At All Costs

Chris woke to a persistent, insistent, high-frequency buzzing filled the air in his bedroom. He groaned, rolling over and burying his head under his pillow. It took a few foggy, sleep-addled seconds for his brain to identify the source. It was his phone.

He blindly fumbled on his nightstand, his hand knocking over a half-empty can of Rocket Riot before his fingers finally closed around the vibrating rectangle. He brought it under the pillow, the screen's glow illuminating his makeshift cave.

The screen was a non-stop, cascading torrent of Facebook notifications scrolled down his screen, one after another, too fast to even read. The little red notification bubbles at the bottom of his screen were no longer displaying numbers; they had been replaced with "99+".

His heart gave a little thump of excitement. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and navigated to the Upshur County Community Forum.

The post was a phenomenon. Sometime during the night, it had achieved a critical mass of likes and shares and had been algorithmically promoted to the top of every member's feed. It had over 500 likes. The number of comments was approaching a thousand.

He scrolled, a giddy, triumphant feeling swelling in his chest. The comment section was a glorious, chaotic mess, a perfect cross-section of his small town's psyche.

There was the nostalgic reminiscing:

"Jerry H.: Man, I remember that! I was a freshman. The whole school was buzzing. We thought it was the seniors, but nobody ever fessed up. Absolute legend, whoever did it."

The heated arguments:

"Darla M. (Lewis County High Class of '99): VANDALISM. That's what it was. My grandfather helped raise the money for that statue. It was disrespectful and classless."

A reply from "BucNuts82": "@Darla M. lighten up it was a prank and it was hilarious and we beat you 28-7 that year so who's laughing now??? #GoBucs"

And his personal favorite, the wild, unsubstantiated speculation:

"Brenda G.: I always heard it was a group of kids, and one of them had a father who owned a machine shop, that's how they got the musket off so cleanly. My cousin's best friend's sister dated a boy from the class of '98, and she said he always got a funny look on his face whenever someone brought it up. Just saying."

Chris laughed out loud, a short, happy bark of a laugh. He scrolled and scrolled, drinking in the chaos he had created. This was better than any video game achievement. He had unlocked something far more rare and potent than a Legendary sword or a rare character skin. He had unlocked a town's entire collective memory, and now he was watching it play out in real time. This was power. This was influence. This was, without a doubt, the most fun he'd had in years.

He finally tore himself away from the screen, a wide, self-satisfied grin on his face. He swung his legs out of bed, feeling more rested and energized than he had in months. He headed down the hall, forcing a neutral, slightly sleepy expression onto his face. He was an actor now, playing the part of "Chris Day, Unsuspecting Son," and he was determined to give an award-winning performance.

He found Pete at the kitchen table, hunched over his tablet, a mug of coffee steaming beside him. Pete was chuckling to himself, a low, rumbling sound.

"Misty, you will not believe what's blowing up on the Forum this morning," Pete said as Misty came in from the living room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Oh, Lord. What is it now?" she asked. "Did Chester the cat get found?"

"Better," Pete said, a wide grin on his face. "Much better. Someone brought up the old Minuteman musket heist from '98."

Chris, feigning ignorance, shuffled over to the coffee maker and grabbed a mug. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice a carefully calibrated mumble of morning grogginess.

Pete looked up, his eyes alight with the glee of a man recounting a favorite story. "Some anonymous guy, calls himself 'Bucky Watcher,' made a post last night. Just a little 'hey, remember this?' kind of thing. But he hinted that he knew who did it, someone from the class of '98 who got into politics." Pete took a triumphant sip of his coffee. "The whole forum is going nuts. People are digging up old yearbooks, tagging everyone they know. It's beautiful."

Chris focused his [INSPECT] ability on his step-father, the scan completing in a familiar ding.

[Name: Peter "Pete" Woody]

[LVL 28]

[Status: Highly Amused]

[Current Mood: Nostalgic, Gleeful]

[Dominant Thought: "I always knew one of those Buckhannon boys did it. Probably that smarmy Thompson kid. He always had a punchable face."]

Chris had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The dramatic irony was so thick he felt like he could spread it on toast. Pete was enjoying the show without having any idea that the show's creator and director was standing right next to him, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He grunted non-committally, "Huh. Weird."

Misty just shook her head. "Honestly, you men and your high school football rivalries. Some things never change."

Chris spent the next hour back in the safety of his bedroom, his command center, monitoring the situation. The shitstorm he had started was spreading. The post was no longer contained to the Upshur County Community Forum.

He saw a new link being shared, posted again and again in the comments section with captions like "OMG LOOK AT THIS" and "THEY'RE SO MAD LOL."

The link was to an article from the rival town's newspaper, The Weston Democrat.

Chris clicked it. The headline, written in a large, aggressive font, was a masterpiece of sensational, provocative journalism.

OLD WOUNDS REOPENED: UNSOLVED '98 MUSKET HEIST BECOMES SOCIAL MEDIA SENSATION. DOES A BUCKHANNON POLITICIAN HOLD THE KEY?

The article was dripping with righteous indignation. It recounted the "cowardly, pre-dawn act of cultural vandalism" in lurid detail. It quoted several Lewis County alumni, now middle-aged men and women, who spoke of the incident as if it were a national tragedy.

"It was a sacred artifact," one man, a former quarterback named Skip, was quoted as saying. "That musket represented the spirit of our school, the fighting heart of the Minutemen. To have it stolen, disrespected like that... it cut us deep. We want it back."

Another quote from a former cheerleader named Brandi was even more dramatic. "We demand an apology. And we demand the return of our history. This 'Bucky Watcher' character might think he's being funny, but he's opened a wound that never truly healed for the people of Lewis County."

