Chapter 6: One death's aftermath, is another death altogether

"Heave-ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die" – Hoist the colours by Ted Elliott & Terry Rossio

Before long, the prison guards arrived at the interrogation room, horrified by the scene in front of them. The same was true for Marshall, who was still looking down at Rubble's dead body. Even though Rubble just tried to kill them, Marshall couldn't help but feel sad. After all, despite his crimes, he was still an ex-PAW-Patroller.

First, they lost Ryder, and now they lost Rubble too. Who was next? Would it be Rocky or Zuma? Or maybe Skye, Everest or Tracker? Or maybe even Chase, his Chase. Marshall didn't know if he could survive that. Chase meant everything to him. Without the shepherd, Marshall would be lost. All these thoughts were making Marshall go down in a downward spiral, drawing him into a dark abyss, which would only lead from bad to worse. But then he felt a muzzle, one so familiar that the dalmatian instantly snapped out of his depressing thoughts, and looked up into the eyes of his mate.

"I love you, Chase" Marshall whispered into the shepherd's ear.

"I love you too" Chase replied.

Looking into each other's eyes, they saw their own emotions reflected in them. Emotions so confusing that neither could quite identify them. On one hand, it was to kill or be killed. On the other, they just watched as someone, that they used to be friends with, was shot through the head. Twice.

"So, you two are boyfriends?" Silvex asked as he put away his spare weapon, the one he didn't turn in at the locker.

"Don't act surprised" Chase replied, turning to Silvex. "You had us figured out the second we walked in, didn't you?"

"Pretty much" Silvex grinned, before turning to Marshall. "Sorry about this, it shouldn't have happened"

"Don't worry about it" Marshall replied. "The action reminded me of the old PAW-Patrol days, minus the insane bulldog trying to kill us, that is. Regardless, it was a useful reminder of why I should stick to fighting fires"

Chase couldn't hold in a snort hearing this.

"Let's get out of here." Silvex said, leading the other canines to the door. "It's morning now, I think we should get some breakfast"

Whereas the Coastal City's Sant Angelo Pier was quiet during dinner time, it was only quiet during dinner time. The rest of the day, be it the middle of the night or the break of dawn, it was busy as all hell. These busy hours weren't very well suited for Captain Xavier's, or rather Bloodrazor's activities the last time he was there, but they were very well suited for certain other activities, like covert meetings, like the one he was about to have with a certain associate.

This associate didn't actually work for Bloodrazor, he was more of a freelancer or a gun for hire. Either way, if you needed something less-than-legal to be done, he would be the canine you would want to hire. He always gets the job done, but his services come at a price. And a pretty steep one at that.

Normally, Bloodrazor wouldn't hire expansive freelancers to clean up messes. He would just send one of his own people. This time was different though because he needed someone with the right skill set, who wouldn't let him down like Stillburg did. In fact, it was because of the mess Stillburg made that Bloodrazor needed to hire this freelancer.

Stillburg, in his effort to leave no trail, accidentally created a few. There were three that Bloodrazor viewed as troubling: there was the gun that went missing from evidence and used to kill Jessie Griffin's boyfriend, as well as Stillburg's body and Jessie herself, who was still alive.

Bloodrazor had no doubt that Silvex would find something that he didn't think of, since Silvex had always been a better detective than Xavier ever was, but he could at least handle the weaknesses that he knew of.

Bloodrazor took a seat at one of the benches, right next to a German shepherd wearing black clothes and a canine baseball cap to hide his face.

"Are you him?" Bloodrazor asked, to which the canine nodded. "I expected you to be bigger"

"Oi, mate. I am what I am, ya have a problem with that, shame on ya" the shepherd said with a rather heavy Australian accent.

"Don't worry, no problems here." Bloodrazor asked. "But I do need to know, can I rely on you?"

"Sure, mate. For the right price, that is" the Australian shepherd replied

"Then you're hired." Bloodrazor said. "What do you think of 50k now, 100k after?"

