammer. She was around twenty years old and worked at the sheriff's office as a 911 dispatcher. Despite how the un-private detective hated the sheriff, he was allowed on crime scenes as a consultant and would secretly keep tabs on the investigators and with use of blackmail and trade of secrets, made a living.
"We have one woman, looks like a break in. It has four items stolen."
"What are they?"
"A family photo, her phone, two and a half dollars, and a soda."
A soda? It explains a break in by someone on the poorer side, but they only took two dollars which means the killer got thirsty and found money lying around. It could be a family member or an ex because of the family photo being stolen and the casualty of taking the soda. That's far more likely than a random break in.
"May I take a look at the scene?"
"Of course."
He inspected and found that the scene was an act of passion. The reason he had figured it out before seeing the scene was because he had been a trained armchair detective. Working without the whole story was a very common thing for him. After he snuck out of the house with an extra twenty dollars he took from the victim's purse, he got breakfast. It was a jar of grape jelly that he kept in his fridge. In the town square, the world of weirdness came to be face to face with what can only be described as a small-town tragedy.
"Hey, this looks like Backtown. I was the mayor for a little bit before they chased me out with pitchforks and torches."
"Do we have to bring him along?"
"Of course."
Eisenhower had to listen to Scott's ranting about politics and human nature for hours before they got to Backtown and the group stumbled out with one objective, find BB. The first to come out was Scott and Eisenhower as Alexandria was busy having the modern day explained to her by Sears.
"Show me around."
"Of course, you know, I'm catholic."
"What does that have to do with this?"
Scott smiled before telling the priest a little secret. He assassinated the six hundredth pope. It wasn't motivated, he was just very prone to being near violence and extremely prone being the one behind it.
"Also, when are we?"
"According to the talking machine, about two thousand one."
A woman saw them and screamed before running away. She probably remembered what had happened in ninety-nine when half the town had turned up missing right after Scott had been elected.
"You monster!"
"Oh please, that was a totally different guy, who had muttonchops and a New York accent."
They walked from building to building asking about BB, but the civilians usually went to find a phone to call the police or started screaming at Scott and on some occasions, pulled a gun on him and tried to blow his head off.
"What did you do?"
"Make a few political prisoners no longer prisoners the easy way."
He had a way with elections, the audience voted for him like he had them at gunpoint, given, they were. He spoke casually of his atrocities, but it almost downplayed them. Father Eisenhower was horrified that TODD had chosen him for what they were doing, and it made him resent the machine a little bit more.
"You're a monster."
"Sure pal. Now where's BB?"
"He lives in the woods. Sometimes he helps the police on murders."
"Good to know."
They left the noodle shop and went to the woods. Scott was mumbling under his breath because he didn't like how his nice shoes were being dirtied.
"Wow, this place looks horrible."
After some time walking through the woods, they found the house of one, BB. BB wrote in his journal before they arrived.
The sheriff is a man of few words, and his men are so stupid they can't even figure out how an act of passion happens. Maybe Dials taught me too well.
I've been thinking about how Dials are. He took children, not as his own, but as a little him. No wonder I'm the way that I am.
BB isn't even my name; it's one that I was ever given. My real name was beaten out of me. I can't remember it, just BB.
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