PAW Patrol: Incubus

Chapter 2- Camaraderie

Maybe the dreams would never leave him, but Rocky had become quite adept at shoving them away. Working for the ACG was a cesspool of distractions, the waiting line of things needing to be done never seemed to end. When one task was finally finished, roughly three more would spring up in his face, sometimes even while he still doing the first one. It was a process that usually weeded out the strong from the weak, as working under pressure was a condition the ACG swam in every day. He commonly found himself in the canteen hunting for something to keep his mind occupied, aimlessly gazing down a drinking glass for something he could never find. The food there sucked, but an acceptable type of 'suck' where Rocky detested it but knew there wasn't anything else. Never in his life did he think he'd eat so much rice and ramen squares, at least they gave out coffee, that was one saving grace. The canteen wasn't the most appealing place to be, but the endless supply of low-quality alcohol at least added some much-needed muffling to his thoughts.

He sat at a dirty lunch table, idly nudging a glass of golden liquid. He locked in conversation with one of his more preferred legionnaries. "I don't know, what do you think is the point of no return?"

Across him sat Strap, the white husky from the earlier mission. They weren't on entirely magical terms with one another, but, at minimal, accepted each other's presence enough to sit across together. "Well, how many chances was he given?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Three."

"Well then that's it. Just like I said, you mess up three times, its over for you. He shouldn't have been given a third one to begin with, if you ask me."

"What if it's not that simple?" Rocky said, watching his glass slowly shift a few inches. The ground was gently moving underneath them, occasionally making small objects sway around. The ACG's naval warship they called home was an impressive display as it travelled across the ocean, but boats will be boats, no matter the size. The constant rocking made his stomach turn, he remembered being seasick for days upon first enlisting, a weakness he had to kick fast. "What if you... wholeheartedly know that someone isn't a bad person, but they-" He paused, sighing to himself. "But they just keep messing up by sheer accident? Like it's almost not even their fault, stuff just... keeps happening?"

Strap studied him for a moment, trying to read his comrade. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"I'm not." The mix said quickly, averting eye contact.

"Are you still thinking about Harris? In my opinion, I don't think we did anything wrong. The contact hired us to deal with him, be it kill or capture, and we did, mission accomplished." Strap said, slightly puzzled at the conversation. "You asked, he denied, reached for the gun, down he went. It's textbook." He shrugged, dipping his tongue in his glass of whisky. "And you know... that guy was pretty fucked up. I'm sure you saw all the evidence we had on him."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Rocky grumbled, remembering the sickening things he witnessed. "Believe me, thinking back on it, I had no real problem getting rid of a dog like that. Kill or not, they need to be dealt with in some way."

"So what's the problem?"

"I guess I just... knew someone." The mix said, finding difficulty speaking. "Someone who hurt someone else, someone I was very close to."

Strap nodded, listening.

"But I was so close to both of these dogs," Rocky lamented. "They were my... old friends." He changed his sentence quickly, dodging what he was actually about to say. "But one suddenly hurts the other by accident, and now you don't know what to think."