D. Kirk and A. Byrne vs. Murdering Jessie’s New Secret Weapon
Oh, the hell with it.
EXT. DARK CITY STREET
D. KIRK, Man of Science, bounds heroically from a blazing laboratory, giving furious chase to the impertinently escaping MURDERING JESSIE, criminal.
MURDERING JESSIE: Ha ha ha! You see, your parsiminious Occam’s Razor is no match for my Arsenious Bombs Ablaze, sir! I escape thoroughly! Hungh-ho! Hurkh!
MURDERING JESSIE trips over a sleeping STREET CHILD.
D. KIRK: Ha! Foiled once more, Murdering Jessie. Did you think I’d allow you to escape so easily?
MURDERING JESSIE: You allowed nothing, you ratcatcher! This urchin will pay for his treacherous japes, and then I’ll teach you the scientific method… for murder!
STREET CHILD removes dusty cap, revealing himself to be A. BYRNE, Liberal Arts wastrel, and D. KIRK’s trusty sidekick.
A. BYRNE: Har! It was me all along, Jess! Once again, you lose – and that’s a repeatable result.
MURDERING JESSIE: Bah! You may have won this round, you blundering fools, but soon I’ll unleash my new weapon. A new, secret weapon, the likes of which you’ve never seen! Your ears will rue the day you ever crossed paths with the notorious Murdering Jessie!
MURDERING JESSIE reaches into a secret pocket in his violet cape, and produces a SMOKE BOMB, which he hurls heftily at D. KIRK’s forehead before having it away down an alley. Sound of a crashing bin and a screeching cat.
MURDERING JESSIE: (distant) Ow-BLAST!
A. BYRNE: New secret weapon, eh? What do you think he means by that?
D. KIRK: Pfft. Mere grandstanding, I shouldn’t doubt. What sort of weapon could possibly affect our experienced lobes? After all – we survived the Funeral Suits.
INT. GARISHLY LIT VENUE
D. KIRK and A. BYRNE sit, idly awaiting the arrival to stage of HAM SANDWICH, a popular beat combo.
D. KIRK: Ah – we’ve earned this. A good night off, with a good vintage brandy, and a good lack of murderous criminals eager to burn us up in a chemical fire. Wait, what’s that you’re drinking?
A. BYRNE: It’s a diet cola. Just the right mix of aspartame and caffeine for my tastes. Oh, here we go…
To the STAGE comes a bearded MASTER OF CEREMONIES.
MC: Ladies and gentlefolk, please welcome to stage, your opening act of the evening, NEW SECRET WEAPON!
D. KIRK and A. BYRNE share a suspicious glance, then glimpse a shadowy caped figure lurking in the balcony. Meanwhile, NEW SECRET WEAPON, a trio of talentless musicians, take to the stage in a frenzy of hideous noise and sub-par songwriting.
D. KIRK: Aaarrrgghhh! My ears! It’s like they’re attacking me from within! What’s happening?
A. BYRNE: I don’t… nnnggg….. know! It’s like no…. aarrrrr…. pain I’ve ever felt before!
D. KIRK: Hold steady, guy – we’ve seen off awful opening acts before. They can’t possibly be… owwww…. as bad as the Funeral Suits. Even casting a rapid eye across /their/ poster at the bar almost… urrhhhhgg… did me in earlier. We just need…. to fend them off… with a flurry of impeccably-crafted… mockery. Just until their opening set finishes.
A. BYRNE: Easier said than done: I can barely hear you… JESUSCHRISTDIEINAFIRE… over their cacophony. Could this be how Murdering Jessie finishes us off once and for all?
A BYRNE collapses to the floor, convulsing horrifically, like a dead frog in an electrical current. TO BE CONTINUED…?
No. New Secret Weapon were this: rubbish.