AN: If you are wondering why I am so late blame my busy life. I apologize that things have been sort of slow on this story. It's not that I don't want to write it, but I have important things in my life that take present which are more important. But here I am with another chapter. I've had some people say that this isn't quite like Zuma's Fear, but that's to be expected. This is different in a way, but I promise you the familiar dark stuff is going to come around.

So, sometime next week I should have my Deviant Art account. I'm going to post the following fanfics on it: Marshall Gone Missing, Everest Gone Missing, Zuma's Fear, From Fear to Courage, Zuma's Courage, Truth or Dare, and Falling For My Best Friend. I also plan on doing the Choose Your Own Adventure Story I promised to do as well as some art. But that's for next week.

Nothing to say on the show at the moment. It's just being its same usual awesome self.

Disclaimer: I do not own Paw Patrol


"When life knocks you down, try to land on your back. Because if you can look up, you can get up. Let your reason get you back up." Les Brown


Shaw took what had to be his sixth cigarette that day as he watched the firefighters put out the last of the embers from the cottage that caught on fire. It wasn't hard to tell that this was an arson attack with the empty gas cans everywhere, plus the fact that the firemen said they saw the doors and windows boarded up, leaving the poor bastards to die like rats in a cage. What made it even worse was a few of the Dalmatians picked up a scent of a dead body and they soon found it in a shallow grave with a bullet hole in his head. If that didn't make things more screwed up, one of the other cottages held a shipment of drugs and they found the stuff used to make it.

There had been rumors of drug makers in these parts, but none of the officers in the area had suspicion of it. Looks like I'll have to talk with them, thought Shaw as he walked around to the only witness in the area. At first, they thought he was the one who did it, but the fact that he was whimpering on the ground with his pants filled with crap and urine made them think differently. After getting him a fresh set of pants, they had him waiting by the ambulance as he muttered to himself while wrapping a blanket around him. The only thing he asked was that none of the dogs they had get near him.

Shaw nodded to his two officer guards who stepped back and allowed him to see the bloodshot punk. Frankly, Shaw cared little about the guy since he was a drug pushing scumbag, but right now he needed answers. "Alright, I want you to tell me everything that happened here."

"He did this… that pup… that pup… eyes so full of hate… killed them without care… he's… he's a monster…" muttered the punk, shaking with fear.

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "A pup? You mean to tell me a pup did this?" Shaw was starting to wonder if instead of being scared the guy was having a bad high. Wouldn't be the first time someone took their own drugs and did something stupid.

"Y-yes… he kept me alive… threaten to burn me like the others… if I didn't tell him about Stone…" whispered the man.

That got Shaw's attention faster than a speeding train. "Wait, Damian Stone? You work for him?"

"Work for a guy that works… for him…" muttered the punk, shaking even more. "Wanted to know what I knew… told him what I could… wasn't much… but I gave him my boss… he'll go after him… I'm dead anyway…"

"Who is your boss?" asked Shaw, trying to think of all the drug pushers in Costal City.

"Stephen, man. Stephen is my boss," replied the guy, but he shook his head. "But he ain't going after him either… that tiny pup…"

"Oh? Who else?" asked Shaw.

"He… he's going after the cops that shot that guy… that driver…"


When the report on the radio about the burning of the drug place hit them, the two officers who were previously at the location didn't speak for hours. The thought that they were that close to being wacked by whoever caused the fire made them want to put the safety off on their pistols. Of course, the really worrying part was that there was a survivor, and if he implemented them in not only accepting bribes and a cut of the dope, but also that murder as well, they were ten ways to fucked.

"… how much do we have in the back?" asked the one in the driver seat, closing his eyes.

"At least two bags, why?" asked his partner.

"We sell the two bags, split the money, take separate plane tickets to any place either of us wants and start a new life," replied the driver, wondering if it was safer to cross into Europe or South America.

"Wait, you want to split up?! What happened to being partners?!" shouted the other cop.

"If we stay together, we're more likely to get identified together," replied the driver, shaking his head. "Besides, it's not like I've taken a bullet for you and you for me. We just did this for the dope and that's it. We split the money, we get out of the state, and we never see each other again."

"Maybe the guy won't rat us out," replied the other cop with a hopeful tone.

"And maybe the Oakland Raiders will win a Superbowl. Get real," replied the driver, taking a sip of the beer he bought not too long ago. He was going to need six more of these by the end of the night. "Go make sure we have enough dope to sell. Be quick about it. I wanna get to the city in two hours."

