Missions were an integral part of the PAW Patrol, enough so that their entire existence hinged on the millions of stupidly mundane problems coming in from the know-nothings downstairs. Once the fire in the Lookout was -somewhat- settled, although a mutual understanding had to be made with the small inferno still thriving in the kitchen, the PAW Patrol dressed up for the usual incoming mission of the day. It wasn't until they stood in perfect formation chest-forward and chin-up for twenty solid minutes that they realized something was out of place.

"Doesn't Ryder... start these?" Zuma spoke up, grimacing from his aching neck. The held pose was doing him no favors.

"He does?" Rocky said with spreading revelation. "I thought they started automatically, and he just happened to always be here."

"He usually works that machine," Chase pointed at the large mission briefing screen. "With his tablet and... stuff. Anyone know how to activate that thing?"

Rubble let out a yawn, "do we even have a mission today? You kinda called us here unwarranted."

"Not completely," Chase snuck a look at a wall clock. "Most missions start just thirty minutes before noon, we should have one by now."

"Yeah, but Ryder's not here to brief us, how are we supposed to know what it is?"

The shepherd of the group suddenly brightened with undeserved resolve, springing away from the line and taking center stage. "Then leave it to me! I'll have this thing up and running," he stiffened a giggle into his paw. "Bought time I led one of these things anyway."

Zuma tilted his head, "do you even know how to work the briefing monitor?"

"There's a thousand buttons here, Labby boy, I'm sure they do something."

The coast guard rolled his eyes, a slight endearing grin betraying his annoyance. Despite Chase's sudden determination, the others looked at one another with skeptical looks. Rubble raised his paw, "while you figure that out, I'd like to go back to my third breakfast."

"No one is leaving!" Chase said sharply, jumping up on the control panels under the screen. "There's a touchscreen here, I bet I can figure this out in fifteen seconds."

"Can you really?"

He used tablets before, this should be easy as pie-flavored dog treats. Chase slid his dirty paw across the small touchscreen, navigating a minefield of folders and applications he didn't recognize. "Of course, I'm sure it's possible, probably in one of these folders," he said, trying to keep everyone in the room while he worked the touch screen. "There's all kinds of stuff hidden here, I'm just gonna run a random one, it should project onto the screen."

Rocky walked up with a skeptical expression, "are you sure it's... safe, playing random files?"

"Never know if we never try, here we go!" Chase felt the need to announce it for some reason. "Everyone face the TV screen; I got it working!" He triumphantly slammed his paw down on the button.

What played on the TV was not a mission briefing.

The entire room went dead silent, abhorrent expressions of pure terror spreading across all six faces as they stared at the screen. A bizarre torrent of sounds and music played through the speakers, flooding the room with a song of unhinged, reckless desire.

Zuma spiked his fur, immediately shielding Rubble's eyes. "Oh Jesus Christ, turn that off!"

Marshall began to glow a hot red under his fur, his eyes absorbing the wondrous images and scenes playing before him. Primal thoughts began lurking in his mind, his muzzle emitting a faint "woah."

Completely paling, Chase briefly lost touch with reality as his vision locked on the obscene show, hypnotized either in fear or gawking astonishment.

"Ugh, God-" Skye gagged, holding up her arm and turning away.

Rocky took a step closer to the screen, lured in like prey. "Damn that's... that's something." Tingling sensations walked their fingers along his body, hot flush burning through his fur.

"Chase, turn off the screen!" Zuma yelled into the air.

"Alright alright," the shepherd shook his head of the trance, quickly canceling the video. The world was saved, the vile content swiftly smothered into a black TV screen. "Didn't know Ryder was into that stuff... let alone that genre of it."

"Welp, I'm gonna go drown myself, bye ya'll," Skye hastily skipped out of the room.

Chase blinked, bewildered on any further action to take. "So uh... who's gonna ask Ryder why the living hell he... keeps videos like that?"

"Forget that, who downloads that stuff? It's free on the internet," Rocky said, weirdly offended at the logistics of the content rather than the video itself.

"Let's work through it later," Chase waved off the question. "I still need to get this thing working... and can someone get Marshall out of here? I think he's going through puberty right in front of us."

