Empty food bowls, the most agonizing thing for any dog to lay eyes on, especially Rubble. They didn't even need Skye to act the alarm clock this time; banging on the sheet metal doors of their kennels, Rubble's petrified screaming was awakening enough. Rocky grabbed a pillow and instinctively tried to smother himself back asleep, praying it would save him from the noise of a new day. Dozens of death threats came to life in Zuma's head, rummaging through whatever creative word he could throw at Rubble to make him shut up.
Chase awakened earlier but kept his eyes closed, hoping he could somehow get himself back asleep. The sleeping bundle of fur beside him was noticeably stirring as well, staring annoyed at the ceiling of Chase's kennel.
Knowing sleep was far in the past now, Chase sighed and looked to his partner. "Ugh... let's just get up."
Rocky almost went blind as the holy blast of the sun nearly took his eyes, making the grey mix grimace in agitation. Marshall was already awake, the Dalmation having a morning conversation with Skye as they were only two dogs even mildly friendly in the morning. All the dogs surfaced from their sleeping dens with hung expressions, crossing the clearing to join the breakfast circle. Chase stayed behind, spotting a taped note on the side of his kennel. With a faint frown of curiosity, the shepherd puppy approached it and squinted his eyes.
Shooting death glares at the scared bulldog, Zuma trudged over to him. "What are you screaming about, dude?" the Lab said deliriously.
"Empty!" Rubble whipped to face him, responding with the intensity of someone being shot. "Our food is empty!"
"Ryder just hasn't filled it yet, quit overreacting," Rocky said, coming over beside Zuma.
"That's not it! They're always full by now! Our breakfast is late!"
"Late?" Skye said from the kennel she stood on. "It's not like him to be fall behind like that."
Lowering himself in the grass, Rubble spoke in a shaky tone. "What if he's dead?"
"He's not dead, you idiot," Rocky put a paw to his face. "Probably just busy."
"Nope, not that," Chase called out, the sixth and final dog to join the circle. "I found a note on my kennel, Ryder's not late... he's out."
"Out where?" Zuma turned to him.
"Something about Jake in the mountains, had to go see him for some reason. But it's not an emergency, so he didn't wake any of us up. He somehow expects us to feed ourselves."
"Feed ourselves?" Rubble said, recoiling as if he heard the most offensive thing in the universe. "How? We can't even open stuff, we don't have thumbs!"
"I don't trust myself with a can opener," said Marshall, poking his nose into the conversation.
"Guys- okay everyone shut up," Chase held up his paw. "Ryder is gone, and we've been left alone. It's not the end of the world, no one is gonna die or starve. We are more than capable of fending for ourselves."
A bulldog eclipsed his vision, "so how are we gonna get fed, hm?"
"I guess we'll just... have to find something in the tower."
"I can cook!" Skye said, perking up.
Chase shot her a look, "no the hell you can't."
"Oh don't be like that, big guy," came the cockapoo's chirp, dancing her way over. "I watch plenty of cooking shows on TV," she looked right up at him with a confident expression. "In fact, I bet I can make something even better than our usual dog food!"
"You really think you can do that?"
"I know I can! With... help, of course," she said sheepishly.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Marshall raised his paw with a big smile, making everyone look over at him.
Zuma rolled his eyes, looking to Chase. "If it means we can go back to sleep, I say let them."
"Ugh," Chase groaned into his paw. "For the love of God, please don't burn down the tower's kitchen."
"Don't worry Chase!" Skye called as he was already walking away, "when you guys wake up again, it'll be the best meal you've ever had!" The rest of the group remained unconvinced, but grateful they could go back to bed. The two were left alone sprinting for the Lookout, fueled by electric eagerness to invade the kitchen.
The elevator doors of the tower swung open, releasing a cockapoo and Dalmatian hellbent on their goal. The sun gloriously shined through the windows, practically casting a spotlight on their destination. The kitchen wasn't too crazy, but had everything they needed to cook something, including a fully stocked fridge. Skye led the way, happily bounding over to a kitchen segment recently built into the tower. Following behind her enthusiastically, Marshall yawned for a second but maintained his pace.
