Although most members of the Paw Patrol were eager for adventure, exploring a condemned shack that was likely a nesting ground for drug dealers and vermin was not something they were keen on doing. Unfortunately for Chase and Marshall, they found themselves carpooling to the poor district of Adventure Bay, seeking out a clue Chase had stuck his mind to.

"I think I'm onto something," the shepherd growled as he drove off the main road, taking a dirt path into the poor district. "Whoever those strays were that trashed the market, they left a scent trail that leads here!"

"Leads?" Marshall echoed in confusion, squeezed beside Chase in the driver's seat. "Leads where? The scent ended in an alleyway."

"Well sure, but I recognized a piece of it," said the police officer, wind sweeping through his fur. "A smell that I remembered from my time here."

The spotted firefighter gave him an odd look. "Here? Poverty land?" He chuckled, "what in the world were you doing in a place like this?"

"It was a few months ago," Chase explained as he drove, glancing at Marshall every few seconds. "Liberty called Ryder and explained about some kind of drug deal she uncovered. Apparently the culprits were hiding in Adventure Bay, and low and behold, they were squatting in this shack that we're driving to right now." His ears flattened on his head, almost like he was trying to make himself more aerodynamic. "The whole property was littered with junkies and strays, it's been a hotspot for illegal activity for the longest time."

"You remembered a smell from months ago?"

"Well, I don't mean to brag." Chase chuckled, a smug tone on his tongue. "German shepherds are pretty handy with smells."

Marshall was unamused, "wha- oh fuck off, Chase." He grumbled, pouting as he turned to the side.

"Awe come on, buddy!" The shepherd laughed, brightening up as he gave Marshall an affectionate nudge. "Dalmatians are good too."

"Name something we're good at it." Marshall challenged, turning his blue eyes to him.

A beat of silence filled the air, the tiniest flash of shock hit Chase as he realized the hole he had dug himself into. "Well, uh-" he stuttered, tapping his paw on the steering wheel. "You're uh… outdoor dogs with-" he held the last syllable on his tongue, nervously trying to find something. "Endurance?"

"Try again." Marshall said flatly.

"You have lots of great things! Like uh…" Chase cut himself off as they approached an overgrown driveway. "Oh look, we're here."

Pulling the car to stop, Chase turned off the engine and hopped out. They had reached the farthest point of the poor neighborhood, where the infamous shack stood like a cancerous reminder of the filth that went unchecked under their noses. It was nowhere near a home, just messily carried the shape of one. Vines and mold had grown over its wooden exterior, and the building creaked as the wind brushed it. Before Marshall could even protest, Chase had already cleared the small set of stairs and stood atop the decrypted patio.

The front yard of the property was more accurately described as a landfill. Plastic bags of moldy trash had been torn open by animals and scattered in the grass, killing off the flowers to make way for the weeds. Rusted appliances were strewn about, a pile of old pots and pans laid like grave sites under an old tree, and an old refrigerator stood out of place in the dirt. Marshall didn't dare open it, lest he be attacked by whatever foul thing had invested the inside of it.

Every window of the shack was either shattered or duct-taped shut with various materials. Ancient wasp nests hung down like stalactite from the storm drains, thankfully free from the insects but a threatening reminder of their presence. Approaching the front door, -which was a generous thing to call it- Chase kept his ears pricked for any movement, wearily for anything that would jump them in its tragic corridors. The door wasn't even a door, it was just a large piece of sheet metal dragged across the doorway.

"Oh I'm so ready," the shepherd took a deep breath, puffing his chest out as he walked forward.

Marshall wasn't feeling the anticipation. "Yes, I'm sure all the homeless people we drove by are as excited as you to be here."

Fearing nothing, Chase placed his paw against it and pushed forward. The sheet metal door slowly began to groan, swaying for a moment before collapsing to the floor. Chase wrinkled his nose as a stench of dust and old wood clouded him, in a way he was almost reminded of a humble trailer home, only for it to melt into a desolate wasteland of trash and drugs. If the shack had ever been someone's place of residence, it was far from what it used to be. Peeking inside, the first thing Chase saw was the infestation of garbage and graffiti that littered every corner of the living room. The whole shack was condemned, likely better off bulldozed.

Marshall still stood before the steps, briefly looking at a calm spiderweb. "This place is abandoned, Chase." He said, looking back at the police cruiser wearily. "There's nothing for us here."

Ignoring his friend's words, the shepherd took a step inside the decrepit building. "I didn't get this far in police work by ignoring my gut." Unease trailed within him, a dark feeling had consumed the shack. "If you want to stay out there, be my guest, but I'd prefer it if someone covered my back." Wincing as his partner disappeared into the darkness, Marshall swallowed his fear and began climbing the steps.