His partner rolled his eyes before leaving the car. The other one took a few swings of the beer in his hand until he heard his partner scream. Turning around, he saw him being dragged down below the car and out of his sights, but his scream and pleading continued until he saw blood splatter the window.

Without wasting any time, the surviving dirty cop took out his gun and rushed outside, aiming it at the darkness of the forest. He fumbled for his flashlight and gulped. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

He turned it on and found nothing, but this only made him sweat more. Slowly, finger on the trigger, he moved towards the back of the car to check on his partner, aiming at anything that made a single sound. With shaking hands, he aimed down at the end of the car and almost through up. His partner was lying on the ground with blood dripping down between his legs, the pants ripped to shred along with something else, and his throat was torn open. That was enough for him to bolt for the open car seat. However, he felt something sharp bite him in the leg and forced him to land face first into the ground.

The worst landing was possibly given to him as he slowly got up with his nose bleeding and his eyes crossed. He felt worse pain when his head was sandwiched between his car and the door that slammed into his face and neck. The first few blows caused him to scream, followed by massive whimpering as every part of his skull started to fall apart. By the sixteen slam, he was already unconscious. By the twenty-first, his head caved in on itself and was nothing more than pudding.

Zuma stared at the second corpse of Nathan's killers. He spat on the near decapitated head and made his way back into the forest.


It had been a few days since their first mission as Paw Patrol in such a long time. The gang had a small celebration with a few of their other friends invited. Rocky admitted to himself that he had fun for the first time in months. He danced Pup Pup Boogie, ate some good snacks, and even managed to get Katie to give him that hairdo he liked for the Puptacular contest awhile back. Of course, he had it turned back to his original style afterwards since he thought it would be best for it not to get in the way of work.

He gazed to his friends who were playing tag with one another while he sat down and watched the ocean from his spot near the tree. It was like everything was back to normal… except it was still missing the most important part.

Zuma… thought Rocky with a soft pain in his heart. He missed having the lab right next to him, cuddled close as they watched the sea together in silence. No words or interruptions. Just the two of them on their own. Whenever this happened, Rocky always felt warm in his chest and just assumed it was nothing. Now, he could see that it was his heart telling him how much it was in love with his best friend.

He ached for him to return to his side. Even after such a happy party and being home with his friends and owner, he still wanted to find him.

I wonder where he is… thought Rocky, closing his eyes and thinking on the many possible theories there were. He refused to believe Zuma had killed himself. He knew, deep in his heart, that Zuma was alive. Unless he saw the body, he would never believe it. Maybe he's somewhere happy? Away from Stone or anywhere close to the state. Maybe he's got a new family…

The thought was much better then thinking he was dead, but at the same time it hurt nonetheless. While Zuma would be happy and safe if he found a new owner and friends, it meant that he gave up his old life again for a new one. One where he didn't have to worry about his past or guilt.

If I could just get one look at him… just once… even if I never see him again afterwards... I'll be fine… thought Rocky as he leaned back against the tree. Just once…


Meanwhile, Ryder was watching his pups from the top of the Lookout. He was glad they were doing better after the last few months, especially Marshall who was slowly becoming his old self again. He still sometimes came into Ryder's bed, wanting to sleep with him, and having nightmares once and awhile, but it was progress nonetheless. He turned his gaze towards Rocky who was all on his own and sighed. He too remembered how often the Eco Pup and Water Pup sat together watching the ocean. It made him wish he could just have Zuma here just to make everything feel better again.

Ryder, however, wasn't that naïve. He knew that the moment Zuma came back to them, Damian Stone would pick it up and try to ruin their lives again. Ryder would die before letting that monster have his way with his family again. That what H.A.V.O.C. was for, and he would test it on him personally. There was also the backup plan of running away to a new state or even country if it came to that. Ryder had enough money to move him, and his pups, into a new home. It meant leaving Adventure Bay, but Ryder would do anything to keep them safe.

His Pup Pad started to ring as he picked it up and answered it. To his surprise, it was a face he hadn't seen in a long time, but he still looked as serious as ever. "Detective Shaw?"

"Hello, Ryder. It's been awhile. Heard you and the Paw Patrol are back," replied the detective.

"Yeah, we stopped some dogs from robbing Mayor Goodway and stealing Chickaletta," replied Ryder with a nod.

"Good to hear." Detective Shaw rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't suppose Zuma was with you when that happened?"

