Chapter 1: The Man in the Beige Suit

It was a cool 65-degree day. Wind moved through the neighborhood, carrying the soft ringing of wind chimes.

The day I decided to sell my soul to the devil.

I was riding my bike to my interview. I was interviewing for a job at my nearby Target. My interview was at 4:30 p.m., and now it was 5:00.

"Hopefully I can still get it," I said to myself as I biked to the interview.

As I arrived a tall, lean man in his mid-forties was wearing a beige suit that looked too clean for a place like this  standing in the checkout aisle. He was just looking at me, as if he were examining me. The store smelled like disinfectant, plastic, and that sharp “new product” scent that clung to everything. 

I walked into the interview room. A man about sixty sat behind the desk wearing a worn-out wife beater with grease stains on it. Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a day or two.

"So, traffic, I'm guessing?" he said as I sat down.

"No, sir. I'm just late," I said with a nervous chuckle.

He looked at me and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I looked at your record, and you have two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. On top of that, you're late. I don't think you fit our requirements. I'm going to have to deny you this job."

He stood up quickly, shoving the metal chair back. Its legs scraped across the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. 

"Sir, please. I need this job, or I'm going to lose my house," I said, my voice breaking as I pleaded with him. 

"I never hurt anyone. I was framed, and the jury was too stupid to see that I was an innocent man."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

"You will not come into my office screaming at me. You are not suitable. Now leave."

As he said that I instantly reached for the door saying “thanks for wasting my time.”

I opened the interview room and ran out bumping into the beige suit man.

"Would you like to make a deal with the devil?"

As any normal person would, I said no.

He stepped closer and whispered in my ear.

"You can make a lot”

The moment he said that, I replied, "Show me."

As we walked toward his black U-Haul-looking vehicle, he reached into his pocket. On his forearm was a strange tattoo. It looked like a circle with arrows pointing inward, almost like a military logo, with the letters SCP underneath.

As he flipped his newly bought metal lighter and lit his cigarette, I asked, "Are you ex-military?"

He looked at me. His eyes widened for a split second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the tattoo.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business."

As we got closer to his van, he started asking me strange questions.

“So I heard you were arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Is that true?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not how it went down.”

“Listen, I was framed. The jury just refused to believe me.”

“The jury didn’t even listen to the truth. They just wanted someone to blame.” 

He looked at me like I was lying.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted.

"Listen here. The court says you're guilty. That's good enough for me." 

Then I reached his black van. He opened the side door and said, "Your riches await."

As I looked inside, his hand, still warm from the cigarette, clamped onto my shoulder.

Chapter 1: The Man in the Beige Suit

It was a cool 65-degree day. Wind moved through the neighborhood, carrying the soft ringing of wind chimes.

The day I decided to sell my soul to the devil.

I was riding my bike to my interview. I was interviewing for a job at my nearby Target. My interview was at 4:30 p.m., and now it was 5:00.

"Hopefully I can still get it," I said to myself as I biked to the interview.

As I arrived a tall, lean man in his mid-forties was wearing a beige suit that looked too clean for a place like this  standing in the checkout aisle. He was just looking at me, as if he were examining me. The store smelled like disinfectant, plastic, and that sharp “new product” scent that clung to everything. 

I walked into the interview room. A man about sixty sat behind the desk wearing a worn-out wife beater with grease stains on it. Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a day or two.

"So, traffic, I'm guessing?" he said as I sat down.

"No, sir. I'm just late," I said with a nervous chuckle.

He looked at me and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I looked at your record, and you have two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. On top of that, you're late. I don't think you fit our requirements. I'm going to have to deny you this job."

He stood up quickly, shoving the metal chair back. Its legs scraped across the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. 

"Sir, please. I need this job, or I'm going to lose my house," I said, my voice breaking as I pleaded with him. 

"I never hurt anyone. I was framed, and the jury was too stupid to see that I was an innocent man."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

"You will not come into my office screaming at me. You are not suitable. Now leave."

As he said that I instantly reached for the door saying “thanks for wasting my time.”

I opened the interview room and ran out bumping into the beige suit man.

"Would you like to make a deal with the devil?"

As any normal person would, I said no.

He stepped closer and whispered in my ear.

"You can make a lot”

The moment he said that, I replied, "Show me."

