As Problem Sleuth sipped on his whiskey, his IMAGINATION level rose. If he were to construct a FORT, he would be able to access the IMAGINARY WORLD. However, he would rather not trifle with such matters. His time in the imaginary realm was done. What wasn't done was his glass of whiskey. He finished it off and stared at the table in a hard-boiled manner. Lots of things he did were hard-boiled. In fact, he may well be the hardest boiled person alive. 

	Wait, no, that sounds a bit wrong. Problem Sleuth was not literally boiled. He also was not hard, literally or figuratively. But he was hard-boiled, even when making sexual innuendo. He was used to that sort of stuff. 

	After he paid for his whiskey, he stood up and headed outside. He was slightly wobbly but regained his balance shortly.

	He had yet to catch up on today's newspaper, so he placed a coin in a newspaper rack and got to reading. He was striding down the street with no real destination in mind. All he was really doing was basking in the fact that the world is real.

	He walks up close to a ruckus. He barely noticed before he looked up from his newspaper. There was a strange monstrous individual wreaking havoc in the streets, killing armed men. This looked to be a problem in need of a sleuth. And if this individual were to continue its rampage, then sure enough a dame will end up getting injured. And as he was a hard-boiled, brave detective, he would undoubtedly die fighting if dames were involved.

	He lie in wait with his KEY at the ready, waiting for things to get hairy so he can prepare an ambush and begin a perfectly timed STRIFE.