Thread:Rocketlauncher22/@comment-29711200-20160922031821/@comment-28873710-20170620022036

The Investigator swept through the shadows, approaching random Town member’s homes and snooping about. He would stare through the misty, foggy windows to catch a peek at the inside of his target’s home. One night, the Investigator spotted an unused, seemingly useless match, laying absently on the hardwood flooring of a random house. He would not have been all that suspicious about it, if only it hadn’t of been served with a stenching reek of gasoline, and the Investigator knew that he had found the Arsonist, who had caused a large chain of incinerations recently.



The next day, the Investigator called the man out for dousing, and lighting people with infernos at night. He explained all that he had seen, and smelled, at his home, while the trialed man hastily refuted the accusation, claiming to be nothing more than a Sheriff. The Investigator knew better, as Sheriff was not even an occupation that was thought up during his brainstorm of possible roles. The Sheriff claim was quickly lynched, but after further investigation, it was found that this man, was in fact, the Sheriff.



The Investigator was entirely dazed and bewildered at this turn of events. After the Sheriff was executed, everyone rushed home, daring not to meet the Investigator’s gaze, as he trudged through the murky streets of Salem, reaching his doorstep with a low huff. He drank, drank a little too much, but before he could finish his fifth bottle, a knock sounded on his door. Feeling loopy and unfit, he snatched the door handle, and yanked it open, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. A single second, and then… Bam…  The Investigator is no more.