As we walked toward his black U-Haul-looking vehicle, he reached into his pocket. On his forearm was a strange tattoo. It looked like a circle with arrows pointing inward, almost like a military logo, with the letters SCP underneath.

As he flipped his newly bought metal lighter and lit his cigarette, I asked, "Are you ex-military?"

He looked at me. His eyes widened for a split second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the tattoo.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business."

As we got closer to his van, he started asking me strange questions.

“So I heard you were arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Is that true?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not how it went down.”

“Listen, I was framed. The jury just refused to believe me.”

“The jury didn’t even listen to the truth. They just wanted someone to blame.” 

He looked at me like I was lying.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted.

"Listen here. The court says you're guilty. That's good enough for me." 

Then I reached his black van. He opened the side door and said, "Your riches await."

As I looked inside, his hand, still warm from the cigarette, clamped onto my shoulder.

Chapter 1: The Man in the Beige Suit

It was a cool 65-degree day. Wind moved through the neighborhood, carrying the soft ringing of wind chimes.

The day I decided to sell my soul to the devil.

I was riding my bike to my interview. I was interviewing for a job at my nearby Target. My interview was at 4:30 p.m., and now it was 5:00.

"Hopefully I can still get it," I said to myself as I biked to the interview.

As I arrived a tall, lean man in his mid-forties was wearing a beige suit that looked too clean for a place like this  standing in the checkout aisle. He was just looking at me, as if he were examining me. The store smelled like disinfectant, plastic, and that sharp “new product” scent that clung to everything. 

I walked into the interview room. A man about sixty sat behind the desk wearing a worn-out wife beater with grease stains on it. Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a day or two.

"So, traffic, I'm guessing?" he said as I sat down.

"No, sir. I'm just late," I said with a nervous chuckle.

He looked at me and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I looked at your record, and you have two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. On top of that, you're late. I don't think you fit our requirements. I'm going to have to deny you this job."

He stood up quickly, shoving the metal chair back. Its legs scraped across the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. 

"Sir, please. I need this job, or I'm going to lose my house," I said, my voice breaking as I pleaded with him. 

"I never hurt anyone. I was framed, and the jury was too stupid to see that I was an innocent man."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

"You will not come into my office screaming at me. You are not suitable. Now leave."

As he said that I instantly reached for the door saying “thanks for wasting my time.”

I opened the interview room and ran out bumping into the beige suit man.

"Would you like to make a deal with the devil?"

As any normal person would, I said no.

He stepped closer and whispered in my ear.

"You can make a lot”

The moment he said that, I replied, "Show me."

As we walked toward his black U-Haul-looking vehicle, he reached into his pocket. On his forearm was a strange tattoo. It looked like a circle with arrows pointing inward, almost like a military logo, with the letters SCP underneath.

As he flipped his newly bought metal lighter and lit his cigarette, I asked, "Are you ex-military?"

He looked at me. His eyes widened for a split second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the tattoo.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business."

As we got closer to his van, he started asking me strange questions.

“So I heard you were arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Is that true?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not how it went down.”

“Listen, I was framed. The jury just refused to believe me.”

“The jury didn’t even listen to the truth. They just wanted someone to blame.” 

He looked at me like I was lying.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted.

"Listen here. The court says you're guilty. That's good enough for me." 

Then I reached his black van. He opened the side door and said, "Your riches await."

As I looked inside, his hand, still warm from the cigarette, clamped onto my shoulder.

Chapter 1: The Man in the Beige Suit

It was a cool 65-degree day. Wind moved through the neighborhood, carrying the soft ringing of wind chimes.

The day I decided to sell my soul to the devil.

I was riding my bike to my interview. I was interviewing for a job at my nearby Target. My interview was at 4:30 p.m., and now it was 5:00.

"Hopefully I can still get it," I said to myself as I biked to the interview.

As I arrived a tall, lean man in his mid-forties was wearing a beige suit that looked too clean for a place like this  standing in the checkout aisle. He was just looking at me, as if he were examining me. The store smelled like disinfectant, plastic, and that sharp “new product” scent that clung to everything. 

I walked into the interview room. A man about sixty sat behind the desk wearing a worn-out wife beater with grease stains on it. Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a day or two.

"So, traffic, I'm guessing?" he said as I sat down.

"No, sir. I'm just late," I said with a nervous chuckle.