"Lemme think about it." the shepherd said, scratching his chin with one of his paws. "I'm in. But what exactly is this job?"

"It's a rather long story, but it involves you impersonating an already dead police officer" Bloodrazor answered. "And holding a girl at gunpoint"

While Zuma was driving his car north, covering the 20 miles that were between him and Coastal City, he still couldn't get over the fact how real his… vison felt. It had been like Rocky was actually there with him, even though he wasn't. When he was done here, he would definitely have to pay a visit to NCIS's shrink. Not just because of this, he didn't need much help interpreting this. Mostly it was because of his growing obsession with the PtP-killer.

Ever since Zuma left the NCIS headquarters, he had spent most of his time on his own, while tracking the PtP-killer. He did have some occasional interactions with the local law enforcement, but after the PtP-killer moved on, so did he.

Zuma didn't have a partner. If he would have had one, maybe he wouldn't have gotten obsessed. He knew the case file by heart, and he often summarized it in his head, trying to think of something that he might've missed.

The harsh truth was that the PtP-killer was just too good. He had killed eight victims so far, never leaving any traceable evidence. Only a body, and another name on Zuma's list.

After the third victim, Zuma had reached out to a friend at the FBI's profiling department, who took one look at the case before saying that this killer would only stop if stopped and that he was too good to be stopped. When Zuma asked for advice to catch the PtP-killer, his friend couldn't give him any.

Usually, the way to catch a serial killer is by discovering how he picks his victims and setting a trap. Only, Zuma was pretty sure that the victims were picked at random. The victims had been young, old, black, white, etc. Of the eight victims, three were wearing a firefighter's uniform, and they had been on duty. Two of the victims were Marines, and they were killed in hand-to-hand combat, so the PtP killer had to be an excellent fighter himself, especially if he managed to avoid leaving any trace. The remaining three had been private contractors that had recently returned from a highly classified operation in Afghanistan, so there was absolutely nothing Zuma could learn about what they did there.

All these thoughts and more went through Zuma's mind as he summoned up the whole case file in his mind, again. But no matter how many times he went through it, whether it was in his mind or with the actual file in his hands, there were two questions that he was unable to answer: How did he make me in New York? And why didn't he kill me?

Zuma then noticed a sign by the side of the road, one that gave him some much-needed distraction from the headache waiting to happen in his mind.

"Welcome to Coastal City" Zuma read the text as he drove past it, into the city.

Driving through the city, Zuma's first impression wasn't that good. After seeing that most of the people walking around were prostitutes, drug dealers, or their clients, he wasn't all that impressed.

This is a city ruled by corruption and greed, and it's much worse than New York.

Zuma realized that he was starving, and now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he ate. As it so happened, he drove down right past a 24/7 diner. It was one of those diners styled like they were in the '80s, with a big neon sign on its front and a small parking lot next to it.

After hearing his stomach literally grumble from hunger, the decision was easily made. He quickly parked his blue Audi in the parking lot and walked in, no longer thinking of the case but rather what he would eat.

The proposal to go get breakfast turned out to be well received, but before they could leave, they had to fill out quite a bit of paperwork. Turns out, the warden doesn't like it when one of his inmates gets gunned down during an interrogation. Nevertheless, the three canines managed to get out of there before it got too late.

The prison was surrounded by a decent sized river and was only connected with the opposite shore by a steel bridge that would be retracted whenever its gate would close. It gave the prison quite a bit of extra security.

The three left the prison at around 10 o'clock, with Silvex driving Chase's car and Marshall driving his own. Given that the events during the interrogation were related to their case, it was decided that the two detectives should ride together, and so Chase found himself a passenger in his own car, again.

With Marshall the civilian out of the way, the detectives had the perfect opportunity to talk about their case. But, if you just found out your partner was gay, and had a boyfriend, would you talk about some case instead of their love life?

"So, this Marshall, do you like him?" Silvex asked his first question.

"Like him?" Chase asked rhetorically, before raising his voice's volume to near shouting levels. "I freaking love him!"

