Soap kicked at the dying campfire, bored out of his skull. Ghost had gone to check the perimeter, and Price was asleep with his hat over his face. Gaz was snoring like a chainsaw. And then there it was the book.

He found it at a sketchy marketplace in Romania.

It smelled like incense and regret, and the stall owner swore it was “full of eldritch power.”

Soap thought it’d be funny to read it out loud. He cleared his throat dramatically.

“Leader of men, with strength and pride, Let your spirit walk wild beside, If loyalty burns in heart so true, Let the beast within rise anew!”

WHAM!

There was a flash of light, a puff of smoke, and a familiar scent of cigar and rage.

Standing in the middle of the campfire now was a massive, stocky grey wolf with dark bristling fur, a white patch across the muzzle, and the most majestic mustache-beard combo you’ve ever seen on a canine. Plus his bucket hat still hanging on his head with one ear sticking out.