To stand before a wall plastered with his failures was the greatest insult Chase could ever endure. He sat in the darkness of his kennel, helplessly staring at the wall where all the evidence had been pinned up. He silently glanced over each picture, vision trailing along the red string that connected it all, a crimson spiderweb that all ended on one name.

Rocky.

"So how did the talk go?" Marshall spoke up, lounging on Chase's bed with an iced tea can. "What exactly happened that brought you to the conclusion of him being a murderer?" He crossed his paws politely, watching his friend carefully.

Shuffling his legs comfortably, Chase's attention was splitting to every inch of the wall, rapidly ticking over each piece. His body had a faint jitter, unable to keep still as caffiene supplements surfed his blood stream. "Well we… uhm," he stopped to scratch his cheek with his hind leg, sweating under his paws. "I guess we kissed a couple dozen times."

"Hmph-" Marshall jolted in surprise, accidentally inhaling a mouth full of tea into his airway. The gentle quiet was broken by an uproar of violent, bubbly coughs as the Dalmatian hacked up his drink.

"You alright back there?" Chase asked without even turning his head.

"F-fine," the spotted dog had to clear his throat a few times. "Sorry you just… really caught me off guard there. Did you really? You and Rocky?"

Chase nodded.

"So it's official then." Marshall said, half to himself. "You and him are..?"

"I guess so."

"You don't look very happy about it."

The shepherd shook his head, trying to steer away the blistering ache in his skull. "I'm not… or well, I am! But with this," he waved his paw in front of the wall. "What am I supposed to do?! It all leads to him, Marsh. It… can't… but it does. The way it all lines up like this, I can't be a coincidence! Hell, we found grey fur in Zuma's kennel, when have you ever known those two to even be within five feet of one another?"

"They used to be great friends." Marshall tilted his head back a little, "I remember it. We all used to be so happy together. Shame it had to come to this…"

Chase turned to leer at him. "Excuse me, you treated Rocky just like the others did you fucking hypocrite. How can you say even say that?"

"I know, I know, it was a shitty thing to do." Marshall looked away, nervous in his tone. "I guess I was just…" he hesitated, trying to find his words.

"Just what?"

The dalmatian was silent as he visibly deflated, slowly hanging his head in shame. "An asshole." He said in defeat. "I was an asshole."

"At least you admitted it." Chase sighed, "maybe Rocky would love to hear that. But we have… bigger things right now."

"You're sure he's the killer?"

"Not even close, I doubt he could even do the amount of damage we saw on the bodies." Chase was baffled on the words even coming out of his mouth, nothing was making sense yet it all lined up.

"What about that dog we saw in the restaurant?" The dalmatian brought up the strange encounter from the other day. "The one that looked like him?"

Chase looked back with a surprised expression. "That was real? I thought I was hallucinating."

"Dude, I'm not even gonna be nice about this. Stop taking the fuckin' pills. They're messing up your head."

"We don't even know who that dog is." The officer waved off the statement. "And I barely got a good look at him, we can only go off of what we know now."

"So when you spoke to Rocky last night," Marshall cocked his head. "Aside from… what happened, did you actually get useful information out of him?"

Chase sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. "Ah… no. I kinda got caught up in the of the moment, so we haven't really gotten anywhere."

"Great job, you're a real Sherlock Homes, you know?" The Dalmatian quipped, sarcasm dripping out of his mouth.

"Shut up…"

The two went back and forth for a while, knocking around insults based on anything they could jab the other for. They continued until sunset, when Marshall had left for the night and Chase was on his own. He couldn't think, his paws scratched at his sides as he writhed within the kennel. Was it the medication, he thought to himself, as he walked in circles around his room. It couldn't be, and if it was, then it shouldn't be a problem. He needed something, anything to write words on the page. His mind was blank, and nothing enraged him more than a standstill.

Moving without thinking, Chase grabbed his police uniform and pulled it on. In his overclocked state of mind, he couldn't find his hat anywhere, a hindrance that almost made him laugh at the audacity. It mattered little, as the shepherd quickly found his backpack -the pup pack - he corrected himself, and stared down at its sleek blue surface. "Ruff, ammunition."

