An infamous team of unlikely superhumans from Sol 3 investigate a mysterious murder on a man-made planet - but what dark secrets lie in wait?
The screech of the machines was enough to drive any poor soul mad - it hissed and shrieked as the cogs turned and the pseudo-neurons fired away constantly. It was a horrific sight, and the sound echoed across the astral plains.
And there - deep in the metallic black pulsing heart of the Master Engine, a poor soul lay dead, his life blood lowing from his neck and his face emaciated and his eyes dark and cold.
Upon his body was carved no less than three letters, as if he had etched them into his skin himself...
The course of action was all too simple - and so, on that blistering planet of steel and flesh, the call was sent to Sol 3.
It was the early evening - or was it morning? - when the familiar sounds of the warp pierced the normal clanking and shrieking, and the white light dissipated to reveal three residents of Sol 3.
A woman led the trio, her eyes a shining amber and her teeth tapering to a slight point - the Chief Engineer even reckoned he saw two small feline ears poking out from beneath her dirty blonde bouffant. A flamboyant dress, leopard print coat and small pilot sunglasses completed the very 60's chic appearance.
Next to her was a cheery looking man in a pressed suit that hardly fit him - his face was beaming, and his eyes were a watery blue. The muscles on his arms were visible beneath the blazer, rippling and quivering constantly.
The last was an imperious young man in a black Nehru jacket, his eyes darting everywhere while he walked in an almost militaristic fashion - quick, yet controlled. Other than that, there was not much more the reception party could pick up, and so they waited in hope and fear.
"Well, that was a boring trip. Why couldn't I bring a book?" whined Scarlett. "You know I hate warp travel. You know I can't stand industrial planets - whatever happened to green grass and good literature?"
She raised her faux fur coat above the pools of oil ahead as Druj merely stomped through them - Ambrose glided effortlessly between them, slightly adjusting his collar as he went.
He had received the call from the Engine, and was all too happy to respond - Earth criminals were getting sluggish, and the only one that really posed a threat anymore was that demented Professor Who'shisface - or something like that. A nice, simple murder would be a pleasant break from sitting there meditating and considering the needle.
He looked to his compatriots - Druj, the hulking man of a thousand muscles, and Scarlett, the result of a strange occult experiment bringing a spirit into a human body. He could not precisely detail why or how she had become such a fashionista after an eternity in a universe without clothes, but he merely chuckled inwardly and prepared to question the locals.
And up in those blackened heavens, cold eyes watched - unforgiving and in remembrance.