"Wow, calm down, partner" Silvex reacted to his volume. "I'm sitting right next to you" Silvex replied

"Oh, right. Sorry Silvex, but I just saw an old-" Chase started.

What the hell do I call him? He was no friend, and in the end, he was more of an enemy, but I did trust him once. Should I call him a brother? No, even in the PAW-Patrol we didn't exactly have brotherly feelings

"…team member die right in front of me" Chase finished his sentence. He then noticed a 24/7 diner on their right, and it looked like a nice place to get their lunch. Before Chase could point it out though, Silvex had already hit the turn signal, making sure Marshall noticed it in time.

The diner had a small parking lot next to it with plenty of room, since there was only one other car. Both Marshall and Silvex parked their cars on opposite sides, giving both plenty of room. When they got out, all three walked over towards the door. Silvex and Chase, having parked the closest to the entrance, arrived there first. Marshall hurriedly arrived a few seconds later, before all three of them walked in.

The inside of the diner wasn't very busy, in fact, there were only five other customers: two cyclists, a mother and her infant son, and a sleep-deprived Labrador sitting by himself in the back.

Upon reaching the counter, they were greeted by a smiling man in his late 20's, who handed each of them a menu as they took a seat at the counter's barstools. Chase sat down in the middle, with Marshall on his right and Silvex on his left. Silvex was the first to order, choosing a glass of milk and a sandwich. Chase and Marshall followed suit, both ordering the same thing.

While they were waiting for their food, Chase snuck another glance at the Labrador he saw earlier and noticed that he was staring down at a police file.

"Hey Silvex" Chase whispered to his partner, but Silvex was already looking.

"Wow, he's a federal agent" Silvex confirmed Chase's suspicions. "But I don't know what agency"

At that point, the attendant returned with their food. They thanked him and paid, before eating their meals in complete silence. Seeing another Labrador reminded Chase of Zuma, who had always been like a brother to him. During their meal, Chase's mind once again drifted back to some of their PAW-Patrol days.

The southern district of Coastal City was where most of the middle class lived. It was mostly residential, with one or two small offices hidden in-between the houses. During the late-morning hours, most adults would be at work, while the children would be at school. This meant that there were only a few people throughout the district, some of whom were currently located in and around an 80's styled 24/7 diner.

While the people inside the diner were simply eating and enjoying their meals, three humans outside had different plans. All three of them were fully dressed in black clothes, and each of them had a hockey mask in their hands, while the biggest guy had a backpack on his back.

"Dave, can we please just rob that diner and be done with it?" one of the smaller men asked the biggest, who's apparently named Dave.

"And leave it full of witnesses?" Dave replied, with a level of authority in his voice that made it clear that he was their leader. "I don't want to be recognized"

"We'll be wearing ski masks." the other said. "Who would recognize us?"

"Fine, we'll move now." Dave said as he put on his mask. The others did the same, and all three took a gun out of Dave's backpack. They then proceeded to run towards the diner's entrance.

Zuma was sitting at a table in the back of the diner, facing the door. This wasn't NCIS protocol or training either, but truth be told, Zuma was getting worried about the PtP-killer, and what their connection was. He didn't know what connected him to the serial killer, but he knew something did. It's the only way to explain the events of New York. This realization, in combination with a substantial lack of sleep and the loneliness, had made Zuma a little paranoid, which is why he wanted to keep an eye on things, while looking through the missing persons from the area, to see if any match the victim profile. So far, he didn't have much luck, which was good. It meant that he wasn't too late. Not yet, anyway.

Since he was sitting there, he had seen three customers leave and five enter. The last three to enter were a German shepherd, a husky and a dalmatian, who came in together. Zuma paid more attention to them than to any of the other customers, since he identified two of the three as cops. He may not have seen their badges, but most cops can recognize their own.

After they ordered their food, Zuma's attention quickly shifted back to the file in front of him, in which he still had three of the 29 pages to go.

