Fuzzy Frankie’s is one of those corny themed pizza places, the kind where you take a dozen third graders for a birthday party. The employees dress like they escaped from a cut-rate circus. There’s a good selection of classic arcade cabinets, and a stage with animatronic mascots that pretend to play instruments and sing the same dozen songs on an endless loop every half hour. The pizza itself isn’t half bad. Right now, Frankie’s is closed, though, probably for a while. Because last night, somebody took Sally Squirrel’s bass guitar, and beat the night janitor to a bloody pulp with it.

You’re ${character.name}, a homicide detective attached to the ${Name of your city?} Police Department’s Crypto Squad. C-Squad is the special unit that investigates the really weird cases. Right now, you’re looking at a chalk outline, marking the place where the day shift found the mortal remains of Steven Kim.

Steven was eighteen years old, Korean descent, no record. He was a recent graduate of Robert W. Chambers High School, working nights at Frankie’s to save up for college. A good kid, dead a lifetime too soon.

The crime scene doesn’t add up, which is why they put you in charge. Frankie’s was locked up tight from the inside. There was no sign of forced entry, and only the manager would have a key. No prints on the murder weapon, a mocked-up electric guitar with no strings. Normally Sally Squirrel would be holding it on the little stage built into the south wall. From the position of the body, Mr. Kim was running away from his attacker, trying to reach the steel security door leading to the office area. He tripped, or got knocked down, and never made it. The guitar caved his skull in.

Something makes you walk over to the stage, and take a closer look at the animatronic band. There’s Frankie Fox, the lead guitarist, Tommy Turtle on drums, Rachel Rabbit on upright bass, and Sally Squirrel. They all stare back at you with goofy, frozen grins. One of Sally’s eyes is shut, like she’s winking at you. Her furry hands are curled into empty claws, grasping for the guitar you’ve already wrapped in plastic and taken to the station as evidence.

“If you could talk…” you say, staring at her.

Sally’s mechanical jaw chatters open and shut. You almost jump out of your skin as the animatronic band starts blasting ‘Sweet Home Alabama’.