"So why did we get all this installed anyway?" he looked around, watching Skye jump up on the countertops.
"Dunno really," she said, scrabbling her tiny claws to climb up. "I guess Ryder started spending more time here, instead of... wherever he usually goes when we're all asleep. Now should we make? It's gotta be good and grand, we are feeding six dogs after all."
A whole world was available to them; hanging pots and pans, a sink, stove, oven, and whatever infinite possibilities waited for them in the pantry and fridge.
"Isn't that our dog food over there?" Marshall pointed his spotted paw across the tower, where a large bag of chow sat slumped against the wall. "Why don't we just bring that outside? We can tear it open with our teeth."
"Pfft, that's boring," Skye waved it off, refusing to even look at it. "Anyway, there's tons of good options for breakfast. We can make eggs, bacon, or- ooh! Eggs and bacon!"
That magic word made Marshall's tail wag, pure joy spreading into his puppy face. "Aw yeah! I love bacon!"
"Bacon it is!" Skye pointed her paw triumphantly into the air. "Alright, we need a pan and olive oil."
"Oil?"
"Well yeah, you gotta have oil whenever you fry something. It's usually kept in uh... where is oil kept?"
"Refineries," Marshall said, already determined to meet his objective. "I'll get to work contacting the U.S government."
"No wait, it's the pantry," Skye pointed with her tail to a large door in the wall.
Noddingly eagerly, Marshall raced over to retrieve his payload. Opening the pantry with his nose, he stared awestruck up the expansive shelves of boxed foods. He wanted to eat every single thing he saw, every last thing his eyes darted to.
"Well uh... I don't see it from here," Skye craned her head back to look. "But it's usually kept on the top shelf."
They stood in awkward silence, realizing a potent issue in their endeavor.
"Wow that's high up," Marshall said blankly, remembering how short he was.
"We're gonna need a ladder or something. Think your firetruck can fit in here?"
"No, not again. I have a better idea anyway," the Dalmation motioned for her to step back, and popped himself up on the lowest shelf. A brilliant revelation came to his mind, an idea too flawless to fail, he could already see himself emerging successful. "We'll just climb the shelves!"
Skye didn't stop him, but looked hesitant at the height he was trying to scale. "Is that sturdy to climb?"
"If all these bottles are on here, then most likely."
Determination gleaming in his eyes, Marshall leapt up, his paws scrabbling for a grip on the first shelf. Pulling himself up with a grunt, he continued his ascent, feeling untouchable. His tail wagged furiously as he climbed higher, inching closer to his goal.
"See?" he said boastingly, reaching his paw for a higher shelf. "All fine."
The minute he placed his paw on the edge, the entire shelf emitted a teetering groan and loudly wailed with what could only be described as rapidly impending doom. Seasoning shakers quivered in fear, the massive bags of sugar and flour swaying like unstable towers, and Skye paled at the revelation of the incoming crash.
"Marshall close the pantry!" she yelled, reaching for her friend as if he were dying at war.
Right as the Dalmatian slammed the door shut in a burst of quick thinking, a catastrophic crash exploding from the inside of the pantry, shrieking through the room with the splintering screams of collapsing shelves and shattering glass. Both dogs stood aghast, trying to complete if the event really just happened right before their eyes, from the racket alone, one would think the world just ended by a thousand atomic missiles.
"Uh..." Skye said, slightly shaken with widened eyes. "Uhm... okay so technically if Ryder never opens this door, he'll never see it.
Marshall leapt to action, "I'll go write an 'out of order' sign."
"Good thinking, that'll make him not open it! Wow you're smart..."
Once the pantry was labelled broken and requiring one to "call maintenance," the two puppies met back up at the fridge, thinking over their original plan to make breakfast. A powerful roadblock had thrown a wrench in their plans, but Skye was determined to remain tenacious in her mission; all while Marshall watched with his trademark thousand-yard stare.
"I guess we'll have to cook without oil," Skye said, putting a paw to her chin. "Hope these pans are non-stick... so where's the bacon, anyway?"
