No matter how rich of a bribe Rocky slid on the table, attempting to convince Wild into accessing private data in the slightest chance that it contained evidence was hopeless. He understood him at the end of the day, a poor kitten walking the shadow of dogs, he'd be scared too if he were in Wild's position.

His companion's frequent disappearances resulted in a sizable chunk of "alone time." He was just going to work, even after everything, Wild was still an extended Patrol member. As simple as the day he was first indoctrinated, yet Rocky couldn't help watching the front door in anxious dread, fearing a day when Wild would never come home again. Convincing the cat to leave the organization would soothe Rocky's fears in an instant, but every moment he tried piecing the words together, he berated himself in silence right after. What kind of friend tried to make another quit their highly successful job?

Another day of watching the door. Rocky usually spent this time pulling his evidence together or rearranging them for the millionth time in hope something new would magically reveal itself.

An approaching smell caught his attention, prompting the mix to perk up slightly and wag his tail. The excitement to see his friend again slowly dimmed in a hollow process, as his canine senses picked up something different. Standing up, unsure of whether or not to go on alarm, Rocky began stepping away from the door, trailing the scent as it approached the apartment. Wild didn't smell like that, cats never had overly strong smells rich of sweat and dirt.

"I would like to speak with you," came the voice, muffled through the door.

Still Rocky remained frozen, almost tempted by muscle-memory to speak out. Even if there was a lie he could potentially craft to deter them, a different side of his mind knew staying quiet entirely was probably the better option.

"We're dogs, Rocky. I can smell you through the door."

Shit, the mixed breed jolted at the realization. His flight or fight instinct began rolling dice, the fevering animal backing away from the door as if something were to burst from it. Were there any escape routes in this apartment? Rocky's mind ran wild, frantically calculating if he could survive a fall from a second-floor window.

The voice spoke again, dragged with exhaustion. "Rocky... it's Rubble."

Slowly nudging himself to the door, every step meticulous and cautious, the mix put his ear to the paint-peeling wood.

"You were right, you know," Rubble said. "I'm here to talk, I have material you can use to take them down."

Before he could say anything else, the door opened in a flash for a grey paw to shoot out, snatching the surprised bulldog by his collar and yanking him in. He tumbled into the room off-balance, more so by the heavy pup pack strapped to him.

"You have ten seconds," came Rocky's growl, spiking his fur the best he could.

The harsh entry left Rubble mildly shaken, but he took a few breaths and scanned the room. "This is where you're living now?"

"Five seconds."

"Okay, okay," he jumped to attention, raising a paw in a defensive gesture. "You're right, that's what I said! Everything you probably think, it's all right!"

Aggression dimming although immensely cautious, Rocky stepped toward him with a questioning glance. Him, right all along? Finally someone was speaking his language, but getting anywhere near the bulldog made him antsy. Could there be others listening in? "The PAW Patrol... they're... they're corrupt?"

Rubble crossed his paws with squinted eyes, "is there a table I can set up at?"

"Dining room," the mutt pointed his paw in the direction.

Following his old friend closely, Rocky observed the bulldog in yellow unstrap his pup pack and place it on the floor. Wild's dining table was largely unused due to most of their meals being takeout eaten from the bags, but Rocky initially used it for his evidence board before he tacked it to the wall. Appropriate the scratched furniture was being used for yet another devious conversation.

"If you really want to put it in simple terms," Rubble began, hopping up in the chair. "Then yes, the Patrol's doin' plenty of things under the public eye, and not much of it is legal."

For something Rocky spent months crawling after in pursuit, he was left staring dumbfounded when it was all handed right to him. Right from the horse's mouth, all the confirmation he needed to prove everything he was called insane for. A victory was a victory nonetheless; deep within his hollowed chest, a triumphant light glowed brightly.

"All of them, you say?" Rocky said questioningly. "Even... you?"

He seemed to know the inquiry was coming, Rubble shrunk back a little and thought over his next words carefully. He went silent, fiercely trying to string together his answer in the most beneficial way, until he emitted a sigh and decided to just drop the act.

"Yes," said the bulldog with resignation. "Even me."

"Well now we're getting somewhere," Rocky leaned forward on the table, seizing control of the conversation. "So what are you... one of Chase's field runners? A drug dealer? Or maybe you're demolishing buildings for the sick pleasure of it?" He could go on, and would've thoroughly enjoyed doing so.

"My role in the PAW Patrol is a little more... subtle," Rubble said with a hardened expression, tense under his old friend's icy gaze. "No, I'm not a drug dealer, and I don't destroy things. Chase tasks me with handling the PAW Patrol's finances."

