Paws barely making a sound, a strange dog walked along the catwalks in the workshop undetected. He watched as the machinery worked hard to mold metallic material into body parts for robotic dogs. Several were lined up against one wall, almost completely done. The line continued getting longer as more were made. Next to one that had been built was an English bulldog who was painting his signature mark on the robot's shoulder. The stranger smiled and padded down.

"Quite a business you have here," the stranger remarked, walking boldly up to Ratchet. Spinning around, the bulldog wielded the paintbrush he had been using like it was a knife. "Who are you?!" he demanded. Merely moving the paintbrush to the side with his paw in a calm manner, the stranger ignored Ratchet's question as he asked a question of his own, "What do you plan on doing with all of these?"

"I'm selling them so I can knock out a threat," Ratchet replied curtly. Nodding his head thoughtfully, the stranger murmured, "It's always the same with businesses like yours. You try to win before they can get on their feet. You stomp your paw down on them like they're insects." Spying a cockroach scuttling across the floor, he did just that.

"Excuse me, what do you want?" Ratchet asked. Looking the English bulldog right in the eye, the stranger answered, "I have a better idea. You can make enough robots here to make an army. You have an enemy. So do I. Why don't you show the world what these guys can do on the field?" Realizing where the stranger was going with this, Ratchet murmured, "I don't have enough money to make a full blown army."

"I can give you the money, you can make the army. First New York City, next... the world," the stranger spoke smoothly, extending his paw forward. Grinning at the idea, Rachet happily shook the paw of the old English sheepdog.