The living room could only be identified by the shredded couch pressed up against the wall, likely a nest for fleas and mites. A blanket had been hung up in front of the window, tightly weaved around the dull curtain rod to banish any light into the shack. Chase wasted no time wading through the sea of empty soda cans to jump up on the couch, grabbing the blanket in his teeth and pulling down. Instantly light flooded the room, illuminating the sticky wood floor and scaring away a fleet of roaches.

"That's better," Chase turned around on the couch, surveying the living room and the kitchen attached to it. "Check for anything in the drawers."

Squinting his eyes at the sudden brightness, Marshall nodded and walked toward the kitchen. Chase turned to an old bookshelf left against the wall, housing a lonely family of books left to collect dust. "Wonder who used to own this place," he muttered to himself. "Must just be a site for squatters and the homeless."

"Don't forget the str- umph!" Marshall grunted as he jumped up, pulling himself onto the kitchen counter. "Strays." He said with a sharp exhale, "don't forget the strays." The Dalmatian carefully stood up on his hind legs, opening the kitchen cupboards. He was greeted with old cereal boxes and microwave food, likely long expired. "Rocky would love this place," he said absently.

Chase snapped to attention at his words. "What, why?"

"He's an eco-dog, isn't he?" The firefighter rolled his eyes, nudging aside a cereal box with his paw. "If he likes cleaning, why don't you send him here? Be a good day project."

"Rocky," Chase echoed softly, trailing his gaze back to the shelf. Clenching his paws, he fought to not get lost in his own emotions, not in a time like this. There was an investigation to be done, his aching heart would have to be ignored for now. Yet no matter how much effort he made to shove his feelings into his paws, the tiniest little piece of sorrow would always lurk back up.

"A human probably lived here," Marshall carefully let himself down to the floor, approaching a reeking blue shirt left on the floor. "Unless there's a dog out here wearing full shirts."

"A human… in poverty?" The shepherd shook his head of his desires. "I can't think of anyone who would actually want to live in a shithole like this."

Kicking a roach away, the spotted dog gave the shepherd an exasperated look. "I'm sure this trash palace has tons of history, Chase. But none of it has anything to do with alleyway murders."

"Well, we're only in the living room." Chase turned and spotted a shut door. "Why don't I check that out, and you check out past the kitchen?"

Marshall scoffed, "oh sure, split up in the shit shack, that's safe."

"If this place is really as empty as you said, you'll be fine."

"Fine, fine." The firefighter turned around, walking back to the kitchen. "But you're the one telling Ryder if I get eaten by mutant roaches."

"I highly doubt…" Chase started, only to stop mid-sentence as he approached the door. Tilting his head in confusion, he was taken aback by how damaged the door actually was. Several parts of it were held together with silver duct tape, and the entire knob was snapped from the door. "What happened in here?" He pushed a paw onto the door and nudged it open.

What he was met with was an empty bedroom, musty old blankets scattered on the floor as dust danced in the air. Another broken door was across the room, and Chase could see an utterly rotted bathroom inside. Everywhere he turned he was met with only filth and squalor, and quickly he backed away at the sight of unknown particles falling from the still ceiling fan.

He had arrived at the property with hope, but slowly it was beginning to sink. "I was so sure…" his ears lowered slightly, looking around the empty room. His disappointment firmly took hold, perhaps there was nothing here after all. "Marshall!" He yelled over his shoulder, "did you die?"

"Nope!" The Dalmatian yelled back from across the shack, having made his way into a larger room with a rusted bed frame. "Not yet at least!" Creeping along the floor, he carefully walked up to an exposed bathroom. "Did they knock down a wall in here?" He muttered, his spotted face twisting in his confusion. Bathrooms were usually surrounded by walls, not merged with a bedroom. Stepping over clusters of debris and rubble, he followed his nose for anything other than the stench of filth. The bathroom sink was cracked and covered in grime, Marshall had no expectations when he opened the cabinet doors underneath it.

"Woah…" he suddenly stopped wide-eyed. In bewilderment he stared at himself, reflected in the shining blade of a massive hunting knife. This was no ordinary kitchen tool to chop vegetables, the handle was thick and wrapped with blackened duct tape. The blade itself was the size of his arm, tipped sharply with a sadistic glint. Culinary preparation was lost with a tool like this, a blade of this size was meant to kill.