Finances? Rocky's preset accusations broke in an instant, out of all the things he expected Rubble to say, it certainly wasn't that. "What do you mean?"

"I'm smarter than I look, you know. Ever since Chase teased me as a puppy for being an idiot, I took it upon myself to undermine him in intelligence," Rubble said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Over the years I took courses in finances, mathematics, and bookkeeping, the last one earning me money on the side. It's a very useful skill to have; while Chase and the others run around like madmen causing their chaos, I get to sit in the warm tower with a meal and my papers."

"So what, you do their taxes?"

"Heh, knew you were gonna make that joke," the bulldog allowed himself to laugh for a moment. "With Ryder at the helm of a significant enforcement organization like the Patrol, eventually the government took notice and started demanding money. I started with doing everyone's taxes, got to spend a lot of time with Mayor Goodway in city hall getting everything done. But that uh... that was the beginning anyway."

His rounded face fell slightly, "things changed after you left, Rocky. I was given a choice; either I go along with what the Patrol turned into, or I'd be outcasted as well. I didn't-"

"Don't worry about it," Rocky said quietly, leaning back in his chair. "You were young... I'm sorry they strung you along."

"Well there's nothing that can be done about it now," Rubble shook his head. "As time went on, they started staging more and more accidents just to boost their public image. But the biggest problem was funding; Goodway was happy to endorse the Patrol for shinier toys, but they just wanted more, and that's where I came in. Using my ties to city hall, I started moving funds out of the town's projects, sliding money around to places it wasn't supposed to go. Whenever Chase gets another 'big idea...'" he spoke the words with contempt. "It's usually not cheap, hell it's never cheap. So then he stalks into my kennel late at night, gives me one of those perfect smiles of his, and says he needs more money... and he doesn't care where it comes from."

The mix was listening intently, "no wonder the Adventure Bay parade was cancelled... you siphoned all its funding, didn't you?"

"You think I want to do this?" the bulldog snapped his gaze at him. "You think I want another soup kitchen to go under just because everyone's favorite fuckin' shepherd needs money?"

"Surely Mayor Goodway has at least picked up on this?"

"She did at first," Rubble said, a twinge of fear passing through his eyes. "Until Chase paid her a visit... he came back later saying an 'understanding' had been made between them. They got the whole town in their pocket, Rocky."

"What's Chase's endgame?" the mixed breed asked. "He can't do this forever, surely it's all leading up something?"

"I don't know, but Chase is dangerous," came the bulldog's faint shudder. "No idea what he's doing behind our backs, but I'm willing to bet he's walking a trail of blood. Something's changed about him, far worse than any of the others. He's become... detached," he looked away, a shift of unease flickering in his eyes. "Disinterested, uncaring, he just sees everything below him now. Once Valor joined the team, he's barely done anything with us outside of missions, and in all honesty," he let out a sigh. "I'm kinda scared of him."

"That fire downtown?" he continued, changing the subject to evade fear riding his spine. "Not faulty wiring, it was all Marshall. Don't know when it started, but he's obsessed with fire; been burning shit all over Adventure Bay."

Rocky looked at him, his attention captivated. "A firefighter... that starts fires. Ain't that poetic."

"Skye has some... weird operation underground," Rubble shook his head, trying to remember the foggy details. "None of us have seen it, but she disappears for hours every day and doesn't come back until late at night. She claims it's charity work, but given Chase and Marshall, it could be literally anything at this point."

"What about Zuma?" Rocky asked, thinking back on his old puppyhood friend.

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Rubble said sarcastically, lowering his voice as if someone was listening. "At first I didn't think Zuma had anything at all, that he was the only normal one in this illicit team of assholes. Thought that for a long time, until the Miranda case came up."

"Miranda case?"

"She was a Pomeranian, apparently assaulted late at night and left on the streets," Rubble shuddered at the gruesome details. "Poor girl, said a masked dog broke into her den and violated her."

The mixed breed faltered, expression hardening with contempt, "Jesus, that's rough. How is she?"

"Get this," Rubble held out his paws, trying to make a point. "Assault cases aren't really a new thing around here, but the kicker? She managed to fight back at the last second, and managed to tear off her attackers mask."

"Who was it?"

"No one ever knew," said the bulldog. "She was due to make a statement last month but she never showed up, then they found her murdered in her own kennel. The killing blow?" He leaned forward, "a sliced throat. I don't want to point fingers, but around that exact time, Zuma was having these weird private conversations with Chase. He seemed quite... nervous about something, wanted the shepherd's council." He shrugged, "no confirmation any of these events were related... but you never know..."