A hatch in the backpack opened on the side and a mechanical arm extended out holding the deadliest card in his deck: His gun. It was still polished, the metal still shiny like new. For too long it had hibernated within his pup pack, a tool of the trade he never truly thought he would need. The missions, the thousands there had been, had simply never required such a weapon. It was time for a mission of his own, time to get the answers he wanted.

He left his kennel under the moonlight, climbing on top of it as the structure began configuring into its vehicle mode. A quieter exit from the Lookout was probably best, as everyone was sound asleep and didn't need to be alerted to his presence, but Chase thought nothing as he revved his vehicle and sped off into the good night. The air swept through him as he drove, eyes staring ahead at the darkness only slightly parted by his car's headlights.

Nothing infuriated him more than incompetence, the thought of trying so hard only to fail in the end was his own worst-case scenario. Sending Marshall door-to-door, investigating crime scenes, handling evidence, it was all by the book, and yet it brought him nowhere. Chase's dull claws furiously gripped the controls. Rocky wasn't the killer, he couldn't be, he repeated in his head. It wasn't him, but could it be?

"I'm doing this my way." Chase said aloud, talking to no one. A part of him was starting to slip in his perception reality, forcing him to talk out loud just to remind himself that he was still there. "I'm finished abiding by these... idiotic standards." He growled.

But you must, his mind argued. You're a police officer, law enforcement, it is your duty to uphold order and bring justice to those who deserve it.

"There's no justice," scoffed the shepherd. "Not in a world like this." He sharply took a turn, not caring to check his surroundings for other cars. "If the system worked, we wouldn't have these problems, killers wouldn't be in the streets, and Rocky…" he stopped, his heart aching for his partner. "... Rocky wouldn't be the way he is now." You're crossing the line, his heart skipped a beat as it pleaded with him. Please, you must not do this, turn back while you still can. His mind went silent, Chase slowly becoming more oblivious to his own thoughts. He was going to solve this problem; right now, with whatever it took.

He parked his vehicle on the curbside, coming to a stop underneath the dense buildings of Adventure Bay. The killer's grounds, as he knew it, there was a danger being here but it was the right place to look. The whole confounded place was a hunting ground; the deafening silence broken only a humming of streetlights, the darkness of the alleyways hiding whatever profane secret within, the entirety of Adventure Bay was slowly turning into a cesspool of disgusting poverty and filth.

This was no ordinary curbside; ahead of him was a very specific alleyway, one notable for the herd of strays that infested its edges. One of them had to know something, even if it meant he'd have to cross into their turf. He grimaced to himself as he crossed the sidewalk, a constant low growl emitting from him. Stepping in between the buildings, he kept his movements contained and deft, like a mere wrong move would give him an STD. The air was a muggy hot here, curling through his fur and dampening his neck.

He hated it all.

His presence was noticed almost immediately. The shadows moved as filthy, unkempt dogs raised their heads in surprise. Chase kept his eyes forward and narrowed, refusing to even glance at their drugged, hopeless states. They increased in number as he walked further in the darkness, the stench of weed and alcohol making his stomach turn. It was no wonder strays were the target of societal unrest, there were no better candidates.

"I'm going to say this once." Chase stopped in his tracks, speaking aloud the group of homeless dogs. "Have any of you seen a Labrador in these parts? In addition, a grey dog probably with him?" An aura of bewilderment amassed from the group, the act of calling attention to oneself in a place like this was known to be a death sentence.

An unruly voice came out, spitting with rot and mud. "A lotta' us are grey, pig."

"Is that so?" Chase whipped around, instantly facing the voice. It was a mutt -as expected - with browned teeth and fur that stank of waste. It was a dog many would pass up and ignore on the streets, the average poor sod going around asking for spare change. With little patience for verbal games, the shepherd bared his teeth as he approached the bum. "Well then I should just assume right away that you all know about the PAW Patrol member who was abducted yesterday?" The filthy dog was taken aback by Chase's approach, more used to others simply avoiding him. The officer wasn't backing down, "and if you do, should I just go through every one of you? We got all night, asshole! And I have plenty of tricks to make you all talk."

"Excuse me?" The stray drew a putrid breath, "aren't you a little small to be threatening full-grown dogs?" A dark chuckle rasped from his scratchy throat. "And there's just one of you, and dozens of us."