Fascinated with the weapon's might, he picked it up in his teeth. It was then that Chase entered the room, rounding through the doorway with an annoyed expression. "Well I didn't find anything, so-" He stopped at the sight of Marshall holding such a ruthless tool, taken aback in surprise. "Jesus dude, what are you going to do with that?"

"Found it in a drawer," the Dalmatian let it drop to the floor.

"Well don't hold it in your teeth!" Chase said, his voice raised in disbelief that they had found such a thing. Excitement began to prime in his gut, perhaps the shack really did have something for them.

Marshall kicked the blade slightly, "well what do you expect me to do? Pick it up with the thumbs I don't have?"

"Just shut up, we have a lead!" The shepherd said with slight bounce.

"How is an old hunting knife a lead? I don't think it's completely unheard of to collect knives."

"Well-" Chase tried to find the words. "Look, I just… want to…" he trailed off, slowly deflating as he hung his head. "You're right, I'm just… really desperate to find something."

Marshall's gaze softened, placing his paw on Chase's shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, as he felt an obligation to help his friend, but he couldn't find anything to say.

"This place is just a dump," Chase huffed, turning his gaze to the exposed bathroom. "What happened here? Did they knock out a wall?"

The firefighter gave a shrug, "I asked the same thing. Maybe they were trying to knock the place down and just never finished."

"Well this place is- again, a shithole." The shepherd waved off. "No point in knocking it down if nature and insects are just going to grow over in it. This whole place may as well be a breeding ground for roaches." Walking forward a little, he stepped over a mound of fractured drywall and crossed into the musky-smelling room that was once a bathroom. Trailing his gaze around, he came upon a small mound of dirt, formed into a tiny hill on the broken tile.

"Looks like something was buried here," he placed his brown paw atop the cold dirt. Curiosity tilted his head, and slowly he began to tug away at the pile. "Buried… recently." He said with a puzzled expression. "The dirt's really loose, hold on a second."

While Marshall watched in anticipation, Chase channeled one of the greatest skills of a dog: Digging. With great expertise, he swiped away mounts of dirt and tore through the small hill.

"Are you sure that's not just an anthill or something?" Marshall tilted his head, before leaning down to lick his paw.

Chase paled as he stared into the hole he created, its contents now revealed. "No, it absolutely isn't. What the hell is this?"

Dog collars. A bundle of unmistakable dog collars had been buried like obscured trash. They were all in a variety of collars, all stained brown with dirt and crumpled into one another. Marshall made his way over and looked down into the hole. "Well that's unsettling," he said, looking up at his partner. "I think this might actually be something… we should tell Ryder about."

Chase reached a paw in and pulled out one of the collars, taking note of the stained silver dog tag clipped to it. "I had lunch with an old friend a while back," he started talking. "He told me that even after his dog died, his owner kept the dog tag, nothing could ever make him throw it away." An uneasy feeling rose in his stomach, "since when do people throw away a bundle of collars, all with their dog tags still attached, all at once in a hole?"

"Chase?" Marshall's voice had a twinge of fear. "Did we actually just find a piece of evidence?"

"Ryder said all the victims were strays because they didn't have collars." Chase narrowed his eyes as he thought aloud, fidgeting with the collar in his paw. Slowly his mind turned, and the realization hit him. "Marshall… what if they weren't strays? What if they were household pets and we didn't know because their collars were stolen?"

"Are you completely sure?" The Dalmatian sniffed a green collar, twisting his face in a grimace. "How many victims are we looking at right now?"

"Nine," Chase was already counting the accessories on the ground. "But there's only eight collars here, one's missing."

An eerie presence began to fill the shock, sending a chill up Marshall's spine. "Well, evidence is evidence. I say we bag what we can and get out of here."

His partner got to work, scooting the collars into a pile where he could collect them all at once. "It doesn't make sense to me that the killer would just remove these from the victims." He stared down at the colored accessories, burning his gaze into their rubbery exteriors. "What… spite? Was it meant to humiliate them?"

"Maybe he just hates collars." Marshall shrugged.

"The killer doesn't want the victims to wear them, clearly." Putting his sandy-brown paw to his chin, Chase emitted a growl, agitated he wasn't already getting the answer. "I'll have to think more on this." Muttering aimless words, Chase scraped the collars together in his arms and walked them back to his vehicle.

-.-.-.-.-

The drive home was a quiet one. As they traveled through Adventure Bay Marshall kept sneaking looks at Chase, trying to get a read on his emotions. The shepherd kept his gaze narrowed and straight ahead, concentrating on driving while also trying to work things out in his head. Nothing made sense, they had uncovered a missing piece yet a whole new question rose with it. Every step they made felt in reverse, the thought made Chase's claws flicker through his feet.