Chris stared at the article, his amusement beginning to be tinged with a faint, unfamiliar feeling of anxiety. He had intended to poke a single, pompous bear. He hadn't intended to start an inter-county incident. This was escalating far beyond a simple online prank.

The rapidly escalating situation, now a full-blown media shitshow on a local scale, forced the Mayor's hand. Around noon, a formal announcement appeared on the official "Mayor of Buckhannon" Facebook page. It was accompanied by the Mayor's official portrait.

"Mayor Bob Thompson will address the baseless and slanderous rumors circulating online in a live statement at 2 PM today. The Mayor urges all citizens to rely on facts, not anonymous, malicious gossip."

A live statement. The bear was not only poked; it was enraged, and it was climbing onto a podium. Chris felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He would be there. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

At precisely 2 PM, Chris was in his gaming chair, bunny-eared headphones on, Mayor Bobs's official Facebook page open on his main monitor. The livestream started. The image was crisp, professional. Mayor Thompson appeared on screen, seated at his large, mahogany desk. Behind him, the West Virginia and American flags stood proudly. The scene was designed to project authority, stability, and seriousness.

But the Mayor Bob's face betrayed him. It was a tight, controlled mask of fury. His jaw was clenched, and a small muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked directly into the camera, his eyes cold and hard.

"My fellow citizens of Buckhannon," he began, his voice a low, controlled rumble. "It has come to my attention that a malicious and cowardly rumor has been circulating on social media. A rumor designed to sow division, to dredge up old rivalries, and to attack the integrity of my office and my good name."

He paused for dramatic effect. "Let me be clear. The disgusting and unfounded accusations being leveled by an anonymous online troll are beneath contempt. They are the pathetic actions of a person who hides behind a fake name and a blurry picture of a deer to engage in cyber-bullying."

His voice began to rise in volume and indignation. "This is the danger of the world we live in. Where any lie, no matter how absurd, can be given oxygen. Where any coward with a keyboard can attempt to tear down what good, decent people have spent their lives building."

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a theatrical fire. "I will not stand for it. This office will not be intimidated by faceless trolls. I am a public servant, and I have nothing to hide. I am proud of my time at Buckhannon-Upshur High, and I am proud of the spirited, but always respectful, rivalry we shared with our friends in Lewis County."

He sat back, taking a deep breath and visibly composing himself. "Therefore, let me state for the record, in the clearest possible terms: I had absolutely nothing to do with the regrettable incident in 1998. And I will be using all available town and county resources to unmask this 'Bucky Watcher.' We will find out who is behind this despicable smear campaign. And when we do, I can assure you, we will pursue legal action to the fullest extent of the law. Thank you."

The livestream ended abruptly, the screen cutting to the Mayor's official seal.

Chris slowly took off his headphones, the silence of his room rushing back in. A genuine shiver of fear, cold and sharp, traced a path down his spine. A powerful, angry man, the most powerful man in the city, was now actively hunting him. The full weight of the town and county resources. What did that even mean? Could they trace his IP address? Subpoena Facebook? This had escalated from a prank to a potential legal battle.

He focused his [INSPECT] ability on the frozen image of the Mayor's seal on the screen, a proxy for the man himself. The data window that popped up was alarming.

[Name: Bob Thompson]

[Status: Enraged, Vengeful, Panicked (Minor)]

[Active Goal: Identify "Bucky Watcher" AT ALL COSTS.]

The [Panicked (Minor)] status told Chris everything he needed to know. The accusation had hit a nerve. It was true, and the Mayor knew that Chris knew it was true. And the Active Goal... the capital letters were a new feature. AT ALL COSTS. Mayor Bob wasn't bluffing. Chris felt the chilling weight of real risk.

But as Chris sat there, a knot of fear tightening in his gut, something unexpected began to happen. The public reaction to the Mayor's threatening performance was the exact opposite of what he had intended.

He opened the comments section on the Mayor's livestream video. It was a tidal wave.

"Wow. He seems REALLY defensive about this."

"'All available town and county resources'? To find someone who made a joke on Facebook? Seems like an overreaction, Bob."

"'Disgusting and unfounded accusations'? Bro, it was a high school prank, not a war crime. Why so serious?"

The aggressive denial, the pompous language, the threats of legal action—it was widely, almost universally, interpreted as a sign of guilt. In attacking his anonymous accuser, Mayor Thompson had inadvertently made him a hero.

In the comments, a new folk hero was born.

"Bucky Watcher for Mayor!"

"Whoever Bucky Watcher is, I'll buy you a beer."

"This is the kind of accountability we need in this town! #TeamBucky"

Within the hour, things escalated even further. Someone started selling t-shirts on a local print-on-demand site. It featured a stark, black silhouette of the Minuteman statue with a conspicuous empty space where the musket should be. Below the image, the caption read, "BUCKY WATCHER KNOWS."

By dinnertime, someone had driven past the local breakfast spot, Tudor's Biscuit World, and had posted a photo to the forum. The restaurant's large, roadside sign, the kind with the black, slide-in letters, had been changed. It now read:

"OUR BISCUITS ARE LEGENDARY. OUR ALIBIS ARE ROCK-SOLID. #MUSKETGATE"

Chris stared at the photo of the diner sign on his phone, a strange, disbelieving laugh bubbling up in his chest. He was caught. He was trapped in the terrifying reality of being hunted by an enraged politician. Then he felt the exhilarating, deeply surreal experience of becoming an accidental, anonymous folk hero.

The prank had suddenly become very real, and very, very dangerous. And he had no idea what to do next.