Docs Detective Agency
291087 Crown Royal Street
Sector 9, Area 18, ArcTech
27.10.2951
File # 100011101
For Office Use Only
Coming Soon...
Doc Orion looked at the beautiful coda revolver in his hands, and felt grumpy.
He had been waiting for this day for a long time.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his scummy surroundings. The station's stink of rotting trash and broken air vents permeated his body.
The stench of garbage and rotten critters stuck in broken air vents plagued the senses.
He had always hated Grim Hex with its filthy, glamorous garbage.
It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel grumpy and the need to drink.
Doc took a swig from his flask. He needed to be clear-headed for what was about to happen.
He glanced out the window at the sun. It was a pale, sickly yellow, and it made him feel better. He had just finished cleaning up his office when the bounty showed up.
He was a little surprised that it was so early.
Doc didn't like the bounty. He was a nasty piece of work.
Doc gulped from his flask. He glanced at his own reflection in a broken mirror across the bar. He was a dastardly, despised, whisky drinker with smoker tendencies and clammy hands.
His friends would have said he was a hero. But Doc knew that he was just a scummy man with a dirty name and a dirty past.
He was a man who had no business being a hero.
His friends saw him as a barbecued, breakable badass. Once, he had helped a lonely mangy dog recover from a flying rabies accident.
But not even a dastardly person who had once helped a lonely mangy dog recover from flying rabies, was prepared for what the bounty had in store today.
Just then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of the bounty. the figure was a neglectful squid of a man with a fidgety posture and greasy hair. His face was covered in scars and burns. The bounty was a man who had seen many things in his life, and he was a man who had been through a lot.
The bounty approached the bar slowly and carefully.
Doc smiled and gulped from his flask.
The bounty was a man with a fidgety posture and greasy hair. His face was covered in scars and burns. His chest was covered in tattoos and scars. His eyes were red and bloodshot, like a pair of angry, broken balloons.
Vaporized Smoke tendrils oozed from his face, a face covered in scars and marks of galactic diseases of exotic natures you only read about in the magazines in the waiting rooms at cousin crows.
The steam acid vent fog teased like barking whales during a country music concert, making Doc salty.
Doc gulped from his flask.
The bounty came up to the bar and stopped, staring at Doc.
As Doc stepped into the light and the bounty came closer, he could see the disturbed smile on his face.
“I am here because I want revenge,” the bounty bellowed, in a shameful tone. He slammed his fist against his chest, with the force of a rodent. “I frigging hate you, Doc Orion.”
“And I want you dead,” he continued, “because you killed my crew and I want your head on a stick,” he said.
“You will never leave this bar alive, Captain Morgan,” Doc replied with a smile.
Doc looked back, even more salty and still fingering the beautiful coda revolver at his side.
“You will never leave this bar alive, Captain Morgan,” he replied in the voice of someone tired and wary of the predictable outcome these encounters usually end in.
They looked at each other with mad feelings of anger and spite, like two crooked, curried cats dying at a very despised battle, which had dubstep music playing in the background and two deranged grandpas rampaging to the beat.
“You’re a dead man,” the bounty said, with a bloodshot gaze.
The bounty lunged forward and tried to stab Doc in the heart. Doc, however, was an old pro at these types of things. Doc grabbed the beautiful revolver and brought it down on the bounty’s skull. The bounty’s body crumpled like a paper bag, and he fell to the ground.
Doc held the coda revolver, which had a long barrel and was loaded with blanks.
“I’m just a lonely old man who likes his whiskey,” he said with a smile.
“You’re a dead man,” the bounty replied, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I’ll tell you what,” Doc said. “If you’ll give me your name, I’ll make sure to remember it.”
“You’re a dead man,” the bounty replied.
The bounties squid chesticles trembled and his fidgety thinker wobbled. He looked distorted, his body raw like a fishtart, kaleidoscopic protein bar,
a single smoking bleeding dot the size of a coda round between two yellow pearl glazzed bloodshot eyeballs.
Doc Orion Shrugged and returned his coda revolver back under his coat, smiled, went back inside, and made himself a nice whisky already forgetting the bounty.
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