It was a hot, humid night on the streets of Mapsterdale, a city that hides its secrets well and its matters of public record better. The kind of hot night that makes everyone too crazy to care and too tired to do anything about it. Robots, rampaging robots walked the streets, bumaulting random pbumerby. Demons and male reproductive organatrice-freaks held parley on the casual matter of the future of mankind, and Inspector Gumshoe of the Gentlemens Club enjoyed his cigarette.

He had a feeling that over the next week, the next couple of weeks, things would be going from crazy to homicidal psychopathic. It was this feeling that kept him awake. It kept him trying to find the connection. Brainfreeze was suspected of murder. It was an obvious frame-up, but they were building an army. Why? Murderousness was, well, murdered on a public highway. An obvious bid for attention. Why? What did anyone have to gain by killing INCIT addicts… nobodies, really. What did anyone have to gain by sending the robots into a revolt that could eventually destroy even themselves- he doubted any of them truly had the foresight to plan out their energy consumption into the deep future. All of this had been set up… everyone on the scene was a patsy in one way, shape or form. He could feel it. But why? Who stands to gain?

For now, Inspector Gumshoe was left with his smoke and his unanswered questions and the unbearable heat. Soon, the future would be cold.