He looked at me and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I looked at your record, and you have two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. On top of that, you're late. I don't think you fit our requirements. I'm going to have to deny you this job."

He stood up quickly, shoving the metal chair back. Its legs scraped across the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. 

"Sir, please. I need this job, or I'm going to lose my house," I said, my voice breaking as I pleaded with him. 

"I never hurt anyone. I was framed, and the jury was too stupid to see that I was an innocent man."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

"You will not come into my office screaming at me. You are not suitable. Now leave."

As he said that I instantly reached for the door saying “thanks for wasting my time.”

I opened the interview room and ran out bumping into the beige suit man.

"Would you like to make a deal with the devil?"

As any normal person would, I said no.

He stepped closer and whispered in my ear.

"You can make a lot”

The moment he said that, I replied, "Show me."

As we walked toward his black U-Haul-looking vehicle, he reached into his pocket. On his forearm was a strange tattoo. It looked like a circle with arrows pointing inward, almost like a military logo, with the letters SCP underneath.

As he flipped his newly bought metal lighter and lit his cigarette, I asked, "Are you ex-military?"

He looked at me. His eyes widened for a split second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the tattoo.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business."

As we got closer to his van, he started asking me strange questions.

“So I heard you were arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Is that true?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not how it went down.”

“Listen, I was framed. The jury just refused to believe me.”

“The jury didn’t even listen to the truth. They just wanted someone to blame.” 

He looked at me like I was lying.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted.

"Listen here. The court says you're guilty. That's good enough for me." 

Then I reached his black van. He opened the side door and said, "Your riches await."

As I looked inside, his hand, still warm from the cigarette, clamped onto my shoulder.

Chapter 1: The Man in the Beige Suit

It was a cool 65-degree day. Wind moved through the neighborhood, carrying the soft ringing of wind chimes.

The day I decided to sell my soul to the devil.

I was riding my bike to my interview. I was interviewing for a job at my nearby Target. My interview was at 4:30 p.m., and now it was 5:00.

"Hopefully I can still get it," I said to myself as I biked to the interview.

As I arrived a tall, lean man in his mid-forties was wearing a beige suit that looked too clean for a place like this  standing in the checkout aisle. He was just looking at me, as if he were examining me. The store smelled like disinfectant, plastic, and that sharp “new product” scent that clung to everything. 

I walked into the interview room. A man about sixty sat behind the desk wearing a worn-out wife beater with grease stains on it. Bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a day or two.

"So, traffic, I'm guessing?" he said as I sat down.

"No, sir. I'm just late," I said with a nervous chuckle.

He looked at me and said, "I'm going to be honest with you. I looked at your record, and you have two counts of assault with a deadly weapon. On top of that, you're late. I don't think you fit our requirements. I'm going to have to deny you this job."

He stood up quickly, shoving the metal chair back. Its legs scraped across the floor, the sound echoing through the small room. 

"Sir, please. I need this job, or I'm going to lose my house," I said, my voice breaking as I pleaded with him. 

"I never hurt anyone. I was framed, and the jury was too stupid to see that I was an innocent man."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed.

"You will not come into my office screaming at me. You are not suitable. Now leave."

As he said that I instantly reached for the door saying “thanks for wasting my time.”

I opened the interview room and ran out bumping into the beige suit man.

"Would you like to make a deal with the devil?"

As any normal person would, I said no.

He stepped closer and whispered in my ear.

"You can make a lot”

The moment he said that, I replied, "Show me."

As we walked toward his black U-Haul-looking vehicle, he reached into his pocket. On his forearm was a strange tattoo. It looked like a circle with arrows pointing inward, almost like a military logo, with the letters SCP underneath.

As he flipped his newly bought metal lighter and lit his cigarette, I asked, "Are you ex-military?"

He looked at me. His eyes widened for a split second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down over the tattoo.

"Don't worry about it. It's none of your business."

As we got closer to his van, he started asking me strange questions.

“So I heard you were arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Is that true?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not how it went down.”

“Listen, I was framed. The jury just refused to believe me.”

“The jury didn’t even listen to the truth. They just wanted someone to blame.” 

He looked at me like I was lying.

Before I could defend myself, he interrupted.

"Listen here. The court says you're guilty. That's good enough for me." 

Then I reached his black van. He opened the side door and said, "Your riches await."

As I looked inside, his hand, still warm from the cigarette, clamped onto my shoulder.