Frowning, Ryder answered, "No, Zuma hasn't come home. Rocky's been searching for him for the past few months but he's found nothing…"

For a while, Detective Shaw closed his eyes and pinched his nose. "Ryder… I think Zuma's alive…" Ryder's eyes widened as the man continued, "A few days ago, a drug making den was put on flames. We found the dope, the stuff to make it, and the men behind it. One of them who survived the fire… they claimed that it was caused by a pup… a pup whose description exactly matches Zuma's."

Ryder gasped. "Are you sure?!"

"My gut is telling me it's him and I've never once had my gut fail me. It's him, Ryder," replied Detective Shaw.

A great big smile stretched across Ryder's face as a few tears dripped from his cheeks. He was alive. Zuma, his pup, was alive. However, he noticed the frown on Detective Shaw's face and stopped. Something was wrong. "You don't look happy about this, Shaw."

Detective Shaw shook his head and sighed. "Unfortunately, Zuma's now in big trouble. I've been ordered to arrest this pup, whoever he is."

"What?! Why?!" shouted Ryder in shock. "For what?!"

"Murder, assault, and arson."

Ryder felt as if he got punched in the jaw. "W-what?"

"Ryder, most of the drug makers were burned alive in that shack. This pup trapped them inside and set the whole damn thing on fire with some gas cans. They suffered greatly from what our coroners are telling us, and the survivor claimed he could hear them screaming until all was silent," replied Shaw. "If this was self-defense, or if he was still under your command during a mission, this wouldn't be that huge of a problem… but Zuma's did this with the intent to kill them. Not only that, he killed two corrupt officers as well."

Falling into a nearby bean bag chair, Ryder felt his heart stop beating as Shaw continued the bad news. "While they were corrupt, Zuma, or whoever this pup is, murdered them in cold blood. Their suit camera show everything. He ripped the throat off one cop after tearing his balls off. The other one… he smashed his head between his seat and the car until it was nothing but a mash potato…"

"He… he wouldn't do this!" shouted Ryder, standing up. "Zuma's a good pup! He's kind, sweet, and playful… he's…"

"He's broken, Ryder," answered Detective Shaw, shaking his head. "After what Stone did to him… I guess it's not a surprise something in him snapped… these guys were connected to someone who works for Stone… and he's going to go after him… while leaving bodies behind."

Ryder closed his eyes and began to whimper. No matter what the reason now, the fact that Zuma went that far to kill a corrupt cop made it clear that Zuma was willing to kill anyone to get to revenge. I failed him… I failed him and his family…

"W-what's going to happen to him?" asked Ryder.

"He'll be given a trial if found, but… if he's found guilty… they have no choice but to euthanize him," replied Shaw, shaking his head. "I will do what I can… but I thought you might want to know first, before you tell the pups… I'm sorry."

Ryder didn't answer, but stood alone in a stunned and sorrowful silence. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of what to do. He couldn't tell the pups this, especially to Rocky. If they knew that Zuma was now a wanted criminal they would be torn apart. They would deny it. Hell, Ryder was denying it right now. Zuma wouldn't kill unless he had no choice, he was too afraid of blood to even do anything. But it had been half a year since then. Maybe Shaw was right and something in Zuma snapped.

Now, more than ever, he needs us. He needs his family and the Paw Patrol, thought Ryder with a glare. "Shaw, can you get me and my team on the Stone case?"

"… are you sure about that Ryder? After what happened to your team, especially Marshall?" asked Detective Shaw.

"We need to end this now. If Zuma really is heading towards Costal City we need to be there to help him, and hopefully stop him from doing anything worse," replied Ryder. "My team and I have been preparing for this day… get us in the case and I promise we'll stop Damian Stone once and for all."

Detective Shaw was quiet for a bit before he sighed. "It's going to take a lot of favors, but I'll do it. Just so you know, the FBI is going to be arriving with its best team. They've classified Damian Stone as a Domestic Terrorist now so they'll oversee everything. If things go bad, my neck is on the line."

"I promise not to get you into too much trouble," smirked Ryder.

"Ah, don't worry. I only had four years until retirement anyway," replied Detective Shaw before grinning back. He then frowned again. "What are you going to tell the rest of the pups?"

Ryder paused for a second before sighing. "I'll tell them the truth… but I'll do it tomorrow… they deserve one last day of peace before we go back into the nightmare."


There was a little-known fact about Damian Stone that few people really knew: he liked to cook. It wasn't a big secret, it was just something that most didn't bother to learn about the guy. Mostly because they were afraid that he would shoot them if he was annoyed to much; and that did happen once and while (or if he was bored).

