Being a small island within the distant whispers of faraway lands, Adventure Bay prided itself on the quiet nature of its residents. A home to gentle towns and cities, the people roaming its land were of timid sort, and most action was usually handled by the local -very unique- law enforcement, an ambitious boy and his six puppies. The single team alone had fixed more problems and situations than likely anyone had ever thought was possible. The PAW Patrol, a squad of spunky animals courageously charging into any situation for the fruitless desire to help the helpless, built up a prestigious reputation they couldn't help flaunting around, especially to the numerous villains determined to disrupt the peace.
A booming crash of wood and glass punctured through the air as a well-dressed man in his late forties fell through the ceiling, slamming to the bottom floor of his lair with a pained groan. A hail of debris rained around him into the room, followed by a brown labrador puppy landing on his chest, proudly pinning the man.
"Ha! Doesn't feel so good, does it?" boasted the dog, fluffing out his fur.
"Ow..." came the man's weary breath.
A nearby elevator opened with a joyful chime, revealing the rest of the squad catching up to the explosive defeat. A small German shepherd walked out, wearing an unamused look.
"I feel like that was an unnecessary amount of brutality," he said, coming before his coworker. "We coulda' just cuffed him."
"Not my style, Chase, who doesn't love a good villain beatdown?"
A cockapoo suddenly soared through the air, propelling herself with jet-powered wings. She landed on a nearby table, making sure to flashily twirl herself before landing. "I know I do! Don't be so uptight, Chase."
"I'm forty-eight!" shouted the defeated man below. "My body can't take this!"
"Age catching up with you, Humdinger?" Chase raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's enough to put you out for good."
The rest of the squad rejoined them swiftly, followed by their human leader already typing their mission report on his handheld tablet. Ryder led them with tenacious drive, keeping the team together and channeling each individual strength for the best possible result. Chase was second-in-command, a shepherd puppy who struggled to hide his playful side under the grizzled duties of a police officer. Furiously pinning down the grown man, Zuma was the coast guard dog that voraciously fed on action, a likely side effect from being underused in missions. The flying cockapoo was Skye, an almost annoyingly energetic dog oblivious to most situations.
The grey mixed breed nosing through the debris was Rocky, a germaphobe self-tasked with going green and restoring the environment. Every pile of dust made him visibly cringe, pulling a small brush from his backpack to sweep it away. Assisting him was Rubble, a bulldog adept in construction work, yet also the "baby" of the team and more introverted. A Dalmatian stood off to the side, a firefighter named Marshall infamous for his clumsy tendencies, although an endearing personality was his only apology for the messes.
"You've done a lot of things, Humdinger, but this is a new low," Ryder said with arms crossed. "What even possessed you to do such a thing?"
"Don't question my intentions, boy!" came the villain's hateful reply, unceremoniously shoving Zuma off him. "Those fools had it coming!" He stood up and dusted off his purple coat, "I swear, you lot get more annoying by the day, and why'd you put giant a hole in my ceiling!? Do you have any idea how much that's gonna cost!?"
"I'll fix it!" Rubble chirped up, wagging his tail. "You can pay in treats!"
Seven pairs of eyes shot him a death glare, making the bulldog immediately shut his muzzle with a fearful look.
"Why do you think I stole all that garbage?" Humdinger said back to Ryder, facing the boy down. "To sell it? Think again, idiot, no one's gonna buy dusty old books!"
"Then why take them?" Ryder asked, unconvinced.
"I ain't tellin' you nothing, but you're really getting in the way of something bigger."
"He's just an old man talking to himself, sir," Chase spoke up, prompting a fit of giggles from the surrounding puppies. "Let him ramble all he wants in Adventure Bay Jail."
"Good idea," the boy smirked, hands on his hips. "Mayor Humdinger, you're under arrest for theft, breaking and entering, and destruction of property. You'll spend a while in our jail, then you'll be swiftly returned to Foggy Bottom."
"Ugh, just do it," the man rolled his eyes, already getting himself in position for the shepherd to handcuff him. "This is getting old."
"Just like you," Ryder gave him a pat on the shoulder.
