Funk Ninja dwells in the shadows of the lowest depths, scraping away an existence as a "free-agent of dubious enterprise." No dollar is too quick, or dirty, or peed on for him to blow on malt liquor and Oxycontin. His substance abuse is his only ally against the tightening grip of insanity. His name has spread like a lazy cancer through back alley vice-holes, where naive victims of desperate crimes seek his specialized skills. Moofin has gone missing-a prize-winning Pomeranian abducted in the night by extortionists planning an "avocado and dog-meat omelet" if their demands are not met. And so Funk Ninja has a mission. Through haunted rooftop battlegrounds between man and mythical beast, to a crocodile infested warehouse hosting martial fights to the death, he wanders his city as a living ghost running from a past he cannot bury-bobbing for ripe apples inside a rotten head for a shot at redemption and any excuse to go on living.