A couple minutes later, he heard the door open again. This time, however, he didn't even need to look up to know that there was trouble. He heard by the force with which the door was thrown open, so he automatically reached for his gun.

"Hands in the air, NOW!" Dave yelled as he fired two rounds into the ceiling. All of the other customers immediately threw themselves at the ground, except for the husky and the shepherd sitting at the counter. Rather than surrendering, they pulled out their guns and aimed them at the thugs.

"Drop the guns, now!" The husky yelled. "We're CCPD!"

Had Zuma been alone, then he wouldn't have pulled his gun when he was outnumbered and surrounded by innocents. But now that there were two cops in the diner as well, he figured that the least he could do was lend a paw, and even the odds.

While the two cops were keeping the robbers distracted, Zuma quickly pulled out his own service weapon and started to crawl towards the two cops. When Zuma looked at them, his mind suddenly went into overdrive, for there was something very familiar about the shepherd-cop. Not just his breed and appearance, but also the determination, and the natural calmness his body displayed even under the pressure of a gun aimed at your head.

Could it be…? No, that's impossible, right?

He shook those thoughts out of his head, he didn't have time for it. He continued slowly crawling towards the two cops, but before he was halfway, all hell broke loose. First, the biggest of the thugs opened fire at the husky, hitting him in the shoulder, and making both of Dave's henchmen freeze in shock, though that effect wouldn't last long. The husky's quick reflexes allowed him to quickly return fire before the bullet even hit him. But when Dave's bullet hit the husky in the shoulder, said husky was knocked back into his partner due to the force of the bullet. The shepherd didn't hesitate for even a second, before throwing his partner over the counter and then quickly jumping after him. he made it just in time because the two goons left standing regained control over their bodies and fired at the air where the shepherd's head had been a millisecond earlier.

The shepherd then returned fire, but he missed every round since he couldn't aim while behind cover. To him, the situation was growing darker by the second.

Zuma, ignoring every of sense stealth, got up and ran straight for the counter, dodging two bullets mid-air just as he leapt over it. He crash-landed right by the shepherd's hiding spot. The shepherd instantly aimed his gun at Zuma's head, but before Zuma could take out his badge, a look of recognition came upon the shepherd's face.

"ZUMA?!" the shepherd yelled, both being half deaf due to the gunfire.

Hearing his own name said by a German shepherd-cop made Zuma instantly recognize him. "CHASE?!" Zuma yelled back, him too being half deaf. "It's really you?"

"Ugh, can you please shoot those bastards and save the reunions for later?" Silvex groaned, but loud enough for both canines to hear.

"Right, of course." Zuma said, before turning back to Chase. "Chase, you get the guy on the left, I'll get the guy on the right. Wait until one of them is out of ammo".

Chase seemed like he wanted to respond, but he didn't get the chance to, for not even a second later, both the thugs' guns made that familiar clicking sound of a gun that's out of bullets. Chase and Zuma simultaneously came up from their hiding spot, leaving themselves completely vulnerable to the thugs' bullets, but since they were busy reloading, they couldn't fire at the canines. Both canines raised their guns at the same time, took the same time to aim, before firing at the same time, just before the thugs' guns were set to fire again. It was like a well-oiled Swiss watch. In one clean move, they fired two bullets that seemed to travel parallel to each other. Both bullets hit their mark perfectly, and both thugs fell down, bleeding from new holes in their chests.

Both Chase and Zuma let out the breath they had unknowingly been keeping in while taking their shots, which added extra accuracy to their aim. Chase was the first to lower his gun and quickly scan the diner. Zuma followed his gaze and noticed it fixed on a dalmatian that was ducked under a table near the counter. A dalmatian Zuma now recognized as Marshall. He heard the shepherd audibly sigh of relief before suddenly gasping.

Zuma instantly turned as he heard that sound, and by following the shepherd's gaze, he discovered Silvex's body, lying in a rapidly expanding pool of his blood. This time it was Zuma who didn't hesitate.