"Sounds like Chase's been doing some cleaning," Rocky said, a new shudder of unease passing through him. "Someone makes a mistake, so they tell Chase about it... and the mistake magically disappears. And why haven't you gone public with this?"

"Because my word alone won't sway the public, they'll demand evidence, won't they?" The bulldog gave a hopeless shrug. "I may be PAW Patrol, but I'm nowhere near as loved as Chase or Marshall. They'd much rather listen to their favorites than the one speaking truth, and besides, I'm pretty sure Chase will not take kindly to me backstabbing them. I'd be dead by morning."

"Now, you see what we're dealing with," Rubble let himself fall back in his chair. "Do you understand the dangers now? The sheer risk in making a move like this? The PAW Patrol aren't just drunk on their own power, they're completely and utterly corrupt, the whole damn town is their little mayhem sandbox."

"Hey wait, you forgot one," the mix pointed out. "What about Valor? He and Chase are practically joined at the hip, what's he about?"

"That's the weird thing, you'd think by association he's just as bad, but I haven't found anything on him. Even Skye has some hints that she's probably doing illicit shit underground, but I can't find virtually anything on Valor."

Yet, Rocky thought in his mind, his gears already turning. "Doesn't mean you can write him off as innocent, it'll only be a matter of time until you do. So Chase is the enforcer, Marshall's the arsonist, Skye's doing... something, Zuma's a dirty rapist apparently, you're embellishing money from the town, and Valor... is not accounted for yet. Is Ryder involved in all this?"

"That's the funny part, I can't tell," Rubble said, cursed with his own confusion. "I feel like he is, like he couldn't possibly be this oblivious... but I wonder sometimes. I'm scared to tell him; for all I know, he could be playing dumb on purpose, and he's just waiting for someone to try snitching."

"Awesome," Rocky scoffed at the news. "So no one's fuckin' trustworthy, amazing. My question is, anyway... why come out to me?"

"Because if there's anyone in this infernal town I know has some semblance of sanity, it's you," said the tense bulldog. "You need to be careful, word is getting around that an old PAW Patrol mutt is meeting with other extended members, people are catching on to you, Rocky. I scrubbed the evidence as much as I could, but I had to meet with you before you tried anything else." He held out his paw, making a point. "You can't be doing that anymore, if Chase catches word, I don't want to think what he'll do."

"Sounds like you're here to silence me too," the mix raised an eyebrow at him, a faint sneer pulling across his muzzle.

"Not exactly," Rubble's voice picked up. "I've been doing financial work for all five of them at once, but mostly Skye with her 'undeclared' operations. I've done it numerously, enough to learn her exact movements, patterns, everything we'd need to scope out what she's doing." Reaching into the backpack he brought, several papers and photographs were quickly littered on the table. "I have a location, the import site at Cap'n Turbot's docks."

He slid a greyscale map likely printed from an overhead drone across the table, pushing it into Rocky's vision. Pointing his white paw at each outlined building, he traced along a drawn-out path in pen. "Nearly twice a week, Adventure Bay gets these weird cargo boats, and instead of Turbot, it's Skye always meeting them. She's usually with a security detail, larger-scale dogs in concealing outfits."

"What's the cargo?" Rocky asked.

"I've never seen what's in it, they're loaded into unmarked trucks and taken off-site. Whatever it is, it's clearly valuable enough that Skye felt the need to arm her guards."

Studying carefully the weaving lines and pathways in the photo, Rocky felt unease boil inside him. "This... this is more than I assumed."

"Chase keeps a close eye on me, on everyone for that matter," Rubble said. "But if you can go down there and find evidence of illegal activities, we might be able to expose Skye for... whatever she's doing. And who knows? If we can take her down, it could make a domino effect and-"

"Expose the entire PAW Patrol," Rocky finished his sentence with awe. "You crazy bastard, we actually have something here. This changes everything!" He launched himself up from the table, making haste for his evidence wall. The whole thing was obsolete now since Rubble hand-delivered a whole key into the Patrol's double life, was this the moment he'd been waiting for?

"It'll be dangerous, though," the bulldog followed him in the room. "Those dogs have guns, you'll need to be immensely careful," he thought for a moment. "Uhh, give me your collar ID. We can communicate by radio."

An enlightening smile peeling across his hollowed expression, Rocky felt resolve for the first time in ages. Looking over at his new ally, he gave a determined nod. "Sounds like I'm back in action."