Chase stared at him straight in the eyes. "Ruff, ammunition." His pup pack activated obediently, opening its side hatch and extending out his firearm. Like a flick of a switch, all strays in the alley quickly shuffled back, recoiling like they had been stung by wasps. Some hid behind their forts of trash, some fled through openings in the buildings, and some could only back up to the wall. "Would you like to say that again?" Chase said coldly, the full barrel of his gun aimed directly at the stray.

The dog's aggressiveness died in an instant. "What- what are you doing!?"

"What I should've done days ago," Chase looked aside for a split-second. "Doing my own fuckin' investigation. Now listen here; I know you lot all travel together, there's a sick sense of undeserved unity among you." He firmly held his ground, looking over all the surrounding dogs. "A stray has kidnapped a full member of the PAW Patrol, I know that's something you all would be talking about. Frankly, I don't think any of you have the gall to try something that… but I'm sure you know who does."

"What makes you think we know anything?" Another defiant voice sprang up from behind.

"I already said it; you strays keep together." Chase glanced over his shoulder. "So who did it?" He leaned in to the filthy dog before him, fully baring his jaw as his ears flattened. "Which one of you dirty fuckers took Zuma?"

It wasn't Rocky, it couldn't have been, no matter how much pointed to him. He would fight for the truth no matter what it took to get it.

"We didn't take anyone! We spend all our time here," the dog gestured to its filthy companions. "Ever since I was kicked out of my home, I've had to-"

"Didn't ask." Chase cut him off, "and frankly, I don't care. I'm here for Zuma, and if someone doesn't start talking then you'll start losing teeth!"

With adrenaline rising, Chase's muscles tensed like he was about to spring, a gesture visible to everyone in the alley. Teeth clenching, the shepherd was officially out of patience as he brandished his weapon. Skulking like an aged beast, a new dog emerged from the shadows, his body reeking of smoke and rot. Stepping into view, he spoke with a wounded, festering voice.

"I'd know better than to cross Dakota, puppy." He rasped, getting Chase's attention. "Dogs who speak out against him tend to disappear."

"Dakota?" The officer tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. He couldn't shake the gripping feeling that he had heard that name before. "Tell me more."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Came his leeching growl. "I ain't talking, he has listeners everywhere."

"I wasn't asking." Chase said, facing the dog and keeping his gun visible. "This isn't up for negotiation, now talk!" He barked loudly, jolting his body forward as violent twitches ran down his limbs. The surrounding dogs collectively stepped back and looked at one another, uneasy and eager to flee the scene.

Unfortunately for the dog in interrogation, he had nowhere to flee as Chase completely set his sights on him. "Or what, little puppy?" He laughed, "you're gonna shoot me?"

"Try me." Was the shepherd's flat, emotionless response.

"You don't have the nerv-"

The click of a gun sounded, subtle by design but deafening to them all. A shock flared through the dog's body, sharply flinching in front of Chase. His breath skipped as his body contorted slightly, eyes widening as he backed up to the shadows.

"Ooh," Chase winced, his face twisting in mild amusement. "You know, it would suck if that gun had been loaded, huh?"

The homeless animal bristled in fury. "You- you little-"

"Alright," the shepherd began again, reaching to his belt and picking out a single bullet in his claws. He held it up to make sure it was visible to everyone in the alley, then placed into a mechanism within his pup pack. The gun automatically loaded itself, an audible click heard from it. "Now I'm going to ask you again," his voice lowered to a snarl. "Who is Dakota, and where are they?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rocky knew full well the horrors that laid within the condemned shack on the outskirts of Adventure Bay. It was a district he hated dwelling into, and he could barely understand how comfortable Dakota was here.

"Of all places to lurk, why here?" Rocky asked, walking through the overgrown yard. His vision trailed over landmines of abandoned pots and pans, garbage clumped up and various places. He was already feeling queasy at the sight. "Last time we came here, there were a bunch of junkies around."

Dakota was already climbing the wooden steps. "There were, and when they saw me, they shut up and kept to themselves."

"Your name carries weight around here, I notice."

"What can I say?" The larger dog said with pride as he approached the entrance. "They know me well." He came to a gentle stop, looking at the gaping hole in the wall and broken sheet metal. "The door collapsed."