"Chase, call an ambulance." the Labrador said while running towards the husky. He then looked at Marshall. "Marshall, come here, help me stop the bleeding" Zuma yelled, after which the dalmatian came running over. Zuma used his teeth to tear off the sleeve of his jacket and started pressing it at the husky's shoulder wound. Marshall followed suit and handed Zuma the new makeshift rag to hold the bleeding, while they could hear Chase's voice clearly in the background.

"Dispatch, this is detective Chase Trigger, badge number 5947, we have an officer down" Chase spoke into the dispatch app on his phone.

Chase rode along in the ambulance, not willing to let his partner out of his sight. The ride was really stressful, with Silvex slipping in and out of consciousness. At some point, his heart even stopped but had started beating again after an injection one of the EMT's gave him. Upon arrival at the hospital, Silvex was immediately taken into surgery, leaving a worried Chase all alone in the waiting room.

About fifteen minutes after Silvex was taken into surgery, Marshall and Zuma arrived. They had driven separately, both having parked their car in the hospital's parking lot, before both running through the lobby to the intensive care unit, where Silvex would undoubtedly end up.

Chase had given both Zuma and Marshall a hug, taking a little longer on the latter, but none of them said a word. Upon the doctor's invitation, they entered the observation room next to the surgery suite in which Silvex was being operated on by a team of six scrubbed doctors. From here, the canines watched every horrific second of the procedures, starting with removing the bullet.

Getting the bullet out of Silvex's shoulder, as difficult as it may have been to avoid further damage, was the easy part. The hard part came when the doctors tried to fix the damage that had already been done. They managed to repair the bleeding vein, while having Silvex on a blood transfusion to replace the blood that he'd already lost, but the husky was still bleeding from somewhere.

The doctors looked all over the body, not just the shoulder, but they couldn't seem to find the source. Meanwhile, Silvex's blood pressure and his heart were dropping, slow at first, but the decrease got faster every second until Silvex went into full cardiac arrest, which was signified by the recognizable steady beep from the machine.

Chase, Marshall and Zuma all gasped and held their breath while two of the doctor quickly brought the defibrillator, while one of the doctors kept searching inside Silvex's shoulder, until he suddenly reached for the needle and wire that was used to make stitches, and started sowing.

The second the finished with the needle and pulled it out, the doctors holding defibrillator yelled 'clear' and activated it, to no avail. They tried it again on a higher voltage, with the same result. When they tried it for the third time, the doctor managing the voltage switch set it to the maximum, after which the other doctor managing the device yelled 'CLEAR' so loudly that the three canines in the somewhat soundproof observation room could hear it clearly. But it wasn't enough. The lead doctor looked up at the clock, and although Chase, Marshall and Zuma couldn't hear what he said, they knew what he meant: 'Time of death, 11:59 am'

At that exact moment, Chase felt his vision start to blur. He paws started to tremble uncontrollably before they gave way completely and Chase collapsed.

When Silvex opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was. He didn't remember what happened, or how he got there. Itching to answer the first of his many questions, he started to look around, not that could see much though. Everything was covered in a thick, black fog. But, as dark as the fog was, it didn't hide everything from sight. Through it, Silvex managed to see several vague shapes in the distance, which were a tad darker than the fog around him. Having no better ideas, Silvex walked up to them, only to discover that they were nothing more than ruins and rubble that once may have formed a building.

He started to walk around, exploring the ruined city, as well as the rest of this strange world. Silvex wasn't one to be scared easily, but this place had a way of making him nervous. For starters, there was the endless black fog. Then there was also the lack of sound, other than his own footsteps and breathing. But what was scaring Silvex the most, was the fact that he seemed to be alone in this wasteland. In this living nightmare.

Silvex didn't know for how long he was walking, it could've been mere minutes or entire lifetimes, he just didn't know.

When Silvex sat down to rest, he felt something weird around him. It was as if the whole fog around him suddenly intensified, making it harder to breathe. And that's when he felt it. A being. But not like himself. This was a being of extreme power. Silvex didn't know how he could feel it, but he knew it was there.

