A salty feeling poured into his mouth as Michael Booters bit into his ham n’ cheese sandwich. He felt the salt trickle down his throat, and instinctively it made him wish for a better meal. He was sick of this pre-cooked fast food crap. But alas he was on duty and wouldn’t be home for months. Booters was in the FBI and his mission? To capture the one the only Wolfhook. Booters called in his headquarters to update his companions on the status of his mission. “This is Booters,” he said, “no new developments.”

“Hotdogs,” the voice on the phone replied. Booters knew what happened and threw the phone and ran, but it was too late. Wolfhook had struck again.