FADE IN:

INT. MURPHY LAW DETECTIVE AGENCY - NIGHT

A light-skinned man leans back at his desk, feet up, reading a newspaper. He is clad in a white-collared shirt, with his trademark trilby hat tossed thoughtlessly atop of his desk. We can see his shoulder-strapped holster; it carries a .44 magnum. A bent cigarette rests between his lips.

His name is MURPHY, and he is ready to give anyone a bit of the business. He is hard and handsome — with the sort of face you could use to smash up concrete, then dust off and still take home to show your ma.

He is also our NARRATOR. His voice is a harsh growl; as if he just swallowed a fistful of spent cigarette butts and followed it down with a sulfuric acid chaser.

NARRATOR

You see a lot of ugly in this line of work. Good people with bellies full of lead, left to bleed out in rain-soaked alleyways. Love ruined — turned inside out — until it just becomes an angry, festering sore. Statues that'll kill you as fast as you blink.

The door to the office flies open. A dark-skinned woman dressed in a white lab-coat bursts in; she is in her 40s, and has a fierce, vibrant beauty. This is the RESEARCHER, and although she might need MURPHY's help, that doesn't mean she's going to like it.

NARRATOR

But when it comes to ugly, nothing beats a containment breach.

RESEARCHER

(confused) What… what am I doing, here?

NARRATOR

She wasn't the first beautiful woman to burst into my office and ask me that question.

MURPHY

(lowering paper) Same as anyone else, toots. You need my help.

RESEARCHER

(indignant) Don't call me 'toots'. I've got a fucking doctorate in molecular physics—

MURPHY

(sets paper down) Alright, alright. My bad, Professor. I apologize. Now…

MURPHY slides his feet off the desk and rises to stand. He folds his arms over his chest and watches her.

MURPHY

How can I help?

RESEARCHER

(hesitant) I don't… I don't know how I got here. I don't even know what 'here' is. I was… I think I was working on something, when I heard typing sounds, and suddenly…

RESEARCHER

(shocked) I don't remember. I don't even remember my name.

NARRATOR

A beautiful woman with a doctorate in molecular physics — and no memory of who she was or how she got here. Her eyes told me she needed my help; her name-badge told me the rest.

MURPHY

(glancing at her name-badge) You're Professor Michelle Lewis.

The RESEARCHER looks down at her name-badge, as if noticing it for the first time. She appears shocked; her eyes rise back up to stare at MURPHY. She now knows her name. It is DR. LEWIS.

DR. LEWIS

I… right. That's my name. I work for the Foundation.

NARRATOR

The Foundation. A bunch of pencil-pushing geeks trying to figure out where the magicians were hiding all those rabbits they pulled out of their hats. I should have turned her away right then and there; when the Foundation's involved, you know it ain't gonna be nothing but trouble.

MURPHY scowls, but nods his head, moving to open a drawer in his desk.

NARRATOR

But me? I'm not the sort of man who stays away from trouble.

MURPHY pulls out two shot-glasses, along with a bottle of half-finished whiskey. He sets them atop of his desk, focusing his icy stare on DR. LEWIS.

NARRATOR

I'm the sort who slides on over next to trouble and buys her a drink.

MURPHY

Alright, Professor. I'll take the case.

DR. LEWIS

You will? I mean… wait, what?

NARRATOR

My name is Murphy Law. And I'm the guy you call when everything that could go wrong… did.

TITLE SPLASH

Murphy Law in… Type 3043 — FOR MURDER!

FADE OUT.