Sensing his friend was boiling, Marshall tried to throw him a line. "You wanna just get lunch?" He said, uncomfortable with the tension swirling around him. "Look, we're driving up to a Sweet Tomatoes, sound good?" Perking up slightly, a craving for pasta salad grumbled in Chase's stomach. At first he tried to deny his own hunger, keeping the investigation stapled to his mind above all else. He was quickly betrayed by his stomach, as a loud growl emitted through his fur. Turning red in embarrassment, Chase averted his gaze, robbing Marshall of the satisfaction of smirking in victory. "Okay fine, we'll stop. I'm hungry anyway."

Pulling into the parking lot and shutting off their vehicle, Chase nearly fell out of his car as mental exhaustion was beginning to drag its claws into him. He landed on the pavement, staggering on all fours as his vision blurred. He was a sore comparison to Marshall, who nonchalantly jumped out as was already making his way into the restaurant. Groggily following after him, Chase was barely conscious through the process of entering the doors and walking up to the buffet. His eyes sagging over, anything his partner could've been saying only entered his ears as radio static.

Until Chase's gaze slowly drifted past the salad bar, aimlessly wandering into the dining area. His vision instantly locked, his heart skipping a beat as an electric shock went through his body. Instantly reawakened, the shepherd stared in disbelief at what he saw, and turned to see if Marshall had spotted it too. "M-Marsh," he stuttered, quickly jabbing his paw on the Dalmatian's shoulder.

The spotted dog was oblivious, "you know I always liked their chicken noodle-" he stopped, feeling a paw jabbing his side. "What, what is it?"

"Look." Chase breathed, eyes agape as he was frozen to the floor before a tray of salad dressings. Marshall stared at his friend like he was crazy, until he turned his head and spotted something he hadn't expected to see.

Rocky.

The washed-up mixed breed was sitting at a table in the dining area, laughing and smiling without a care in the world. It was unnatural for a dog they always assumed remained shut away to suddenly be out like this.

"What is he..?" Marshall narrowed his eyes, glancing toward Chase.

If the damned stray didn't have a spell on Chase then, he certainly did now. For a dog so ragged and unkempt, in the shepherd's eyes, he was a shining diamond in the rough to captivate his mind. The world seemed to gloss over every time Rocky entered his vision, a fact Chase was embarrassed to admit, and he wanted so badly to walk over there and sit down with him.

But he couldn't, because Rocky wasn't alone.

Leaning into the side at Chase's ear, Marshall whispered in an uncertain tone. "Who… is that?" He didn't have to point his paw for Chase to know who he was talking about. Sitting directly across from Rocky was a much larger dog, yet he looked identical to the puppy in every way. The same grey coat, the same ragged fur, flopped ear, the same paws and tail.

"I'm seeing double." The firefighter went wide-eyed, looking at his partner.

"Who-" Chase backed up slightly, confusion swirling in his head as he tried to make sense of the scene before him. Neither Rocky nor the larger dog had spotted them yet, allowing him to get just slightly closer as he ducked behind the salad bar.

"Dude, people are staring," Marshall looked around at the other customers, who were watching Chase's antics.

"Tell them to piss off." The shepherd said in retort, trying to get a closer look. He double-checked his mental state, confirming in his head that he wasn't hallucinating from insomnia. If Marshall saw them too, then it was real. Where in the world had Rocky found another dog that looked almost identical to him? He didn't mean to sneak around and stare at them, but this was a scenario he had no preparation for. "Wait a minute," he squinted, eyes gazing back over to Rocky. "What is he…?" Trailing his vision to Rocky's neck, he spotted something that changed everything: A collar.

Rocky was wearing a blue collar, something he absolutely didn't have before. An accessory like that didn't come from thin air, and for a moment Chase felt offended. If Rocky had wanted one, he would've been more than happy to just buy him one in secret. Something was wrong, something was setting off an alarm in Chase's gut yet he couldn't describe what it was.

"Marshall, we're leaving."

"What?" The spotted dog looked up from the food tray he put together, "but we haven't eaten-"

"Then stay if you want, but I'm going home." Chase swiftly stood up and began walking outside, abandoning his hunger cravings.

The Dalmatian turned to run after him. "Wha- dude you're my ride! I have to go with you."

The shepherd didn't like the new facts given to him. A new dog that accompanied his crush, and Rocky suddenly wearing a new collar he never had before. Chase was jealous at first, but his gut feeling screamed that there was something more. He had to get home and regroup, come up with a plan, something to reconfigure himself. With a semse of great dread, Chase felt great fear that the answer to all his questions may be closer than he thought.