Mortimus Vrax slowly raised his head, a layer of dust running off his wide brimmed hat. He turned his head towards the door to his office, neck creaking as bone rubbed against bone. Slowly, he looked around, allowing his head to recover and remember where he was. He was sitting in a large leather chair, like his hat covered in dust. Come to think of it, the whole room was covered. From the bookshelves full of ancient tomes to the large wooden desk in from of him to the filing cabinet, full of files containing old cases. As he looked down at his desk, his head cleared as his empty eye sockets focussed on an ancient, 6 chamber revolver. A memory flashed across his mind. War... a long war... a dark war. Suddenly he was back in the office as a noise brought his mind out of contemplation. Mortimus shifted slightly in his chair, dislodging more dust. So much dust, how long was he sat there, just thinking... sleeping? He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. Probably back when he was alive. The noise came again, a sharp knock on his office door. A dark figure stood on the other side of the frosted glass, decorated with a sign    
"Mortimus Vrax:
Private Detective."
Mortimus had been sending adverts across the galaxy, offering his services as a detective to any wih the money to pay for them. The knock came once more.
"Come in." He called out with a cold, dry voice.