wooden-stained doors. The club seemed to thumb and groove with the techno music that was being pumped out of speakers all around the building. Lots of beautiful canines-both male and female-were dancing on the floor, and at least a dozen or so were chatting in the VIP lounge; a balcony with a glass-like floor. Vince directed Brent up the stairs and found two open seats at the bar. The bartender presented them with vodka martinis, along with an olive that resembled the sinking Titanic in the liquor. Vince took a sip and replied, ‘’so, you want to get your man, right?’’

Brent nodded. Vince smiled.

‘’I arranged for him to meet us here,’’ he then stopped in mid sentence, ‘’here he comes. Hide your face.’’

A German shepherd with a fake eye walked over. He had a slight limp to his walk, which had been caused by Brent when he accidentally missed his chest, hitting his leg. He sat down and said, ‘’I take it you are Vincent Thunderhorn, am I right?’’

Vince nodded.

‘’That’d be me.’’ He answered. Rick shook Vince’s paw.

‘’So why did you bring me here anyway?’’ he asked.

While the two talked, Brent sat, hiding his face from his girlfriend’s kidnapper. Suddenly, a big paw reached out and grabbed him by the collar, pulling his body up. Brent stared right into the eyes of none other than Francisco Luchiani, a villain from Italy that he had put in jail. Franc glared at his adversary and said, ‘’this time, I’m gonna make sure you are dead.’’

Franc pulled back his fist and nearly hit Brent, but luckily he dodged. Swinging his leg out, Brent caught Franc and made him fall forward. Rick saw his enemy and fled, dropping a mysterious-looking duffle bag and heading for the parking lot. Brent saw him leave and nailed Franc in the head, noticing the duffle bag on the ground. He didn’t even need a second to figure out what it was.

‘’Bomb!’’ he yelled and bolted from the club; followed closely by a mass of dogs. The club was sent into flame. Brent jumped into his Camaro and slammed down on the gas pedal. The Camaro shot forward, pursuing the kidnapper.

Rick drove through the many streets of Nome in his Bentley, outrunning anything that got in his way. Brent followed behind him, but he knew he’d have to get in front of the Bentley to stop the chase; and considering how far it was from his car, that wasn’t going to be easy. Brent weaved in and out of traffic, finally finding a shortcut. Ducking into a parking garage, he drove up the spiral access ramps until he reached the top floor; about five stories off the ground. Ahead was a make-shift ramp, which turned out to be just a loading truck parked conveniently in the Camaro’s path. Brent grinned and pilled on the power, launching off the truck ramp and into the air. Brent could see the Bentley below him as he headed for a rough landing on the road. Rick looked up and saw the Camaro hit the road in front of him. He hit the brakes, skidding to a stop. The Bentley slid sideways and rolled almost lazily onto its roof, groaning as it started the crush onto itself. Rick clambered out and was immediately seized by Brent.

‘’Rick Scythes, you are under arrest for kidnapping, ‘’Brent then twisted Rick’s arm behind his back, ‘’now be a good doggy and tell me where my girlfriend is!’’

Rick smiled.

‘’You’d better let me go, or she might get hurt.’’

Brent growled.

‘’Where is she, you piece of crap?’’ he exclaimed. Rick just laughed.

‘’Try and catch me, and then maybe I’ll tell you!’’

With a great flick of his arm, Rick threw Brent onto the ground, escaping through a time portal. Brent traced the location and created his own portal. Still angered, Brent jumped through the portal and into the voids of the Space-Time Continuum.

Medieval England, 1615,

Brent landed in a small grotto of brushes. He sat up and examined his clothes. He was dressed in green tights, and a green tunic. He looked at his surrounding and replied, ‘’dammit! That bugger sent me to the 1600s!’’

As if to question his observation, Rick walked past the grotto with Ginger on a horse. Brent peered through the leaves and growled under his breath.

‘’Wait until I wipe that smug look off his goddammed face! Then he’ll be sorry.’’ He hissed. Brent then turned around, bumping into a metal leg.

‘’Ow,’’ he exclaimed, ‘’watch where you’re going man.’’

