It was ironic. After years of voice lessons that took me nowhere because of my own lack of discipline, years of failed community theatre auditions, I awoke one morning with the voice of an angel.

A snow angel.

You see, anyone who hears my now-beautiful singing voice starts to shiver. Within a few verses, they're starting to turn blue. I've never pushed it farther than that; hypothermia isn't something I want to play with.

I was given a brief solo in a production of Annie, but after the complaints from the audience - not to mention my fellow cast members - the creative team asked me oh-so-kindly not to audition for any future shows.

I kept my head (and my voice) down for months after that. It's easy not to sing, really. Especially after years of thinking you're horrible at it.

But then, things on the news started getting weird. Local politicians started acting unanimously, as though they had all been bribed by one determined individual.

It was a few weeks before the word got out: he called himself the Heat Whisperer. Apparently, he would whisper commands over and over. The people hearing them would start to sweat, at first thinking they were intimidated. Their skin would start to turn red, then blister, as they began panting. Nobody could resist obeying him longer than that. He had local government wrapped around his finger before anyone had even heard his name.

I offered my services to law enforcement. They nearly laughed me out of the room, but after a quick demonstration, they saw my potential.

The Heat Whisperer is still hard to catch. He really managed to get his hooks in all over town quite quickly.

But all the cops wear wires now. Little ear pieces, tuned to the same underground radio station. And as for me?

I know a lot of show tunes.