While Marshall -who was so supercharged with arousal that he was immediately doused in cold water for the sake of the greater good- was hauled off, the determined shepherd went back to work. He was nearly hovering his paw over yet another insidious mystery file before Zuma touched his shoulder.

"If you gonna start this thing, please do it without traumatizing us," came his plea, a weakened expression displayed on the Lab.

"Traumatized?" Chase gave a small laugh, struggling to work around the minefield of the touchscreen. "Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't get a stiffy of your own."

"Chase... I'm not into girls, and that guy was really ugly."

"Always the judgmental type, hey hold this," he abruptly shoved the tablet into the Labrador's arms.

"Wha- what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Zuma, I just had a world-shattering revelation," Chase put a paw to his chin, narrowing his eyes. "I... am a dog... and I don't know how to work a tablet."

The Lab's flashed him an unamused look, unceremoniously tossing the machine over his shoulder. "Glad to know you're so effective, what now?"

Chase looked up at the TV screen, "I have an idea."

"God help us..."

"It'll work, I promise," the shepherd wiggled himself slightly, then jumped up onto the countertops, walking over all the buttons. "Ever see someone hotwire a car?"

Zuma tilted his head, "okay first of all, that's illegal, and secondly... only in movies."

"Well I..." Chase puffed his chest, searching for his own excitement. "Am going to hotwire a TV."

"Is that even possible?"

"Oh sure it is," he said, standing on his hind legs and reaching for the back of the screen. "I'm sure I just need to cross a wire or two, some... technology mumbo-jumbo will happen, and we'll get our mission briefing." Pulling open a small hatch and exposing a tiny jungle of colored wires, Chase grinned. Using his dull claws, he hooked two wires and gave them a tug, tearing them from their ports and spawning a cloud of electric sparks.

"That's probably fine," Chase ignored the rapid screaming of the machinery in front of him. "Zuma, are you watching? Wha- hey, where are you going?"

The Lab looked back at him, "to find chalk, so I can outline your dead corpse when this is done."

"Have a little faith in me, darlin'," the shepherd said teasingly. He began to pull the exposed ends of the wires toward each other, "you need to start trus-"

A massive electrical explosion burst from the TV screen in blinding ferocity, rupturing its unstable lightning in all directions. Chase was blasted away like a sack of potatoes, flung out of the broken windows of the tower. The building transformed into a bright beacon for a half a second, forming a light so powerful a plane could see it from miles away. It died quickly, releasing its electricity into the air while coughing smoke poured from the vents.

Peeking out the broken windows to the clearing below, Zuma spotted the shepherd where he landed. "Chase," he called out. "I love you, but you are so unfathomably stupid sometimes that I'm starting to contemplate if you're a threat to humanity."

The police officer meekly stood up, wavering his burned body. "Did it work?"

Zuma made a show of dramatically checking behind him at the absolute disaster of a machine, then back to Chase. "As a matter of fact, it did. Come up here and see so I can push you out the window again."

Ignoring his recent string of failed plans, Chase called everyone back into the tower in a fierce tone of voice reeking of bad ideas. Once everyone reformed into a confused line of tired and half-dressed animals, Chase addressed them all with a high head.

"PAW Patrol, assemble," he said, marching up and down the line like a drill sergeant.

"We already did," Rocky leaned his head out. "And that's not the catchphrase."

"Despite my superior technological intelligence, it seems even I couldn't fix the monitor," the shepherd ignored him, pointing his tail at the ruptured screen. "That's how you know it's really broken. We'll need to take organized action to piece it back together."

Zuma looked down at the millions of glass shards on the floor, "and we're going to do that... how?"

"We'll have to put together a complex design," Chase furrowed his brow. "Assemble portions from the black market, draw blueprints-"

Rocky spoke up, "or we could just go to the store and buy a new one."

"A wise idea," the shepherd said, flattening his ears. "We'll have to be in and out, grab the package in an instant, be back at thirteen hours sharp."

Skye spoke up, "how are we-"

"Shh-" Zuma silenced the cockapoo with his paw. "I wanna see where he goes with this."

