Locked in the back of the military van, Chase was dragged into a small holding kennel. The next few minutes were not something he'd ever want to live again. His uniform was stripped away, then sprayed with multiple kinds of mist. He either sneezed, coughed, or shook his head as he was bludgeoned with tests. At that moment, Chase wished he could melt into the floor, he had never felt so powerless in his entire life. Every moment he could, he backed up into the corner of the kennel, making every attempt possible to shield himself.

"We got the readings back on his uniform," a trooper noted through his mask, tall brown ears coming through his helmet, "no cross-contamination,"

"Well that's one good thing," muttered another, a shorter trooper with black flopping ears, "initiate bio scan,"

Chase had a hundred questions, but fear had sealed his muzzle. His tail was curled underneath him, like letting it out for even a moment would get it chomped off. A beeping noise suddenly came from above, and Chase looked upward to see a small device on the top of the kennel. A fine, grid-shaped laser was suddenly emitted, passing through Chase forward and backward. The puppy's breathing had not yet slowed, and every new instrument activated made him feel even closer to wetting the floor.

The two troopers read some data on the tablet, then quickly collected their things and jumped out of the van, leaving Chase alone. He stayed cowering in the corner, waiting several minutes before finally lifting his ears again. With one brown paw in front of the other, the puppy crept to the iron gate of the cage and peeked out, careful to make little to no noise.

The walls of the van were lined with dark metal plating, each with shelves and racks for various things. A footlocker compartment was in view just across from him, locked tightly with various bolts. The shelves carried spare helmets, a worn set of gloves, and discarded equipment Chase couldn't place the meaning of. His eyes soon fell to his blue pup-pack, thrown to the side of the van. His mind raced, as options and ideas shot in and out. All of the gadgets on the pack were bark-activated. All he had to do was say the equipment name and finish with a bark. Could he break himself out? Was that an option? His question was answered as he caught sight of a gun rack just two feet from his pup-pack. Four idle assault rifles rested on its hinges, seemingly venting themselves from shedding blood and deafening violence. Chase gulped and decided he'd stay put for now.

The door of the van suddenly opened again, causing Chase to scamper back to his safety corner. He could hear a dog march in, placing one foot after another and lifting its powerful body into the vehicle. The doors were shut behind it, and the puppy's heart skipped a beat as the dog casually walked to the steel bars and looked through. Their eyes were cold and stone, with a hard face riddled with scars. They were brown and black in color, and seemed to be another German Shepherd.

"Chase, right?" the dog asked, "Paw Patrol division?"

"Yes, sir," the puppy breathed as if fear was blocking his voice itself,

"You passed the scan, and so did your friend,"

"Is that a good thing?" Chase gently picked his head up,

"It's the only good thing," the dog growled, "good because it means I don't have to kill a puppy today,"

Chase retracted his head and slunk back farther.

"My name is Cyrus," the dog said, "Captain Cyrus. Now tell me what you two were doing here, now."

Chase took a second to gather his bearings, tapping a foot on the ground. He had been brave before in the face of danger, but this was something else. Cyrus was a whole new level of intimidation, his very presence suppressed any action Chase could have taken to stand up for himself.

"We were answering a call about a missing woman," he explained, "and her dog..."

"And?" Cyrus pushed,

"I don't know!" Chase defended, "I just stayed outside, Rocky went in,"

"I've already talked to your mutt friend," Cyrus leaned back, unimpressed, "he nearly ruined the entire crime scene by cleaning it up. Do you know how many DNA traces and evidence he could've done away with?"

"What have we done wrong?"

"You want the whole story?" Cyrus asked, but kept talking, "you are impeding on ACG turf, which is adult speak for getting in the way."

"ACG?" Chase asked, "I've never heard of you before,"

"Of course you haven't, we aren't stationed in this bay, and never have been. But recent events have called us to your location, and you need to stay out of our business."

"But we were called to help!" Chase protested,

"Sure you were," Cyrus rolled his eyes, "these people are so used to a kid and his puppies solving all their problems. But this problem takes more, and the professionals need to take charge now."

"But we're the Paw Patrol..."

"And we are the Assault and Containment Guild," the dog said, a hint of pride in his voice, "we'll let you go, but there can be no more interference or we'll really put you down."

Chase looked down sadly, "yes sir."

With Chase's nobility up front, Cyrus could feel himself softening a little. He knew this puppy wasn't an innocent animal who wandered into traffic. As much of a joke as it was, Adventure Bay did have law enforcement. Dogs didn't get a title like that from a prize in a treat box.

