A/N: Here is a new one-shot to hopefully allow you, the reader, to enjoy at least a few minutes of your day. As a bit of a spoiler, this chapter/story contains an OC created by CrystalWolf28 (check out his stories if you haven't already!), and I would like to say thanks to you for letting me use one of your OC's. While your OC may not have too much of a presence in this story, I felt that it would be a good idea to include it! I'm not sure when I'm going to update this or "The Bygone few", but hopefully soon. Until then, this is TheMattdude signing off!

Chase was alone. The world had been ravaged by war nearly six years ago. Very few people had escaped, and of those few, nearly all of them were still warring with each other. Even Adventure Bay had been touched, with Chase being the sole survivor. Weeds and ivy had already flourished, covering large patches of ground. The countless days and nights had brought forth rain and snow, slowly rusting the cars that had been abandoned.

The Lookout itself looked as though it had shouldered the worst, with sections of wall crumbling as salt-laden wind from the sea ate away at it. Windows had been smashed, only the elevator windows withstanding the war. Even then, they were chipped and cracked, looking as if they might shatter at any moment. The elevator itself wasn't functional, sitting at the bottom of the shaft like some animal hiding.

Chase had been alone for six years, with not a soul to speak to. He often spoke to himself, the wind taking his words away as they formed. He trudged along, every day trying to fill his mind with what he needed to do. His mind flashed back to the other members of the PAW Patrol, their deaths forever burned in his memory. He had seen each pup face their demise, narrowly missing his haunted his mind and his dreams every day and night, making him wish he had been killed.

Chase walked along the beach, looking at all the scrap left. Empty bullet shells, twisted metal, and a great fire pit. He gave the fire pit a wide berth, knowing what it had been used for. He shivered at the memory. He remembered Marshall's screams, saw his face full of pain and fear. He shook his head. It had been a long time since it had happened, but it still felt like yesterday. Chase turned his gaze to the beach beneath his paws. The sea brought in wonderful things at times, items of great value or use. Chase scoured the entire beach, finding nothing of use. He walked on.

He went towards City Hall, its bell no longer ringing. The clock had long since stopped ticking, a silent sentry keeping watch. Chase picked his way through the tangle of rusted cars. He knew at the heart of the mess what lied there. There had been screams, however the screams came from stopping tires. Amongst the mess was Rocky, whom had said he had created the most powerful device in the entire war. It lay at the heart of the mess with him, which Chase had tried to get. He had scars on his paws as the only sign of his labor. He began whistling.

"Is there anything here?" Chase said once he reached the yard of City Hall, saying the same phrase he had said every day. He tried the doors. They had always been locked, and were too strong for him to knock down. The windows had been barred, even though the glass was shattered. He twisted the knob, and gave a small start of surprise as it opened. He cautiously walked in, having never been in since the war had started. "Someone must be home again," he murmured. He looked around as he walked, cringing at the smell. It was musty and smelled of dead bodies, most of which had looked starved to death. He looked at one where it was only bone with the skin stretched tightly across it, the pelvis and lower missing. He looked across the hall, seeing the other half. He had gotten used to seeing what was left, the sight of it not disturbing him near as much as the thought of how it happened. He walked on.

He climbed a staircase, a side of which had collapsed, the rest groaned and moaned as he walked on it. He looked in a corner, seeing a skeleton with straps on it. He silently and quickly trotted towards it, his eyes widening at what it held. It had ammunition, and plenty of it. He grabbed it and put it in his pack, alongside a gun he had built. It was crude and could use almost any ammunition, save for the extra large and extra small bullets. It had a chamber specifically for shotgun ammunition, of which he had found plenty. Rats scurried away as he made his way down the rotting halls. The walls were scratched, and in places Chase could see the support structures. He looked throughout the building, finding nothing. He went back to the door, and inspected it. It looked like any sort of lock had finally given way, having allowed him to open it in the first place. He walked out, carefully shutting the door behind him. There was a soft click, and he tried the knob. It wouldn't open.

He shrugged. There hadn't been anything useful in there anyway. He turned away, looking towards the sky. It was evening, and the hunters would be out soon. He made his way to the Lookout. The hunters were a group of who-knows-what, completely ruthless and looking for anything to kill. They didn't kill for the need of food, they killed for the fun. Chase had seen their work first hand. Years ago, there was one other person who must've come to Adventure Bay during the night, and didn't make it to morning. When Chase had found the body, most of the internal organs had become external, and the body had been mauled beyond any sort of recognition. The next night the body had vanished, although it wasn't hard for Chase to figure out how. Chase gagged at the memory, and continued to the Lookout.

