"What is a random box doing in the middle of the woods?" Mike mumbled rubbing his soon to be bruised arm. Suddenly, a large shadow appeared in front of the moon that lit the cold Indiana forest, and an arm with a long white sleeve reached out and grabbed Mike by the hood of his jacket. "I've got him! I've got the Wheeler boy!" The man shouted. "Good. Very good. Put him in the van." Another voice commanded. Two large yellow headlights turned on, illuminating the outline of a large white van. "Grab his bike, we need to hide the evidence that he was ever here." the same voice said. "Bad.... Bad people." Mike whispered.