Many hushed whispers and curious enquires were made since Timothy Quill had arrived at a quaint little town situated in a semi-rural part of America, with each resident having their own little embellishment to add to make the story a little spicier. With a population of only 15,000 odd residents, usually, it was residents that were saying farewell- either leaving for an expensive college degree or relocating because they’d gotten an offer too lucrative to refuse, instead of the other way around. Thus, every new arrival had a little buzz around them, but they usually ended up being city folks sick of the constant hustle and bustle of big cities and just looking for some good ol’ time basking in the sun of the countryside.

However, the enigma known as Timothy Quill was something else entirely. The prevalent theory going about town was that Timothy was the bastard son of a prominent drug lord, but due to the recent turf war going poorly he was forced to seek refuge in the south until tensions cooled down. It would explain the need to rent out an entire mansion in a secluded part of town, of which mind you, none of the townsfolk were hired to maintain and the two black-suited gentlemen with very impressive builds that followed him wherever he went.

The previous tenant of the mansion was an eccentric millionaire that had a few… quirks, one that was best not delved into with respectable company, but at least he generated employment for the town and paid well. ‘Who traveled with an entire freaking wait staff’ was the question they wanted to ask Timothy, but none had the guts to piss off a literal junior mob boss.

A question, that surprisingly was well within their reach to ask. Instead of secluding himself in the mansion, Timothy had taken up the job of an attendant in the only multinational grocery store chain in the entire town, a decision that dealt more than a few blows to the drug lord theory. But when pressured, the staunch believers in that theory would simply attribute it to boredom, the more creative among them suggesting it was a way to send a message- ‘I might be forced to relocate because of my father’s decision, but I am not afraid. Come at me if you dare.’

Many had approached Walt, the manager of their local E-Mart, and had repeatedly pressured him for an answer. After all, they had the right to know if the peace in their town could be disturbed by this new arrival that had arrived from god knows where. Unfortunately, Walt knew nothing except the name he’d registered under the company with- ‘Timothy Johnson’ and was told not to ask further unless he wanted to lose his job.

The only thing that an internet search pulled up was the image of a professional MMA fighter that looked nothing like the guy, and with such a common name further digging would prove to be futile, thus dashing the ‘washed-up celebrity theory’.

Initially, residents tried to avoid the checkout lane that Timothy manned, and there was no overt reaction to this clear discrimination. However, after a week since his arrival and the lack of even the slightest incident, practically overrode caution and Timothy got his first experience at working the check-out register. The dark-haired man never spoke once during the interactions, his motions mechanical and his face emotionless, only focusing on the task in front of him and nothing else. When it came to billing, he just pointed to the number on the display bar and waited for the customer to hand him over the cash, not out of rudeness, but rather it was simple indifference.

Such a poor quality of service would have no doubt incurred a flurry of complaints under normal circumstances, but one look at the black luxury SUV with tinted windows parked right outside the store quickly evaporated such ridiculous thoughts. In fact, Walt was oddly grateful to Timothy- since his arrival, there had been zero complaints or angry customers raising their voices to unfriendly levels, and his work had never been so stress-free before. Descendant of a drug lord or not, Timothy definitely was a god-like figure to those working in the service industry.

To those interested in market analytics, there was a definite positive correlation between Timothy’s arrival and online streaming subscriptions. Mostly because of the sudden interest in ‘Drug Crime’ series, especially ones where their lavish lifestyles and movie set-piece action scenes were depicted.

Some ambitious young women, somewhat interested in a lifestyle of infinite money and a life on the run, decided to put on their best get up and head to the local E-mart to do some ‘grocery shopping. For a few days, the local E-mart became a fashion contest, with a few women in stunning dresses leaving with disappointed expressions. If they had been rejected, so be it, but they hadn’t gotten that poorly dressed scamp to even utter a single word! After a discussion between some very angry women, it was concluded that Timothy was gay, that was the only way any of this made sense.