"Fridge, undoubtedly," the Dalmatian turned to the massive electric food palace. "You can't leave meat out, it'll get icky." He jumped to the door and started pushing with his head. Usually dogs were hindered without thumbs, but Marshall confidently declared himself to be no normal dog.
"Hrrg!" came the puppy's snarls, pushing with all his tiny might against the door. Every ounce of strength was summoned like vikings on the beach, roaring their battle cries and pushing forward with all their glory. Marshall entered a fierce and haunting duel against the refrigerator door, charging all his power to unlock its delicious secrets. As God as his witness, this fridge would not best the mighty firefighter, he was opening it here and now.
Skye cocked her head to the side, "I think it's a 'pull' door."
"Huh? Oh," the Dalmatian blinked, quickly re-adjusting his position. "Hnng-!" he gritted his teeth, pushing now against the opening edge of the door, fighting against the magnet keeping it in place. A faint wheeze escaped from the fridge, the magnet dislodging and opening the door. Without the resistance, Marshall was unexpectedly thrown forward and crashed like a cannonball into the elevator wall.
"Perfect!" Skye said, stepping over his body and looking with hungry eyes into the fridge. "The perks of being small, heh. Watch this!"
Shaking the dizziness from himself, Marshall rolled back on his stomach and watched Skye wedge herself into the cold fridge. Her tiny paws caught hold of the frame-like shelves, pushing aside objects in her way. Being immensely careful not to bump the open carton of eggs, Skye flattened herself for easier access. She accidently kicked a herd of oranges as she passed by, sending them on a rolling journey out of the fridge and scattering across the tower. Marshall did absolutely nothing to catch the oranges, but watched mesmerized as they all rolled away, free as birds.
She called from within the fridge, "almost got it! I just need- ahck!" A jarring bonk noise came from inside the fridge, likely from her forgetting there was a low ceiling and slamming her head into it.
"You okay in there?"
"Fine! I just need to get a little farther in," she crawled deeper into the freezing vault, and various things were pushed out of the fridge from her invading presence. An entire head of lettuce hit the ground and left as if it had bills to pay, a few sticks of butter splatted on the tile, and an open soda can fell and spilled all over. Marshall couldn't help dipping his tongue in the brown liquid, enjoying the sugary, carbonated flavor.
"Got it!" Skye said through a muffled voice, grabbing something in her teeth. Pushing herself backward to escape the fridge, dozens of cans and containers crashed out from her movements, Marshall had to dodge them as they flew out. Reaching the outside, Skye triumphantly turned around with a bag of raw bacon in her mouth. "Haha! This pup's gonna fly!" She thrusted her paw out like a champion, accidently kicking the carton of eggs out with full force. The entire thing landed face-down on the tile, emitting tragic cracking sounds as raw yolk and egg white pooled out. Both dogs looked down at the annihilated eggs as in hypnotic bewilderment.
"Eh, it's fine, we're making bacon, not eggs," the cockapoo declared nonchalantly as she climbed out, only to suddenly slip on a butter stick. She caught herself quickly, but the butter took flight like a bullet, splattering against the wall across the tower. "Alright, let's fry these things!"
They took their places on the kitchen counter, standing over the stove with malicious intent in their eyes. "Frying pan, on!" Skye said triumphantly, slamming a pan directly on the stove with a deafening clang of metal.
Marshall looked over the cold instrument, "how do we turn on the frying pan?"
"Uhh... with the stove, obviously. Now which knob was it...?" Her face wrinkled at the otherworldly contraption that was the electric stove. "Why does it need four power turners? That's just inconvenient," she chuckled to herself, turning each knob all the way up. "Like having four light switches for one bedroom."
Full power was -assumed to be- at max gear, they could nearly smell the mouth-watering bacon floating their way. Godspeed to whatever pig died to make the delicious cut, breakfast that morning was due to be a good one. Marshall couldn't wait any longer, grabbing the bacon in his teeth and flinging it directly onto the pan. "Arise, meat strip!"