He had heard their calls as he was walking across the broken bridge. Halfway between a scream and howl, it always sent chills up his spine. He had no idea how they came to be, or when they started hunting. They had appeared at some point during the war, and had wreaked havoc on everyone and everything. They were merciless, and barely tolerated each other. Chase had never seen one up close, but he hoped he never would.

He still stayed in the Lookout, making sure the doors were shut tight. They no longer functioned, so Chase had fashioned handles of scrap metal he had found. He used a simple chain and padlock on the door handles each night, making sure it was locked and tight. It payed to be safe. He took off his pack, dropping it onto the floor. He took out several objects, from his gun to bits of metal he had found. He took off his patched and torn police uniform. He had lost his hat years ago. He walked down a dimly lit hall, and turned into the kitchen. The light flickered on as he walked in, unable to make up its mind about wanting to be on or off. After multiple flashes, it illuminated, casting hard light around the room. Many of the cabinets were missing doors, and they were filled with random objects. He walked over to the grimy, old fridge and looked over the contents. There was very little, most of it just items that needed to be kept cold that were inedible. He closed the door, a thud followed by a short sucking noise. Not finding anything, he went to bed. He fell asleep to the screams of the hunters, of which had put him to sleep for years.

He unlocked the front door, opening them to reveal a cloudy day. Chase sniffed the air experimentally. It wasn't going to rain, of which Chase was thankful. He donned his suit, and shouldered his pack. He walked down the driveway, keeping an eye out. Every day was the same, every day blending into the next one. It had become a horrid routine, enslaving Chase to its every whim.

He dragged his paws across the bridge, having to hop from one side to the other. It had broken from a plane that had crashed into it, and to get from one side to another one had to jump across the narrowest point. The plane was still sitting there, but Chase couldn't reach it. He didn't want to reach it anyway. He lowered his head as he walked past, the only love of his life trapped inside. The dogfight had ended up the wrong way for the Cockapoo, and not only her. Chase had mourned the loss of both Skye and his unborn pup for months afterwards. He didn't have any more tears to shed.

He silently and quickly looked over the beach, getting the feeling nothing was there. Finishing his search, also confirming his earlier feeling, he didn't find anything new or usefull. Walking down the street, he saw what was left of Adventure Bay. Nearly all the buildings were gone, only a handful still standing, but even then they were crumbling.

He picked his way through the debris, turning over the occasional piece of concrete or wood. He had turned over nearly every stone over the years, so nothing was truly new to him.

Working his way through the rubble, he heard a peculiar noise. A cross between a mewl and a whine, it sounded like something in pain. Taking out his gun, he cautiously approached the noise. Training his weapon on a piece of rubble, he quickly threw it away.

A hunter jumped up, knocking the gun out of his paws. It skittered and bounced nearly fifteen feet away, more distance than he could cover against the hunter. It shrieked loudly, piercing Chase's ears. Its four black eyes stood out against its pale skin, making the fanged mouth seem larger than a basket ball. Chase wrestled the creature, trying to force its pulsing mouth away from him. He used all his strength to try and push it off, but it slowly made its way down. With one final burst of effort, the hunter forced its gruesome teeth around the pup's neck.

Chase woke up, covered in sweat. The night was peaceful, a full moon lighting the ground around him. He looked at the pups around him, all of them sleeping so peacefully. They were outside, Ryder having let them camp in the yard for the evening. Chase drew his paws close, shuddering at the nightmare he had had. It had been the third time, the same exact nightmare. It creeped him out, and he had talked to the team's medic, Crystal, about it. The white and black husky said that it was the mind's way of showing fears and stress, which had surprised Chase.

He slowly got up, and walked to the husky who was sleeping near Rocky. He gently shook her awake. "Crystal," he said. He shook harder when he didn't get a response. "Crystal!" said Chase quietly. She opened an eye, and closed it with a yawn.

"What is it, Chase?" she asked sleepily. "Are you having that nightmare again?" The german shepherd merely nodded. "Look, we don't know enough about the mind to understand what something like this really means, other than you have something in your life that's bothering you. Is there anything, anything you can think of that may be bothering you?"

"Not really," Chase said carefully, "The only thing that really stresses me is my duty as an officer. What if I can't succeed?"

Crystal made a soft cooing noise to calm her friend. "Chase, you're the best officer I know. I know you will do everything you can to save anyone and everyone you can. You just need to realize something like that won't happen. I know when I start worrying about 'what if I can't save someone?', I start to get weird dreams too. Just relax, and you should sleep better." Chase didn't say anything for a time.

"Okay, I'll do that," he said at length. Crystal smiled.

"I know you will." She yawned, "G'night, Chase." She settled down into her sleeping back, drifting quickly back into the embrace of slumber. It was a long time before Chase went back to his sleeping bag.

As he fell asleep, the last image of the hunter plagued his mind.