Erwin had been searching for his brother Edwin for almost two weeks when he finally stumbled upon a clue.

He hadn't been alive at the time of the "Tastes Great" / "Less Filling" wars, but he had read about its horrors in the history books, and seen pictures. His great-great-great uncle had been there, though, refereeing the beerbath, and the tales he told had kept little Erwin and Edwin awake until the wee hours, long after the refrigerator light had been turned off.
He had fervently hoped never to see anything like his uncle had described.

Pictures and stories weren't the same as real life, so it was that nothing could prepare him for the sight of Edwin's hat, laying in the middle of a dirty alley in a pool of what he feared was not water.

He went over and picked the hat up. There was a dent in it, he noted, sweating a little more.
He looked around. The alley was deserted.

(It's official. 300 days of PaD and cabin fever are a nasty cocktail.)

Erwin and Edwin, in happier days (that's Edwin on the left):