"The door? It's the door that catches your attention?" Rocky came up beside him. "I figured this whole place was coming down at some point."

"You'd be surprised, Rocks," his brother said. "We strays and mutts know things that those pompous house pets could never understand. At this point, you should just stay with me and forget those PAW Patrol curs." A dark chuckle left him as he dipped his head to walk inside. To many, the abandoned shack was a place to be avoided; similar stories of terrible things amassing from those who entered it. To Dakota, it was a fortress.

"They're not-" Rocky hesitated, his heart longing for a certain German shepherd. "They're not… all bad."

"You told me yesterday about Zuma, did you not?" Dakota jumped up on the old couch in the living room, his eyes trailing to the window. "... who pulled down the curtains?"

"Zuma…" the mutt trailed off. "He… well you didn't need to go as far as you did with him." His paw trailed along the floor anxiously. "Deep down, he just had his… desires, and I was the only one around to fill it. I helped him in a way."

Dakota flashed him a disgusted look. "Are you listening to yourself, Rocks? Why are you siding with the rapist? Whatever he made you think, it's clearly gotten to your head. This whole world is filled with entitled fucks who think they can do whatever they want." He stretched his legs a little, resting his chin on his paws. "I see it in everyone, especially people. They're wired that way, the instinct to always be better than something else." Flexing his claws, he leered down at his brother. "But I know better than that, and I intend to teach you the same."

"Teach me what?" Rocky asked, his eyes scanning the trash-littered floor. The filth of the house was revolting to him, and the urge to flip the whole place was incredible.

"You'll find out in time, it's more effective if you learn it on your own." His brother chuckled, standing up from the couch. "Aren't you tired of all this? Everyone constantly treating you like shit? Aren't you sick of being isolated and treated like garbage all your life? I know why you were defending Zuma, it's because they've manipulated you into thinking you're the problem."

"Because I am." Rocky said, face twisting in annoyance. "How am I-"

"No, stop." Dakota cut him off, walking over. "This. All this, stop it. You are more than capable of taking his city, and it all starts with Zuma."

"But how-" Rocky was going to ask something, when a familiar sound was brought to his attention. His brother heard it too, his ears snapping up as they both tensed. The noise of tires on dirt and a running engine emerged from outside, coming to a stop as it invaded the yard. Rocky could place the sound almost instantly; this wasn't a normal vehicle, it was the PAW Patrol.

Dakota narrowed his eyes, his fur beginning to stand. "Someone's here… this day just keeps getting interesting."

He expected to see the same reaction in his brother, but Rocky was noticeably calm. Curiously, he started walking through the hole where the door had been, his brother tensing behind him. "Rocks, what are you doing? Get back!"

"I think I know this dog," Rocky muttered, trying to get a glimpse of the intruder only for Dakota to suddenly yank him back by his tail. "Aah- ow! What was that for?"

"Are you trying to get killed? Follow me."

"No, not with this!" The puppy argued. "You don't need to run and go into a fight instinct all the time! Whoever this is, I probably know them, and It'll look worse if we run."

"Rocks, I swear to God, have you learned nothing from me?"

"Wha- no! I have!" Rocky flattened his ears, his voice rising. "But not everything warrants a response like this! Not every dog in the world is bad, you know!"

"You really believe that? Those nine house pets in the news, I guarantee you they weren't saints. If you had known them personally, you'd be glad they turned up dead."

"House pets…." the smaller dog blinked, his mind beginning to connect the dots. "What makes you say that? You didn't know them."

Dakota snarled, "oh you'd be really surprised. I know a lot about all those pompous assholes, every little minute thing they do. It sickens me, the lot of them. With the uprising, its only a matter of time before we take the city for our own!" He took a step toward his brother, glaring down at him. "Are you taking the hint, Rocks? Strays, mutts, we all rule the streets, this is what I've been trying to show you for the past week! But for some ungodly reason, you just can't see it, so I'm pointing it all out to you now."

Locked in an expression of bewilderment, Rocky found himself unable to say anything. He stared with big eyes in confusion, he had an argument but couldn't seem to find the heart to say anything.