Brent then looked up, his face going pale at the sight. A man in black armour stood before him. Brent gave a massive gulp.

‘’The bla…the bla,’’ he tried to yelled, but his voice was gone. Finally, he managed a weak and very faint, ‘’the black knight!’’

The Black Knight grabbed Brent and pulled his onto his feet. Brent looked up in fear; he wasn’t sure what the black behemoth might do. But the Black Knight did nothing, leaving the scene. Brent watched him go, totally confused and stunned at what just happened. Brent then had noticed the Black Knight had blown his cover. Rick had saw his adversary and gone for cover. Brent cursed and sat down behind the bushes. He knew Rick was a sore loser, so all he had to do was beat the idiot and put him under arrest. Brent had spied that Rick had on some steel armour, with his helmet was held under his arm. Brent had gotten a foolproof idea. Walking over to the king, he whispered into his ear and stood back as he announced, ‘’ladies and gentlemen. This young lad here has just made me aware of two new jousters. The young lad himself, Brent MacWolf, and Rick Scythes, who is currently in the stables.

Brent gave a small bow and headed off to find himself some armour.

Thirty minutes later,

Brent watched as the two jousters before Rick and he were supposed to go. Both were in brightly-polished armour, and their horses were well trained. The king put up his paw and yelled, ‘’go!’’

The two horses galloped toward each other at full speed; their riders holding out their large jousting sticks in hope of catching the other. The more experienced rider – a dog in red armour – aimed his cumbersome jousting stick and connected with his enemy, sending the poor dog backward in a shower of splintered wood and dust. He landed on the ground and lay limp. A dent in his armour started to slowly soak in blood. Soon a pool appeared under his body. The red knight galloped away and Brent was forced out into the courtyard. Getting onto his horse, Brent flipped down his visor and held out his jousting stick. Rick appeared on the opposite end, repeating Brent’s preparations. The two waited for the king’s signal. He lifted his paw and yelled, ‘’go!’’

Rick shot off like a rocket toward Brent’s oncoming horse. Brent saw Rick speed.

‘’Oh God, I’m gonna die!’’ he shouted as Rick’s jousting stick nailed him in the stomach. However, Brent managed to stab his stick into his enemy, throwing off his balance and making him tumble sideways. Rick growled and created another time portal.

‘’Maybe this is a little low-tech for my liking. Perhaps a little more modern warfare is what we need!’’

Rick then jumped into the portal. Brent dove from his horse and into the portal just as it closed.

The Atlantic, 1812,

Brent landed in a pile of barrels and burlap. He stood up, rubbing his head. Something wasn’t right. He constantly felt the room moving back and forth as if it was sitting in water. He opened the wooden door to the left of his landing spot and proved his assumption. He had landed on a war vessel of the American fleet, and heading at a straight course was a ship that flew the Union Jack. Standing on the prow – sword outstretched – was Rick Scythes with a prominent grin upon his face. He turned to his crew and roared, ‘’fire at will!’’

The commander of Brent ship gave a similar order and soon the ships were sending barrages of cannonballs at each other. One shot was sent through the wooden walls, of the room Brent was in, grazing his tail. He yelped in pain and hit the deck as more steel balls connected with the wooden vessel. One of the American shots managed to hit the British ship’s mast, causing it to come crashing down. Many of Rick’s crew were slain, making him take actions into his own paws. Rick grabbed a cannonball and fired, hitting his enemy near the waterline. Brent felt the ship starting to list. He slowly crept out of the room he had landed in and sneaked toward an unoccupied cannon. As he crept slowly, the ship heaved to the right as cannonball collided with it constantly, and crewmembers were sent flying overboard as they were hit by their enemies’ fire. Finally, Brent reached his cannon and aimed at Rick. He took a shot. Rick ducked and watched the cannonball break through the decks and create a hole in the bottom of the ship. Water started to leak in and flooded the bottom deck almost immediately, and the other decks would soon follow. Rick growled and created another portal, leaving his crew to the seas. Brent climbed onto the edge of the ship and dove off, flying through the portal.

Vietnam, 1970,

Brent appeared in a trench on Vietnamese soil, and