Bob tosses his fishing pole into the back of his truck and slams the tailgate. He ignores the metallic tang lingering in the air, hops into the driver's seat, and cracks open a fresh beer. He cranks the ignition, and the engine roars to life, cutting through the eerie silence of the lake.
Bob
That ice cream guy is bad news. Something ain't right with that van. Best to steer clear before I lose my appetite for good.
Bob speeds away from the water, his tires spitting gravel as he merges onto the winding highway. The rearview mirror shows the ice cream truck shrinking into a tiny, harmless speck, leaving the unease behind. Twenty minutes later, he rolls into the parking lot of Sal’s Bait and Brew, a neon-lit shack buzzing with activity.
Sal
Hey Bob. You look like you seen a ghost. Another beer?
Bob
Yeah, Sal. Make it a cold one. I need to wash the stink of that lake off my mind.
“Tell him what happened”
SUCCESS (Great Willpower, rolled -1)
Bob
Sal, you ain't gonna believe this, but Icecream Dave was out there by the water. I saw his van parked in the brush, lights dimmed, just watching the shoreline. Something about him makes my skin crawl. It felt like he was hunting, not selling treats.
Sal
Dave? That guy is always lurking in weird spots, Bob. I thought he was just weird, but you're the second person this week to tell me he gave them the creeps.
Bob
Two people? If others are noticing, then I ain't just being paranoid. That van is a rolling coffin.
Sal leans over the counter, lowering his voice as the hum of the beer cooler fills the gap in conversation. He taps a thick, calloused finger against the wooden surface, his expression tightening.
Sal
I saw him near the old canning factory yesterday night. He didn't have his music playing. Just sat there, engine idling, staring at the gate. You think he's into something real bad?
“... the fuck”
Bob sighs, shaking his head. He reaches out and pops the cap off a fresh bottle of lager with a rhythmic, practiced flick of his wrist. The metallic hiss of the seal breaking cuts through the humid air of the shop, and he takes a long, slow pull.
“Bah, Sal is right, but what, are you supposed to just go to the police?”
FAILURE (Good Reasoning, rolled -3)
Sal leans over the counter, his brow furrowed into deep, jagged lines.
Sal reaches for a heavy, glass coaster, but his hand slips, knocking a stack of damp beer mats onto the floor with a clatter.
Bob
Man, I am just not thinkin' straight today. My hands are shakin' like a leaf.
Bob
Look Sal, the cops around here? They're buddies with Dave. They bowl together on Tuesdays. If I walk in there with a tall tale about an ice cream man bein' a killer, they'll just laugh me back to the truck.
Sal
Maybe so, Bob, but look at the floor.
Bob glances down. Among the scattered beer mats, he notices a discarded, blood-stained flyer for the local summer festival. It is tucked right under the edge of his own boot. He had not noticed it until the light hit the crimson smear.
Bob
That's not paint. Please tell me that's not what I think it is.
+ Scene Quest Added
Investigate the blood-stained flyer
“Ugh, pick it up, putnit between you and Sal. What is this nonsense?”
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled +3)
Bob carefully leans down, his heavy belly pressing against the edge of the bar as he pinches the crinkled paper. He lifts it into the dim overhead light, his thick fingers trembling slightly.
Bob
Not red paint. Definitely not red paint. The texture is all wrong, and there is a metallic tang hangin' in the air now that I got it up close.
Sal leans in, eyes wide and fixed on the dark, irregular stain that creeps across the festival logo. The beer forgotten in Bob's hand sloshes, a few amber drops hitting the wood.
Sal
That flyer was handed out at the square this mornin', Bob. If that is what I think it is, someone had a real bad day while passin' these out.
Bob
My heart is hammerin' like a woodpecker on a tin roof. Who the hell would leave this here, right under my feet?
A heavy silence fills the room, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Sal grips the counter, his knuckles white, staring at the paper.
Quest Complete
Investigate the blood-stained flyer
Skill Upgrade: Investigation Mediocre