Yet, cooking was a hobby the most feared man in Costal City loved doing. Especially, in the private home he held under a fake name. Well, it wasn't his to begin with, it was the house of a family of four and a little doggie that was now currently buried in multiple places in the backyard. Still, finders' keepers, losers' weepers.

Whistling a tune to himself, he grilled the chicken he had cooking in his pan while keeping an eye on the boiling shrimp in a pot. It had been a good day so far. His plans were all going nicely. They were making the deadline for his big event. And he managed to bash three low-lives who sought to steal some merchandise that his men figured he'd want to dish out the pain himself personally. Which he rewarded them by giving them the night off. Who says I cannot be a good boss to my employees? He thought as he flipped the chicken a bit before adding a bit of spice.

That was when a knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. "Come in!" It opened to reveal one of his guards nervously coming forward. "Stephen is here to see you. He has a problem."

"Ugh, can't it wait until tomorrow," whined Damian Stone, rolling his eyes. "Really, does he have to call in the middle of cooking dinner."

"He's her personally actually," replied his guard.

"Oh? Well, that's interesting. Send him in, now I'm curious," replied Damian as he went back to focusing on his meal. A few minutes later, a tall, bald, black man wearing a red jacket, blue pants, and a bandana around his arm strolled in. "Stephen. What's so important that you decided to interrupt me from my little hobby. And the answer better be good." He warned with a threatening tone on the tip of his tongue.

Stephen wiped some sweat from the top of his head before answering. "One of my drug making hideouts was burned. Police confiscated everything and have the only survivor in custody. Also, the two cops we've been bribing are dead too… brutally."

"How brutal?" asked Damian, focusing on his meal, placing a few spices on the chicken while using a spoon to cook the shrimp to make sure they were a nice pink color.

"One got his ball ripped up and his throat eaten out. The other has his head bashed between his car and door to the point where he came up looking like a squished raisin," replied Stephen in disgust.

This made Stone whistle. "Not bad. Not bad at all. So who was it? I assume you know who this guy is so why come to me about it? One lousy drug den isn't enough to stop what we're doing."

"That's the thing… I thought this might get your attention when I learned who it was," replied Stephen with a sigh. "It was a pup, specifically, it was a Chocolate Labrador."

Stone froze in place. For a long time, he stood there in silence. A thousand thoughts went through his head before the finally stopped on an image of a single pup in his life that he had hated and loved at the same time. Slowly turning around, with an emotionless expression, he asked, "A Chocolate Labrador pup, you say?"

"Y-yes," whispered Stephen as he gulped. The sweat he was giving off had doubled as Damian slowly waked forward until he was face to face with the man. Despite Damian being shorter, he gave an aura that made Stephen feel like he was the smallest man in the world. However, that was soon replaced by confusion as Damian then hugged him and started laughing.

"HA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" cried out Damian before he broke the hug and started jumping in excitement and cheered. "Yes! Yes! Oh if I believed in a god I'd say he just blessed me! Oh, yes! I was getting soooo bored, this makes it a lot more fun!"

"Sir?"

Damian just continued to laugh before he started pacing with his smile growing. "If it's really him… that means little Ryder and his brats will come too… oh, the things I could plan… the games we can play… I had so much fun last time… I wonder? Can I? Oh yes, that might work." He turned to Stephen. "Tell everyone to await hearing orders from me. I have something I want us all to do… a little game is going to be in the works and we're going to play big!"

"Uh, should I go now?" asked Stephen, inching towards the door.

"Sure, unless you want to stay for dinner. In fact, hearing this news makes me want burgers now instead of chicken so I'll just throw this out," said Damian as he took both meals and dumped them into the trash. "Such a waste, but I don't care. He's alive. I thought he killed himself but he's alive and he's coming to kill me! Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

"I… I thought you would be upset, sir?" asked Stephen.

Damian smiled and turned around. "Oh, I'm upset that I didn't really dive Zuma into killing himself like I had planned, but I'm going to take this as a challenge. If he wants to come after me, he can try, but I'll be ready for him. Him and his Paw Patrol friends. This time, however, it's going to end with one of us dead." He turned away and shooed him off. "Now run along. I got plans to make."

Stephen did so without a second thought. Meanwhile, Damian Stone thought about his long-term plan. His big plan that everything was leading up too. It was still a month away before it could be completed, but he could use it for a new game with Zuma and his friends. Perhaps it's best to welcome them back with a welcoming party.

He reached for his cellphone and called a specific number. "Hello, Boomer? Yeah, it's Stone. How fast can you rig up and explosive to take down a small lighthouse sized tower?"