"Rubble!" Chase pointed at the now frightened bulldog, "you're coming with me to Malmart, the supercenter down on main street!"

"Me...?"

"Indeed, I'd take Rocky but I need him to stay here and work on fixing the screen."

Rocky snuck a disdainful look at the murdered TV, casting his gaze over the shrapnel and burned metal that once was a happy, carefree little television.

"And I can't take Marshall," Chase shook his head. "Far beyond me to get in between him and the endless wave of cataclysm he trails around with his clumsiness."

The Dalmatian was unamused, "I can't wait for you to fall asleep tonight..."

Stopping in the center, the leader puffed out his chest. "So me and Rubble will infiltrate Malmart, hitting the electronics and making a grand escape, while the rest of you stay here and... make some sense of all this mess." He apathetically kicked a piece of bent metal.

"I can't come with you?" Zuma stepped out of line, approaching the shepherd. "Would've thought for sure you'd want some time away..."

A notice twitch ran through Chase's fur, spiking along his spine. The others looked on with confusion, the clear hints flying over their heads. Nudging Zuma back in line, Chase fluffed his coat to disguise his flustered state and gestured for Rubble to follow. Sighing in defeat, Rubble dreamed of warm beds as he followed the leader to their vehicles. Once they drove off to the afternoon horizon, the rest of the dogs groaned and peeled off their already-falling uniforms.

"Well great," Rocky said, grumbling at the electric mess. "How are we supposed to fix this anyway? It literally exploded."

"Glue?" Marshall proposed, his voice as innocent as can be.

Left completely aghast at the sheer stupidity of the reply, Rocky slowly looked at the firefighter with disbelief, unable to even find the anger to bite back at him. "You know what, Marshall?" he put a paw to his spotted shoulder. "That's probably the best idea you've ever had in your entire life. Go find some."

The Dalmatian jumped in excitement, wagging his tail sporadically. "Aye aye captain!" He whipped around so quickly his paws slipped on the floor, then raced to the elevator on the most important mission he'd ever seen in his life.

Skye walked up beside Rocky, "so uh... what're we gonna do about that?" She pointed her paw at the raging cesspool of fire still eating away at the kitchen. The countertops were long burned, blackened entirely, anything unable to stand the fire was either melted or a pile of ash. Directly before the oven, a package of bacon encapsulated in plastic remained fused to the floor.

Rocky thought long and hard, "ehh... it's all the way over there. If we stay in this half of the room, we can let the fire have the other half."

"Ah, peaceful negotiation, I like it," the cockapoo nodded.

"You defeat your enemies when you make friends with them, remember that."

A groan sounded from behind him, Zuma walking up with a scowl. "Well you three have fun with this mess, I'm not sticking around to get glass in my paws."

"Not a chance, if we're suffering, you are too," Rocky started after him.

The Lab flashed him a questioning look over his shoulder, perfectly immune to the mix's signature second-in-command authority. He rolled his eyes and left through the elevator, standing a tad off to the right to avoid the rampaging fire pounding across the room.

"Surfers are never any help," Skye said, watching Zuma leave.

"Enough riff raff," came Rocky's dismissive voice. "There's no way in hell Chase and Rubble are actually gonna succeed, so let's at least give it our best shot."

While the other two disappeared across town to take part in whatever hijinks and chaos they were swarming through, the trio remained within their flaming tower before the complex puzzle of shattered glass and charred electronic parts. They worked for only thirty minutes before their pace slowed, until Rocky was the only one actually trying to shove the wires back into place. Marshall was on screen duty, instructed to piece the glass back together into a full pane. Although several barking orders came her way, Skye always deviated from her role and went to throw things in the kitchen fire. After her sixth reprimanding, Rocky just decided to leave her be.

"Ugh, this isn't working," the mixed breed turned to his assistant. "Marshall, how does the new screen look?"

The Dalmatian looked up from the hopeless mess of glue and glass shards littered on the floor like puzzle pieces. "Kinda confusing, it's hard to tell which piece goes where, and I think I got glue in my fur."

"Did you... did you put down anything under that?"

"No, why?"

Rocky blinked, letting out a resigned sigh. "Well, I hope Ryder likes all that glass on the floor, cause it sure ain't going anywhere now."