Nothing happened for several seconds, the frying pan was sweating under the burning gazes of two expectant dogs; although the smell of burning plastic was gradually fumigating the air.
"I think we need to take it out of the package," Marshall put a paw to his chin, really using his noodle for that note of intelligence.
"Oh yeah, that was probably the next step, no wonder it's melting."
"Don't worry, I'll get it-"
"Wha- don't touch it you idiot!" Skye shot her paw out, slapping his arm away. "It's melted plastic, that stuff'll take your fur off."
The firefighter recoiled back, rubbing his arm with a wince. "Well then how do we get it off? We can't eat plastic."
"No no no, it's easy, I just need a splatla," the cockapoo went straight into detective mode, kicking open drawers and scanning their contents."
"A... what now?"
"Splatla, you know, what Spongebob uses?"
"Are you trying to say spatula?" Marshall said, his voice slowed with confusion.
"Same thing, now stand aside!" Skye nosed a flat kitchen utensil into the air and caught it in her teeth. "Imma pry this motherflipper off!"
She proudly puffed her chest, glaring daggers at the rapidly melting package with her weapon tightly in her teeth. Her roaring audience screaming with anticipation -Marshall- watched absently and wiped his nose. Sucking in some air and charging up her muscles until immeasurable power surged in her veins like lightning. Tilting her head back and screeching out a hulking war cry, Skye lunged at the bacon, bladed side of the spatula stabbing forward with extreme prejudice.
Her entire body slammed against the handle of the pan, flipping it off the stove and sending it crashing to the floor.
Marshall leaned over, "I think it's burning a hole in the floor... oh wait, no." He hopped down, carefully approaching the sizzling goo completely embedded to the frying pan. "We took it off the heat, so it's likely cooling down as we speak," he leaned in slightly, taking a closer look. "Looks like the bacon has... somehow become one with the package. It melted into it."
"Ah phooey," Skye threw the spatula away, an awkward motion as she was currently lying on the floor like she just fell from a fifteen-story window. "I stopped eating plastic three weeks ago, we'll have to find something else."
Marshall pointed his spotted paw across the room, "let's just take the dog chow, we can tell them it's a new flavor or... something."
With no other options to wave their arms erratically, the two threw their towels in and went for the easy route, abandoning the hardened amber of bacon now merged with a frying pan. It wasn't the path Skye had directly hoped for, evident by her grumbled mumbling as she dragged the bag in her teeth, something far more grandiose was meant to be in order. Whatever, food was food. The group was well pleased to see them once they finally hauled the kibble to the breakfast circle.
Chase was about to say something when Rubble came in like a freight train, smashing through the crowd and diving directly into the food. The surrounding crowd grimaced as a bullet-hell of projectiles sprayed in sporadic directions, a side effect of the hungriest bulldog in the Patrol.
"You were up there for a while, only to come back with dog kibble?" Chase said questioningly, wiping off a food mustache that manifested after being peppered with dog chow. "What were you doing up there anyway?"
"We were trying to make bacon," came Skye's disappointed sigh. "Would've been good too, but everything was so confusing up there."
"Like what?"
"Well, the stove had four 'on' switches, tell me that's not a waste of machinery."
The shepherd's expression narrowed, raising an eyebrow. "On... switches?"
"Yeah, those knob things on the front. I turned them all up to max, and nothing-"
The windows of the Lookout suddenly blasted outward, releasing a pressurized torrent of fire and shrapnel. All six dogs jumped in alarm, turning toward the flaming torch the entire tower had become. Sharpened snowfalls of glass sprinkled in the millions all across the clearing, forming tiny landmines to catch some poor fellow's foot. Watching like a circus audience, the animals observed various pieces of flaming debris crashing below; various ruptured pipes, an entire copy machine, a couch, what dust remained of the beanbag chairs, and a slow dance of burned uniforms blowing through the wind.
"Didn't know our tower could turn into a firepit," Rocky blinked in surprise.
Skye kicked yet another rock across the ground, "damn it, I should've gotten marshmallows."