"Listen kid," Cyrus sighed, "I know you mean well, but you need to move aside for a bit. Once we find what we're looking for, we'll clear out."

"What are you looking for?" Chase asked, tilting his head,

"Classified information, sorry,"

Not wanting to ask any more stupid questions, Chase tried to ease the tension by asking something friendlier, "are you a German Shepherd like me?" The puppy's tail gave off the faintest sign of wagging.

The larger dog chuckled, "no, I'm a Belgian Malinois. We're a lot stronger than Shepherds believe it or not, and more suited for police work."

"You... are?" Chase could feel his heart sinking,

"Yeah, I thought you were one too," Cyrus shrugged, "I guess two breeds look alike."

Chase lowered his head for a moment, shuffling his paws. Being so exposed and caged, anxiety was starting to build within him, a feeling he tried to shake by presenting himself as not afraid. His attempts had however failed, and Cyrus's presence, -combined with him being a much stronger and better breed- was making him feel sick.

"You said you were letting me go?"

The Malinois's smile quickly died, "in time. Your friend is still interrogation,"

"Interrogation?" Chase repeated with widened eyes, fearing for Rocky,

"As I said, he messed up the entire crime scene."

Chase did not realize that just a couple of feet away, there was another van parked on the side of the road. Rocky, zip-tied and stripped of his pack and uniform, was dragged in and locked in a kennel just like Chase. Even though he had already passed the scans and tests, the troopers had more that needed to be done with him. The walls of the van were thick enough to suppress the pained cry of a dog meeting the edge of a baton.

"Evidence tampering, mutt!" the trooper barked through his mask, swatting Rocky into the wall of the kennel, "what are you hiding?!"

Rocky could barely stand, as sharp pain tore through his head, spending what little energy he had to cover his face. The mixed-breed could only get so many words out as his quivering studded his voice, and blood spilled from his nose. After he passed the tests, one of the ACG troopers decided to open the kennel and start a rather physical interrogation.

"I'm sorry!" Rocky cried out,

"You have no idea the setback you just caused," the trooper clamped his paw on Rocky's arm and shoved it away, staring down through his tactical goggles, "no one does that out of blind idiocy, now talk!"

"I just wanted to clean! I like cleaning!" the mixed-breed whimpered, trying to defend any part of himself,

"Bullshit, who likes cleaning?"

"Ricks, I don't think you're being convincing enough," called the other trooper, chuckling darkly.

"Probably not," snarled the interrogator, then turned back to Rocky as a metal baton emerged from his pup-pack, "let's see how many of your teeth I can knock out."

He was interrupted as Cyrus opened the doors of the van, "Ricks, Marlee, that's enough!"

The two troopers immediately stood tall and saluted, "Captain Cyrus, sir! He's not talking, sir!"

"Well maybe it's because you're beating the hell out of him," he growled, "now get out, I'll take it from here."

"Yes sir!" the two dogs quickly left and jumped out of the van.

Cyrus watched them go, giving a sigh of annoyance. He knew full well of the brutality enforced by the ACG troopers, every higher-up he set a report to always ignored it. He eventually realized the cruelty of the soldiers was being pardoned, in favor of their efficiency and success in missions. It was something everyone just had to deal with. The Malinois approached Rocky, who was fearfully cowering in the corner of his kennel. The poor dog was bloodied and beaten rather harshly.

"Were you really just cleaning?"

Rocky nodded wordlessly,

"No ill-intention?"

The puppy shook his head as his broken voice came through "none,"

"Alright, just hold out for now," Cyrus tried to reassure him, "you'll be let go once we make our final reports."

Chase and Rocky were finally let go after another half hour. They were left standing on the street, the ACG troopers took the extra care to mindlessly toss out their things, along with their collars and uniforms. Chase was aghast at Rocky's condition, and he could feel his heart breaking as the mixed-breed stifled his cries. The Shepherd waited until the last car disappeared around the corner before reaching for his collar. His tag was blinking, meaning was trying to call. Sighing, Chase tapped the tag to let it through.

"Chase?" Skye could be heard,

"It's us, Skye," he breathed, "where is Ryder?"

"Chase?! Oh thank-" she stopped herself, "Ryder got apprehended a few blocks away. I got scared when I lost connection, are you okay?."

"I'm fine, but Rocky isn't," Chase winced, looking back at his brother-in-arms, "we're coming home, tell Marshall to get his EMT gear ready."