It took some convincing, but the girls managed to rope in some hunks they knew from the local gym to test out their theory, if out of curiosity if nothing else. Few things this exciting ever happened in their town, so there was no sense in hesitating. Much to the chagrin of the women, Timothy proved to show no reaction this time either. Unbeknownst to them, behind the tinted glass of the Luxury SUV Tim's bodyguards were laughing their asses off at the circus unfolding in front of them to the point where tears were pouring out of their eyes, so their efforts couldn’t have been said to be completely wasted either.

Timothy Quill himself was unaware of the attention from both sexes that he had inadvertently garnered. Or rather, he was too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention to the mundane world around him. His long, black hair had been, from the looks of it, bunched up into a messy man bun, a far cry from the ludicrously expensive hair care his scalp had been accustomed to just a few years earlier. That combined with the poorly shaved remnants of a beard showed that it had been a long time since Timothy had given a damn about his appearance.

The only thing that stood out about Tim in his present state was his light green irises, though their wonder was significantly diminished by the dark circles around them, screaming that this was a man that desperately needed to sleep more. Underneath all the scruff was a handsome Caucasian man, with a sharp jawline, defined features, and enchanting eyes, standing at a fairly tall height of 6 feet 1 inch. For a man that looked like he’d given up on life, he was in surprisingly good shape- a mystery that was dwarfed by the other far larger ones that surrounded him.

Dressed in the standard E-Mart clothing, nothing else stood out about him. He had noticed an influx of well-dressed men and women, each checking out with either an energy drink, a packet of potato chips, or a few bars of chocolate, but he attributed it to a town that liked to party. After all, he knew nothing about the place, he’d only selected it at random after searching for towns with a population of fewer than 25,000 residents, a place he could be free from the trappings of high society and protect what was left of his sanity.

Near the end of his shift, a stocky middle-aged Caucasian man with a bushy mustache dressed in a purple tee, khaki shorts, and some flipflops walked into the store, clothing which made sense in this sweltering heat, with what appeared to be an artist’s sketching book tucked under his arm walked into the store. Walking right up to Tim’s counter, the man feigned clearing his throat to get his attention. An action that snapped Timothy out of his musings, for this, was the first time since his arrival that someone tried to get his attention in such a forced manner.

“I’d like to return this sketching book. It’s faulty” said the man with a raised tone, indicating his anger at being forced to make a trip for such a small item.

Timothy simply nodded and moved to scan the item for return. It didn’t matter if it fell under the return policy or not, he’d just tell Frank to pay the difference at the end of the day. The customer would walk out happy, the business wouldn’t have to pay anything even if the refund was genuine and Tim didn’t give a fuck either way.

“Now wait a minute, young man. I wouldn’t want people saying old Rodgers goes about bullying kids for refunds, now would I. Let me show you the defect.” Said the man, and took the sketching book from Tim’s hands. Flipping over the cover, he then handed back the sketching book to Tim.

Once Tim saw the contents of the sketching book, he was completely snapped out from his reverie with an extremely odd expression on his face. On the first page of the sketchbook, the words “ARE YOU UNDER DURESS?” were scrawled over with a blue crayon, followed by, “Blink once if No, Twice if Yes.”

Perplexed, Tim blinked once and then followed the instructions of the sketching book, flipping the page. “ARE YOU BEING THREATENED?” was the next question, and Timothy again answered by blinking once and then flipped the page over.

Following the instructions on the next page, Timothy flipped through the remaining pages and then spoke “I’m sorry Mr. Rodgers, but I can’t see the issue. It’s in perfect condition.” Said Timothy, with an apologetic but firm tone.

“You call that cheap quality paper I wouldn’t use to wipe my ass with, perfect condition!?” said Mr. Rodgers, as he came close to the counter and slammed his hands down in frustration. “This establishment doesn’t deserve my business,” he said in a disappointed tone, and snatched the file from Timothy’s hands, storming out of the door past the black SUV and into his cheap sedan, reversing it and then taking off into the distance.

After he had left, Tim noticed the quarter of a business card poking out from underneath the lollipop stand, presumably put there when the man slammed his hands down. Sliding it out from underneath there, Tim found a throbbing sensation at the back of his head when he noticed who it belonged to.

… Which of the fucking locals had sent the goddamn FBI after him!?