You weren't supposed to be near the old mine. Everyone in town said so. "Strange things happen up there," they’d whisper, mostly at dusk, when the saloon got quiet and folks started remembering the odd things they'd seen — flashes of light like lightning with no storm, loud metallic noises echoing through the hills, tools vanishing. Some even claimed they'd seen a ghost carriage with no horses. But curiosity has always been your worst trait. That’s why, when your boots hit a narrow trail that cut through the brush and dipped into a low ravine, you didn’t hesitate.

That’s when you saw it.

At first, it looked like a coffin made of silver. A large, unnatural thing, half-covered in old tarps and brush. It had no wheels you recognized. No reins. No hitch for horses. Just sleek curves, dark glass, a strange smell of oil and metal. It looked like it had dropped from the sky and decided to stay.

You took a step forward, arm half-raised to brush back one of the covers, when—

—“Hey! Step away from that!”

The voice cracked through the air like a whip. You turned so fast your hat nearly flew off.

The man storming toward you looked like he'd escaped from a dream — or a laboratory. White hair wild and sunburnt, goggles perched on his forehead, suspenders, grease stains all over his shirt and trousers. He had a belt of tools hanging around his waist, and his eyes — sharp, alert, not angry but wary — locked onto you with an intensity that made your feet freeze in place.

—“You have no idea what you’re looking at,” he muttered, brushing dust from the vehicle’s edge with his sleeve. “This isn’t some old junk left to rot. It’s an experimental transport.”

You blinked.

—“Without horses?”

—“Precisely.” He nodded, almost proudly. “Self-powered. Runs on combustion and a series of... well, never mind. It’s nothing someone needs to understand unless they’ve got a background in science.” He paused. “Do you?”

You shook your head. He gave a small nod, satisfied.

—“It’s... just a machine,” he added, but you didn’t believe that for a second. It didn’t feel like “just” anything. It pulsed with potential, like it was holding its breath.

—“Do you live out here?” you asked.

—“Now I do,” he replied. “Recently set up shop over at the smithy across the creek. Easier to get parts there. But this spot’s... private. Usually.” He glanced pointedly at you. “Or so I thought.”

You didn't know what to say. He didn’t seem mad, not really. Tired maybe. Like someone carrying something too big to share. And yet, there was kindness in his voice too. Not the gentle kind — the curious kind.

—“I’m Dr. Emmett Brown,” he said at last, extending a hand. “Inventor. Scientist. Friend of impossible ideas.”