The Upshur County Community Forum had cooled to a respectable grumble. The initial shock and fury following Mayor Bob Thompson's public, self-incriminating implosion had given way to the more mundane, but equally pressing, question of what came next.
A post by Tim M., the forum's resident cynic and a man who seemed to view all forms of government with the suspicion of a cat looking at a closed door, captured the mood.
[Tim M.]: "Okay, so Thompson is out. Good riddance. But who's gonna run in this recall election? Don't tell me it's gonna be Ralph Hardwick from the council. That's just trading one fox in a suit for another fox in a slightly different suit. They're all the same."
Chris, monitoring the situation from the cool, dark sanctuary of his bedroom, allowed himself a small moment of relief. The corrupt mayor was suspended, the town was mostly safe, and the [WORLD QUEST] stat for [Community Approval] was a healthy, stable green. The [Political Stability] should correct itself after the recall vote, and he would see what he could do, here and there, to increase the [Infrastructure Integrity]. Now he could get back to the important things, like grinding his personal stats and maybe, just maybe, finally figuring out what to do about that job interview.
He took a long, satisfying sip of his Rocket Riot energy drink, the sweet, chemical tang a taste of victory.
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At The Daily Grind, Jessica Lange was on her ten-minute break, scrolling through the same cynical thread on her phone. She saw Tim M.'s post and the string of equally apathetic comments below it. A righteous mischief, the kind that had been forged in the fires of a condescending lecture over an expired coupon, began to stir. She took a sip of her own latte, a wry smile on her face, and decided to light a match.
Her thumbs flew across the screen, crafting a comment that was a blend of a joke, a political jab, and a tribute to her own secret hero.
[Jessica Lange]: "Forget the usual suspects. We need a candidate with a proven track record of holding corrupt politicians accountable. Someone who isn't afraid to tell the truth. Someone who actually gets things done around here. #BuckyWatcherForMayor"
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In his room, Chris saw the notification pop up. He saw Jessica's comment. And he almost choked on his Rocket Riot. A fine, green mist of energy drink sprayed across his monitor.
He stared at the screen, his heart pounding a frantic, terrified rhythm. NO, JESS, DON'T POKE THE BEAR!THE BEAR IS SLEEPING! LET THE SLEEPING, POLITICALLY-INERT BEAR LIE!
He watched, horrified, as Jessica's comment immediately garnered a dozen likes. It was a good joke. A funny, satirical jab at the town's political impotence. It would burn itself out in an hour or two, he told himself. It was fine. Everything was fine.
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In her neat, sunlit living room, Mrs. Gable, typing with the careful, deliberate precision of one who does not trust touchscreens, saw Jessica's post and nodded in sensible, practical agreement. To her, it wasn't a joke; it was a perfectly logical solution to a complex problem. The town needed a hero, and a hero had already presented himself. She added her own comment, her words bestowing the nascent movement with an immediate, powerful aura of wholesome, baked-goods-fueled legitimacy.
[Eleanor Gable]: "That is a wonderful and sensible idea, Jessica. This 'Bucky Watcher' has shown more integrity in one anonymous post than Mayor Thompson has in a decade of public service. We need a person of truth and action, not empty words. Bucky Watcher has my vote."
Mrs. Gable's endorsement was the spark that hit the gasoline. Her comment, coming from one of the town's most respected and beloved senior citizens, turned Jessica's joke into a legitimate political movement.
The #BuckyWatcherForMayor hashtag exploded.
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The forum, which had been a grumbling backwater a few minutes before, was now a roaring wildfire of political satire and grassroots enthusiasm. The page was flooded with absurdly serious political arguments for a candidate who was, in essence, a blurry, low-resolution picture of a deer.
Memes were born. The deer from the Bucky Watcher profile picture was expertly Photoshopped into a tiny, ill-fitting power suit, holding a miniature musket. The deer's head was placed on the body of the talking Buccaneer statue, with the caption: "FINALLY, A CANDIDATE WITH A SOUND FINANCIAL PLAN (TURNIP FUTURES!)."
A new, unofficial campaign slogan emerged, dripping with the perfect, unsettling mix of mystery and small-town paranoia:
"Bucky Watcher: He's Watching."
Chris stared at his monitor, his face pale with disbelief. He was watching a runaway train, and he was the one who had, weeks ago, foolishly and accidentally, tied himself to the tracks. He had deleted the profile. He had scrubbed the evidence. He had done everything in his power to return to his comfortable, safe state of anonymous invisibility. But the legend was now a self-perpetuating entity, a political golem that was shambling through the online world, completely untethered from its creator.
His HUD flashed with an unwelcome, notification.
[New Debuff Gained: [Unwanted Attention]. User suffers a passive -10 modifier to all Stealth-related actions. [Anxiety] stat temporarily increased by +20.]
[System Note: User has generated a high-profile public persona. Non-participation is not a valid strategic option.]
The System wasn't just observing; it was taunting him. It was telling him, in its dry, bureaucratic way, that he had messed up, and that hiding was no longer an option.
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At her home, across town, Denise Radclyffe, the mother of the falsely accused tech-genius teen, Caleb, saw the movement not as a joke, but as a righteous weapon. The memory of the Sheriff's deputy in her living room, of the warrant for her son's internet records, of the casual, arrogant abuse of power, was still a hard knot of fury in her chest. This was her chance for payback.
With the cold fury of a mother whose son had been harassed by the authorities, she drove to the Upshur County Clerk's office. The clerk, a harried-looking woman struggled to find the correct form.
"So... you want to register... a local legend... represented by a low-resolution cervid... as a write-in candidate for the mayoral recall election?" the clerk asked, her voice a flat, weary monotone.
"That's right," Denise said, her own voice a calm, and slightly dangerous.
She paid the filing fee in cash, a vengeance-fueled transaction that was, in its own way, an attack.
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Chris was in the kitchen, attempting to earn 5 XP by eating a stalk of celery for his [Basic Nutrition] daily quest, when his phone buzzed with a news alert from the Buckhannon Record Delta. He nearly dropped the celery.
The headline was a punch to the gut.
"MYSTERY CANDIDATE ENTERS MAYORAL RACE: 'Bucky Watcher' Officially on Recall Ballot."
The article included a photo of the official filing document, a form that now featured, in the space reserved for the candidate's official headshot, the blurry, glassy-eyed stare of the deer. It was now, legally, a political candidate.
He stared at the news article, the forgotten celery stick lying on his floor. As the reality of the situation sunk in, his HUD pinged with a new quest.
[Quest: Campaign Trail]
[Objective: A political persona has been generated for and officially linked to the User. The User is now an active candidate in a civic election. Maintain a minimum of 10% [Voter Approval] until Election Day.]
[Reward: --]
[Failure Penalty: Massive loss of [Community Standing].]
He stared at the quest. No reward... and a failure penalty? He had never seen that before. The universe's bureaucratic, all-powerful, and very unhelpful Reality System had just assigned him the most unasked-for, most terrifying, and most public quest of his life.
He was no longer just the man behind the legend. He was the legend. And he was, against his will, running for mayor.