"I thought you were smarter than this." Dakota said, shrugging to himself. "But you're just a puppy, so that's my bad there. An uprising is coming, kid. They can't keep us in the shadows for much longer… I didn't think the PAW Patrol would be a problem with you on my side, until you made it personal by mentioning Zuma." He waved it off, improvising a new course of action. "This is your chance, Rocks; this is your chance to finally get back at everyone who treated you like shit. And all you have to do is-"

"Rocky?" A new voice cut into the conversation. Both Rocky and Dakota nearly jumped in surprise, snapping their attention to the shack entrance. A German shepherd had invaded, entering onto the condemned territory with full police gear. Chase thought he was seeing double, -another hallucinating plaguing his mind- but no matter how many times he shook his head, reality refused to calm itself.

"Uh-" Rocky was stunned, glancing to the side and clearing his throat. "Chase…. Hey." He laughed nervously, taking a careful step toward him. "I thought you were at the Lookout."

Chase looked directly past his partner, locking eyes with the larger dog. "Who's that?" He pointed with his paw, and a wave of fear hit Rocky. Before he could say anything, Dakota stepped over him, getting between him and Chase.

"Rocky?" Dakota repeated the name, eyeing Chase up and down. "Is that what they call you now? I prefer the original."

The officer instinctively took a step back, still eyeing each dog.

"This is no place for police officers," growled the large stray. "I suggest you turn back now."

"Like hell!" Chase twitched, flexing his claws on the floor. "Rocky, who is this?"

The smaller mutt only trailed his paw on the floor, hesitating in his words. A long second of silence hung in the air, tensions starting to rise. "Chase…" Rocky muttered. "Meet… Dakota. My brother."

"Brother?" The shepherd looked up at the animal. "You told me your brother was dead."

"I thought so too. I guess he just… wasn't."

"Of course I wasn't," Dakota leered. "We have more tenacity than you think, you know."

Grey hair, stolen collars, humiliated victims, an abducted member of the patrol, Chase's mind began reworking everything he knew. Perhaps Rocky wasn't the culprit after all, only now he realized just how far into the lion's den he had wandered. "Fancy I never met you," he said flatly, slowly beginning to circle Dakota. "I feel like we probably would've gotten along." His voice carried no emotion, like they were just aimless words being thrown into the air.

"Possibly," Dakota watched the shepherd like a hawk, reading him as he moved. "But I'm not uh- … I'm not one for social interaction."

"How often do you come here?" Chase asked him, the question making Rocky stiffen.

It was a moment before he got his answer, Dakota staring into his soul. "Maybe a few times, why?"

"A few times," the officer repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Would that be… recently?"

"Could be."

Rocky was walking on pins and needles, sweating frantically under his paws.

"Do you know anything about nine collars being buried here, just off in that room?" Chase gestured with his paw down the hallway. "Nine collars belonging to nine murder victims. Does that ring a bell at all?."

"Stuff gets buried here all the time," Dakota answered flatly. "I've probably walked over them a few times without even realizing it. Why are you asking me this?"

"Just… curious." Chase took a steady breath, his eyes flicking to the door. "Well, that's all."

"Really?" Rocky picked his head up, puzzled at his lover's actions. "You don't want to stay for a while?" Dakota discreetly flashed his brother a glare.

The shepherd started backing up to the door. "No I'll just… wait for you at home." Quickly turning, Chase fled the scene and ran back to his car. Rocky watched after him with longing, but his brother carried a dark expression.

"He's leaving?" He asked Rocky, looking down at him expectantly.

"I guess he is?"

"Nope," Dakota said sharply, jabbing his brother. "Next lesson: Cops don't just leave, especially after a conversation like that. Wait inside." He commanded, then moving outside.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Chase made haste to his car, checking around him as he walked. Arriving at his vehicle, he put a paw to his collar and called Marshall. To his annoyance, the line rang for a while until completely going dead. Marshall was asleep at the worst possible time, and Chase could only leave him a message.

"Marshall? It's Chase." The shepherd began, a feeling of uneasiness riding him. "I… found something that pertains to the investigation. Rocky has a brother who I thought was dead, he told me that pretty clearly a while back. This changes everything we know, I won't be back for-"

His message was interrupted as two paws clamped on the back of his neck, ambushing the shepherd and violently slamming his head into his vehicle. Chase's body dropped to the floor, knocked unconscious from the attack.