Humdinger was forced to stand still, bleeding out his own dignity while the dogs all celebrated the completed mission, an absolutely exhausted look plaguing his face. Chase and Marshall kept him in place, firmly guarding his position while the rest milled through the wreckage. Never had Humdinger felt so humiliated, being a grown man held hostage by two pint-sized puppies. How was he even getting himself into these situations? Ordering the room to be cleaned up, Ryder announced the closing act for the operation, organizing the debris for anything else of interest hidden away. Drawers were searched, closets were ransacked, all with Rocky's aggravated barks to stop making more messes.
Anything considered interesting enough was tossed into a bin, marked for later investigation. Ryder and Chase were lost in their own conversations, talking human to dog about the future plans for their patrol, completely deaf to the other dogs making intriguing finds.
"I was made for this!" Rubble said joyfully, using his backpack's excavator to dig through the crumbled mess of wood and drywall.
The coast guard labrador stood nearby, working alongside him. "You... aren't actually finding anything though, you're just moving it somewhere else."
"But I'm still making progress!"
"Our task isn't to move the mess, it's to rummage through it, like we're panning for gold."
"There's gold in here?" Rubble said, awe spreading across his face as he eyed the piles.
"If there was, Ryder could probably retire, but then he wouldn't need us anymore," Zuma muttered, digging with his paws until clouds of dust coated his fur. "So if you do see gold, hide it."
The two worked as a team for a while, chatting about brands of dog treats and which shampoo felt better on their skin. They had almost gotten lost in their talking until Zuma's paws struck buried treasure.
"Hey, what's this?" he reached under a stack of snapped wooden planks, pulling out a rectangular object. His eyes glossed over a surface of aged, wrinkled leather, weathered from exposure and indented with fine design.
Rubble looked over his shoulder, tilting his head. "A book?"
It had no visible title or author's name, let alone any kind of legible writing at all. The only readable typography on its cover was an odd pattern of symbols, meticulously carved into the leather with flawless dexterity. The "letters" consisted of wavy curves flowing through jagged lines, speaking an unnerving dialect that neither dog could find any understanding of.
"What... language is that?" Zuma squinted, his mind drawing a blank.
"Kinda looks like Chinese symbols, but aren't they written vertically?"
The lab shook his head, "no, I've seen Chinese writing, this ain't it."
"Maybe it's Latin or something, that would make this... uh..." Rubble tapped his paw, thinking for a moment. "Some kind of ancient text? Maybe it has treasure or something, that would explain why Humdinger had it."
"A book that speaks of treasure," Zuma raised an eyebrow, holding the leather artifact. "Alright, you have my attention."
Without thinking anything of the book in his hands, Zuma sat down and opened it to the first page. Rubble gleefully read over his shoulder like a nosy child, excited at the thought of secret treasure maps. They were silent in their study, eyes trailing across the first three pages, and gradually their shared anticipation dimmed to confusion. Giddy smiles turned into frowns, leering eyes hunting for fortune fading into perplexion.
"That's not a map I've ever seen," Rubble said, reading the page repeatedly.
"It's not a map," replied the uncertain coast guard, narrowing his eyes at the book's contents. "What in God's name is all this?"
"So no treasure?"
"Well that's one thing I know," disappointed at their failed search, Zuma shut the book and placed it on Rubble's back. "Eh, take it to the evidence bin anyway. I haven't a clue what any of that was supposed to mean, but if Humdinger had it, it must be important."
The bulldog nodded and walked off, balancing the leather book on his back. The burning gaze of Humdinger could've melted a hole into his back, Rubble knew the old man was watching him, probably mad at his defeat. He approached the evidence bin and bucked his hindquarters, tossing the book in with the rest of the collected objects. The book was barely an afterthought at this point, Rubble on the verge of magnetizing to another pointless distraction. He stopped for a moment, his softened face frowning at a sudden thought. An odd feeling ran through him, and Rubble turned to look back at the bin where he discarded the book. A longingness held his gaze, songs of endearment filling his memories from so long ago he'd forgotten they were there. Rubble stared off with transfixed vision, deaf to the others calling his name.
He had to pause to process the wondrous ideas that had entered his head, arriving seemingly from nowhere and whispering sweet nothings into his innocent ears. Rubble would return to his duties, working alongside the rest of the PAW Patrol to incarcerate Mayor Humdinger and clean up his damage, yet he couldn't shake the intriguing thoughts and revelations plaguing his mind.