The second Silvex felt the being's presence, he jumped back up and reached for his gun. He looked around, trying to find that 'being', but all he saw was the black fog. He was right about it intensifying since he no longer saw the shapes of the buildings, vague as they were.

Silvex felt the air in his lungs becoming heavier, forcing him to sit back down. Which he did, although he was still quite tense. He kept looking around, searching in all directions, before his eyes stopped at a shape in front of him, a shape that he was sure wasn't there before. As he stared at it, it became clearer and clearer, until the black fog seemed to fade away between them.

For the first time since he had arrived in this world, Silvex could see something clearly. The shape he had noticed turned out to have been a canine, wearing a reddish-purple cloak that hid the other's entire body, except for the head. His head was covered by a hood in the same colour as the cloak, which hid everything but his chin and his mouth in shadowy darkness. Judging by the colour of said chin, Silvex figured the other was a husky as well.

"Who the hell are you?" Silvex asked the hooded figure, while he felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

"If I told you, your grip on this reality would be forever lost" the cloaked husky replied, with a voice a lot like Silvex's.

"I don't care! Identify yourself. Take off your hood, or I will have to be forced to remove it myself!" Silvex demanded. "I am a detective of CCPD, and I have the authority to arrest you!"

Silvex pulled out his gun, aiming it at the stranger.

Am I seriously getting into a fourth shooting within 24 hours?

The stranger laughed. A cold laugh, one that seemed to reach Silvex deep down in his very soul.

"Like a gun could ever hurt me. Much worse has scarred this face. Much worse has broken this body. Much worse... has split my soul" the stranger replied.

Normally, I would've thought he'd gone crazy, but honestly, I'm not so sure of my own sanity anymore

In spite of his thoughts, Silvex did reply. "What are you rambling about...?"

"Fine. I will show you" The stranger said, before taking a deep breath and reaching for the black pin that seemed to be holding the whole cloak together. As he pulled it, the cloak slid off him, revealing the being that was underneath it.

All of a sudden, Silvex was looking at himself. At first, he thought it was a mirror, but then he saw the wings and realized there was no mirror.

Looking upon the other, Silvex couldn't hide his shock. His eyes grew wide, his gun fell onto the ground.

"No... y-you can't be...!" Silvex screamed out.

"Oh, But I am." The other replied.

"You're ME!" Silvex spluttered out.

"Oh trust me, I am so much more than whatever you are, or than you can ever hope to be" The other reacted, spreading out his wings.

"Wh-wh-wh-WHO ARE YOU?!" the detective cried out, bearing the face of someone who indeed, lost their grip on reality.

"You are fragment 36, while I am the CORE fragment." The other said. Silvex felt his paw give in, leaving him lying on the ground, with the angellike version of himself towering above him.

"One day. You and your 498 other brethren will reunite with me. And we will rock the Multi-verse to the very core. We will take what is ours" the angellike other said "For now though, just keep chasing tails. It suits you well..."

The angellike other than raised his right paw, in which he created a blueish flame. After Silvex stared at it for a few seconds, in awe of its beauty, the angellike version of himself pushed it into his face. Out of reflex, Silvex closed his eyes, right before the flame sent a powerful jolt through his entire body.

When Silvex dared to open his eyes again, he saw a ceiling above him. A white ceiling.

Thank god, I'm back! But wait, back from where? The last thing I remember is that diner…

Only after his confusing train of thought did he realize that most of his body was covered up by a white sheet. When he pulled it off of him, he noticed that his body was covered in blood, as was the table underneath him. He quickly felt all over his body for an injury, but he couldn't find anything. It was then that he heard a gasp behind him, after turning around, he saw a man in a white doctor's coat standing behind him. The doctor's face was drained of all colour, and his eyes were as wide as could be.

"Are you alright?" Silvex asked the doctor. "You look like you've seen a ghost"