In a refurbished warehouse sitting in one of Midway City's worst neighborhoods, T.O. Morrow is hard at work. He has a few days of beard stubble, and he hasn't changed the garish Hawaiian shirt he's using in lieu of a labcoat in about the same amount of time. He stirs his martini with a tiny straw as he studies the schematics of his latest artificial brain design on an enormous computer screen.
"It lacks.. panache. Something to give it that extra little spark, and.."
His train of thought is interrupted by a silent, blinking alarm light.
"What's this? Company? I thought the cape population had abandoned Midway City.."
Morrow flips a switch to activate the automated defenses.
"I'd better clean up a little if they're coming in."