Holding up a dented piece of circuit board, Skye gave an excited yip. "Hey Rocky, I think this piece is still in functional condition!" she said, happily carrying the shiny metal like a child discovering an easter egg.

"Oh good, we can use that."

"Indeed," said the small dog, carefully tucking it away in her backpack. "It's perfect for my arts and crafts project, the colors are so lovely."

The mixed breed went silent.

It had to be easier than it looked, the more Rocky squinted it at the clearer the puzzle made itself to be. The shell of the TV had taken the most damage; all the inner workings were broken apart into scattered yet still working pieces. All they needed was a little assembly, surely that was the answer.

"Marshall," Rocky called over his shoulder.

The Dalmatian was roasting a marshmallow in the kitchen fire, "over here!"

"Go down to my kennel and get my tools, won't you? I'm gonna try rebuilding this thing."

"On it," the spotted animal already leapt into action, sprinting out so fast he clipped a table and knocked over a lamp. While Skye nosed through the lamp debris for any "pretty" pieces, Rocky used his nose to nudge every segment of machinery he could into little categories. Once they were neatly organized by size and type, he reached for the first one.

"Got 'em!" Marshall suddenly appeared from the elevator wearing a green pup pack, racing toward him at full speed. He hit the brakes and skidded along the floor, crashing like a bowling ball into Rocky's setup. The impact created a powerful repulse, launching electronic pieces into orbit in all directions. Some sailed directly into the kitchen fire, burning with a flurry of electronic sparks that lit up the room like mini fireworks.

Glowing with pride and accomplishment, Marshall unbuckled the pup pack and let it fall at Rocky's feet. "Here they are!" he said happily, just what you asked, right?"

What could he even say in this situation, Rocky glanced down at his tools and back up at the elated puppy anxiously awaiting his validation. Giving him an emotionless stare, the mix half-hearted extended his arm and patted the Dalmatian's shoulder.

"Great... job, Marshall," he said with a sigh. It was enough; the firefighter beamed with stars in his arms with such glamor he could've taken off like a rocket ship.

"We're already making great progress!" Skye chirped up, dragging a bag of raw hotdogs over to the kitchen fire. She flicked her dull claw into the package to unseal it, gripping the edge of a wet frank in her teeth and sliding it out.

"Progress?" Rocky's eye twitched. "Progress? The whole tower is nearly on fire! Half our machines are broken and none of you even care!"

"Ryder will just rebuild it, don't worry," Skye walked over, giving him a warm smile. "He's built plenty of amazing things, I think he can build another tower."

"That's not the way it's supposed to be!" he almost snarled, lips barely exposing his teeth. "We're the PAW Patrol, we fix things! No job is too big, no pup is too small, remember?"

"Of course we do... but... just think logically for a moment, okay?"

A piece of the kitchen oven suddenly exploded, unable to contain the pressure and blasting a whole storm of metal blades out into the tower. Three of them sliced through the air and ricocheted off the walls at blinding speed before zipping out the open windows. Another stabbed into the wall just centimeters above Marshall's head, penetrating its cruel blade deep into the surface. Marshall looked around in confusion, saw nothing, and shrugged to himself before walking to the hot dogs. The last few blades whizzed past Rocky and Skye like bullets, some shredding into the floor and others tearing through what remained of the tower's machinery. Neither of them even flinched, Rocky still gazed at the cockapoo in skeptical anticipation.

"Rocky, what could we actually do here?" Skye said gently, her expression softening. "Look, we get that you're trying to 'win' here, but you need to relax a little."

Lowering his ears, the mix looked at the floor with fading resolve. "I just... I just want to-"

"Come on," she placed a paw on his back, leading him to the cataclysmic kitchen fire gradually increasing in size. "Why don't we all eat, then we'll try again to fix the screen, alright? Want a roasted hotdog?"

Thinking a storm in his head, Rocky looked aside with a frown. How far would Chase realistically be up to now? Probably done already and actively heading back, or, he thought again, Chase was having just as much trouble. Maybe a break wouldn't be too bad?

"Yeah..." Rocky sighed, "I'll uh... I'll take a hotdog."