Dark, Dull, Dusk
rating: +1+x

FADE IN:

INT. ??? - DUSK

The light-skinned man in the white-collared jacket groggily awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of heavy rain. Jazz music rung faintly in the distance as MURPHY LAW, hard-boiled detective, proud owner of a trilby, and our NARRATOR, reached slowly for a cigarette in his left pocket- only to discover that it contained none. He grumbled as the realization of the situation occurred to him, then froze in caution.

MURPHY

NARRATOR

It wasn't easy in the business. Occasionally you'd wake up and haven't a clue where you were. Some big wigs trying to make a quick buck by forcing information out of you, or someone who simply doesn't want you to get in the way of their plans. It wasn't easy being a detective, but in this line of work, the risks are always there.

MURPHY

NARRATOR

But whoever they were, they made one mistake.

He reaches for his trusty .44, ready.

NARRATOR

They messed with Murphy L-

MURPHY



Murphy Law awoke with a start, his eyes unadjusted to the bright lights and his joints sore from god knows what. When he finally was able to see, he realized that he was sitting at a table in a purple room with no windows, doors, or other exits, unsure of how or when he got there. Across from him was an 1937 Olympia Elite Typewriter, which he eyed carefully- he had odd memories of the thing, but for some reason, couldn't place them. In front of it was a deck of cards. At this moment, it was then that Murphy realized he had a deck of cards in his hands as well.

MURPHY YOU FUCKING BASTARD WE INVITED YOU FOR A REASON

IT'S YOUR TURN GODDAMN SHIT-EATING NOIR BITCH

We?

Murphy realized he was being watched by four other people, all of whom were holding cards and glaring at him. Placing his cards down, he held out his hands.

MURPHY

Hold on hold on, how did I get here? Who are you people? What do you want?

A leaner man to his left scrunched his face into a scowl. He was about average height, wore a lab coat, and had no real physical problems- excluding the fact that he looked like he hadn't eaten since the Industrial Revolution. The man eyed another entity, this time to Murphy's right, which took the form of a humanoid trapped within a star-shaped confine. The humanoid appeared to glare back.

"Damn it, Sam, I thought you were the one introducing Murphy."

The entity did not respond verbally, but instead opted to shrug its shoulders. The upset man in the lab coat sighed angrily, pinched his nose, and turned to Murphy.

"Look, I apologize for this mix-up, Mr. Law. We believed you'd be coming to this game understanding what was happening." The man straightened his face and made eye contact with Murphy, outstretching his hand to offer a shake. "My name's Amando Smalls, but you can call me by my last name. I'm a memeticist working- well, formerly working- at the SCP Foundation."

Murphy was cautious- he knew these types.

MURPHY

So you're one of the egghead doctors, huh? One of those Pataphysics members? I've had encounters with people like you.

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